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Plein Air: Strategy and Reconnaissance
Summer is the time for Plein Air painting. Last Summer I took a break from the studio (I miss it though!) to teach some workshops and plein air classes. When painting on location one of the questions that keeps popping up is how do I decide what to paint?
Painting outdoors certainly can be overwhelming. But remember, you don’t just arrive at a spot and find something brilliant to paint. There is some work that goes in beforehand:
Strategy
Strategize for successful paintings.
I am brutally honest. I try not to be seduced by something “interesting” An old gnarled tree might be fascinating, but if it is all middle values it will NEVER work. When I choose a subject for plein air painting it must have a full range of values with a lightest light and a darkest dark, without good value contrast it will never work. It must have a strong focal point: remember a focal point is not necessarily a thing; it is an area of visual interest, it is the compositional point of the painting. The focal point is usually located where the darkest dark and lightest light and most interesting color and brushwork are found.
I use a viewfinder grid that is divided into thirds to help sort things out and work out a composition.
I look for ways to crop in and simplify what I see.
Because a simple design will be:
A. easier to paint in two hours.
B. create a strong composition.
Strategize for optimal views at optimal times.
I am always looking for potential plein air spots, 24/7. This is a natural part of country living, I keep a journal in my sketchbook of places, specific compositional ideas and notes at to time of year, and specific time of day when shadows and lighting are optimal. I can refer to this when thinking about where to go and what time. At home in Ramona, good example is Mt. Woodson in Highland Valley. Once a year in December when the angle of the sun is low Mt. Woodson turns salmon pink at sunset, the colors are gorgeous, but only for a few weeks out of the year at dusk.
Strategize by being ready, and having a plan.
When I return from a plein air session I clean my palette and brushes well and restock my Open Box M and backpack. I have a list of supplies that I can check. When I go plein air painting I know where I am going the night before. My gear is packed and in the car. I check the NOAA weather forecast and set the alarm. All I have to do then is get up and go no delays no chance for artistic U turns. It is even a good idea to skip fixing coffee and pick up something on the go, if you can.
Reconnaissance
I am always looking for potential spots, and thinking about compositions. Sometimes a plein air session does not work out, bad weather rolls in, or I am missing some essential piece of equipment (yes I have forgotten my tripod, or my tube of white paint on occasion!) When you have lemons, you make lemonade, right? This is a good opportunity to take a walk: go on a recon mission and find some new painting spots and compositions. What started out as a disaster can become a blessing in disguise.
Reconnaissance is also an essential part of plein air painting when you travel. When I arrive at my destination I spend a day or two exploring and getting a feel for the new surroundings. I go out early and late to scout out spots. I rest up- painting is hard work. I check the weather for the next few days to fine tune my painting times.
In June I returned to the pond at Dos Picos to paint.
This view of the pond was one of my first plein air paintings twenty years ago.
Every visit is new.
There is something wonderful about a pond. A pond is its own little world. On the surface it seems constant, year to year each day and season reveals subtle change. The rushes emerge and retreat, invisible bullfrogs splash. Birdsong changes with the season and new residents; raptors hunt; the peaks watch silently. The pond enchants me with its ways.
This is a recent sketch, one that I painted in December at Barnett Ranch.
While I was packing up my gear that morning, I found myself thinking about bunchgrass, and the color of buckwheat this time of year; only skeletal remains from the previous season, but they dominate the landscape in winter.
When I arrived at the preserve and began setting up, I decided it would be interesting to create a composition with a high horizon line and leave two thirds of the canvas to focus on the winter grassland. I chose red iron oxide (Venetian Red) for underpainting instead of the usual raw umber. Because Venetian Red is higher chroma; it gave me an opportunity to push color more than usual (and made a nice warm undertone for creating foreground textures.
I try to bring more than just technique to my plein air studies; I often mention that it is important for me to connect with why I am inspired to paint something.
For many years, we grew oat hay for our livestock. I loved the sound of it in the wind and the warm sweet scent of newly cut hay in the summer at dusk. The native grassland speaks to me in a similar way; each season is marked by its own distinct colors and textures.
Winter is the fallow season; frosty mornings, earthy rusty and gray.
Reprieve
This is a recent study that I did of an old oak tree at Barnett Ranch. I have painted it several times over the past few years. It has been in decline for a long time, perhaps due to age, more likely a result drought. This year's generous rains have granted a reprieve; right now it is flourishing.
At one time I would not have considered it a good subject for painting, it has an awkward shape; and the dead branches, to be honest, are depressing. The story that I have seen unfold over time though, has given me a new perspective.
Inspired by the tree's story and what I have learned from studying nineteenth century landscapes, I set my contemporary point of view aside and tried an old fashioned perspective; romantic and picturesque. In the old tree I found a story about fortitude, constancy, and reprieve.
I continue to be fascinated by the challenge of drawing and painting tree forms. Below is another tree study in graphite that I did for a commission painting a few months ago.
