"I Get it Now, Claude," The Zen of Plein Air Painting

The term "plein air" or "open air" became associated with painting in the late 1800's, when French Impressionists began painting outdoors with portable, tubed colors.  Before metal paint tubes, oil paint was stored in pig bladders, which were cumbersome and didn't travel well.  The portrayal of outdoor light and color was the focus of the Impressionists; Claude Monet painted the light on Rouen Cathedral at least 30 times.

As a painter primarily of animals, the prospect of doing 30 paintings of one façade or staring at a complex landscape, however beautiful, was mind numbing to me, so I rarely painted outdoors.  I knew that Strada Easel's September challenge (where you paint from life -not photos- every day) would motivate and educate me, and produce inventory for my "Backroads" solo show at Expressions Gallery.

Phil Starke says that after doing 100 plein air paintings, you learn to simplify a scene into shapes and values, and it gets easier.  I must have painted my 100th in September, as it