A few days ago, my plein air class met in Pamo valley. It was an incredibly gorgeous day! I set my easel up near the creek and painted the water and overhanging willow tree. At one point a herd of cattle moved through the trees and crossed (very pastoral.) I am sure John Constable would have approved, although the little creek is not exactly The Mill Stream. Still, it was so beautiful and peaceful listening to the water while I worked.
It seems a contradiction, but at times the most complex subjects can be easiest; they just seem to flow. This was one of those times. I am content that my sketch captured the feeling of the place and made some useful color notes to study later, possibly a larger format studio painting one day.
I am truly grateful for Wednesdays, my students and being able to paint this beautiful backcountry.
Impatient For Spring
Right now spring is like a dream constantly flowing underneath my thoughts. It has been an unusually long cold rainy winter here and I am impatient to get back outside to paint. I have been going on walks in the valley along the riverbed. Crossings are flooded, mountain lion prints in the mud. Occasionally I encounter a coyote that pauses with a look that says what are you doing here?
Water everywhere. It is all good.
In the meantime, I have lots of work to finish on the easel and bare root roses to plant in the garden. A perennial resident of my garden; a very wet cottontail is also impatient for spring.
Nature was the inspiration for the romantic movement in 19th century art.
The landscape painters of that era; John Constable, Camille Corot, and Thomas Cole transcended realism to convey the beauty, mood and emotions surrounding the natural world. No longer a narrative or backdrop for history painting, pure landscape painting came into its own.
I have learned so much from studying the painting techniques of this time; especially when it comes to trees. They are featured in a new way with an aesthetic capturing the feel and character of individual trees rather than the generic style of the 18th century. The romantic era idealized sensibility; perception and sensitivity of the artist and the ability to convey subtle and complex emotion.
In 1821, John Constable wrote to Reverend Fisher that "It will be difficult to name a class of landscape in which the sky is not the key note, the standard of scale, and the chief organ of sentiment."
As for me though, it is trees that are the heart of the landscape.
Tapestry
Since the beginning of the year I have been making some changes in my studio practice, the goal is to implement a more holistic approach to my painting, forming a common thread that combines painting, teaching and writing. I have updated my website to reflect what has been going on behind the scenes.
Pamo Valley is the featured artwork on my new website home page. About this time last year, it was still on the easel. In retrospect, I see now it was a starting point, a first step in a new direction.
Inspired by a plein air sketch of the valley, the studio version became extreme rectangle (1:2 ratio) that I used in my class to demonstrate composition and classical painting techniques. I realized that the traditional methods I was teaching - underpainting and glazing, are perfect for capturing the complexity of the local chaparral and river valleys; weaving together textures, tones and colors to create a backcountry tapestry.
One of the things that I love about trees is the stories that they tell in their quiet way. I will never know what they communicate deep underground in their roots. However, with mindfulness and a little detective work I can learn quite a bit of their stories.
I found this tree beside the trail at Barnett Ranch a few weeks ago when the grasses were still hanging on to some green. It is a large old oak tree; the main branch is long and heavy, dangerously close to breaking. What attracted me at first were the blues and greens in the morning shadows. As I began to paint, I noticed the arching branch and the fine twigs and stems reaching out to the ground below, as if the tree is trying to keep from falling.
I have been painting in the back country for a long time and have observed trees change over time. They sway in the wind, move toward the light, living their lives in slow motion. I will be watching. It could be next spring or the year after, the bough will break, and the story will change.
Becoming an artist involves learning process and technique. Eventually, through practice, that knowledge is internalized and becomes intuitive. The other half of the equation is surrender. When there is a balance between control and surrender to the creative process, the result is transcendent.
For most of us control is the is our default position, and a good place to be…until it isn’t. Through experience we learn that often the best thing to do is step out of the way and let the art happen.
Like a dancing, practice and learning the steps comes first, then the real dance begins.
Change Is Constant
The autumnal equinox is coming up next week, a liminal time when we pivot and change into a new season. It is also the time my summer break comes to an end. Looking back, I accomplished a lot during the summer months; quite a few small paintings, and improvements in my technique and style. I am hoping that I can keep the momentum going as the season gets busy with the beginning of fall classes and workshops. A disciplined studio practice will be the key.
Although change is constant, gaining ground in my work is more elusive.
These two rabbits (actually one is a hare) paintings are my favorites so far.
Off and Running
All around us things are beginning to take off. Some are off and running and some will be hanging back. The year past has been transformative for everyone, myself included. I have doubled down on studio time, and spent over a year of Marie Kondo style tidying of the studio. A lot of old work left via the EDCO dumpster; I am really organized now! It feels good and means that change is coming. Yes, I am ready for a fresh start. Rather than running off I will be hanging in. I am going back to revisit some small format projects that deserve more time, mostly paintings under eight inches, more rabbits and possibly some nests. Sub Rosa is the latest. Sub Rosa (Latin) is an endeavor conducted in secret. This painting is inspired by joy in an under-the-radar sort of way.
Off and Running
I found that I was drawn to this image during lock down. It captures the idea of sitting still, waiting, and staying safe. The iconic image of a rabbit: be still to stay safe.
I wonder, how do they know when its ok to run?
In this series of paintings I am experimenting with color and texture. I sat with this one quite a while until I felt ready to decide on an orange outline and add the textured background.
It is a move towards minimal and graphic, and it felt risky. Simplicity is often the most difficult thing to achieve. I was not quite sure how to move forward so I stopped and sat with it. Many times I picked up the brush, and put the brush down. The impulse to be busy and resolve a problem is strong. It much harder to be still and wait for an answers.
Trees
My house is surrounded by enormous sycamore trees. Although fall begins in October, the trees hold their leaves well into winter in December. By New Year's day the sycamores have dropped the very last leaves, showing off their dappled white trunks and delicate twisting branches.
Of all of the subjects that I have painted, I find trees are the most challenging and complex. Field studies are an excellent way to break things down, study and capture the character of individual trees. By breaking it down, I find each type of tree has a distinct shape and growth pattern. I usually begin with form and structure. Then, depending on the time of year, the texture of leaves and contours of the trunk and branches come into play.
John Constable was one of the first plein air landscape painters. In his letters we learn about his love for trees.
Professor Christiana Payne is the author of a book, Silent Witnesses, about trees in art. She writes about John Constable in her blog:
Constable on the story of an ash tree at Hampstead:
"Many of my Hampstead friends may remember this young lady at the entrance to the village. Her fate was distressing, for it is scarcely too much to say that she died of a broken heart. I made this drawing when she was in full health and beauty; on passing some time afterwards, I saw, to my grief, that a wretched board had been nailed to her side, on which was written in large letters, 'All vagrants and beggars will be dealt with according to law.' The tree seemed to have felt the disgrace, for even then some of the top branches had withered. Two long spike nails had been driven into her side. In another year one half became paralyzed, and not long after the other shared the same fate, and this beautiful creature was cut down to a stump, just high enough to hold the board."
Clearly, Constable was appalled at the insensitivity with which the tree had been treated. But he also seems to be saying that a society which has no love for trees also has no love for human beings - such as the poor woman and child sitting at its feet, one of the "beggars and vagrants" who will be "dealt with according to law." https://www.christianapayne.com/blog
In my landscape class this month we will be studying trees.
Darker, shorter days. It is the season of advent, from the Latin word adventus: arrival.
The feeling is palpable; waiting out the darker, shorter days until they begin to grow longer, signaling a new year ahead. It is hard to resist the impulse to light a candle. It just feels right.
The light is beautiful and hopeful.
I have been working on a series of small studies of red votive candles, I am literally painting them in the dark, usually early in the morning before the sun comes up. The warm red light is inviting, and it is peaceful working in the early hours with reds and black perhaps to capture the charm of a candle in the dark.
On the easel right now is the grisaille for my next painting. I am considering experimenting a bit with color and texture. It will be on the easel for a while until I have decided how I want to use (or not use) color in this painting. While deciding, I have been painting with my plein air class and using that time to do some field studies and experiment with color and heavy impasto.
Field Studies are essential to creativity.
Where is the field? In my case it might be out on the coast, over at the nature preserve or in the garden in my own back yard. Occasionally I have a goal in mind, studying a particular tree, or perhaps developing a new color palette.
In the field I am mostly looking and waiting.
Waiting to see and understand what is going on visually, then abstracting, distilling and editing. It's a process of drilling down to the core. My goal is to take what I learn back to the studio and apply what I have learned in the field to my studio painting, to help me move forward.
I will have a collection of the field studies on exhibit at The Santa Ysabel Art Gallery starting in December. Contact Annie at Santa Ysabel Art Gallery for details 760 765-1676.
Reverie, daydreaming. Late summer afternoons in the garden are perfect for that. Such a gift, the long unwinding of thoughts and letting imagination roam free. Has reverie has become a lost art? It is easier than ever to fill empty time with busyness and distractions. If those minutes were allowed to unwind where might they take us? Daydreams are a way to tap in to creativity, an oblique approach to solving problems and decision making. Often this is how I resolve a tricky passage or find an elusive title.
I designed the composition in this painting to be a complicated tangle of petals, leaves and circles punctuated by dappled light. There are quite a few tricky passages, and an imprudent number of circles. That was my intent: more of everything tangled up in a place of lingering and reverie.
I have been overwhelmed with family business for a couple of months, I had to abandon this painting for a while, and it was quite frustrating. I am back to work and all is well. Now the bees can dance! Valse Des Abeilles is finished.
I have written before regarding my reservations about using pink. No longer. I have decided it is the perfect anecdote to the cynicism and irony ingrained in contemporary culture. Yes it is a feminine and romantic color, but more than that, Pink is sincere and because of that it is risky and rebellious in our cynical art world.
Pink is also luminous and unassuming. It is generous with its neighboring colors particularly green. In a perfect marriage of complements, pink is toned down and enhanced by green. Pink and its parent color red are essential for contrast with green. It is the secret weapon in spring and summer landscapes, this anecdote to green.
While working La Valse I fell in love with the working properties of the pinks, their tints and tones. I have to admit that pink is pretty and after all, prettiness is sincere, which makes it a bit rebellious and that is fine with me.
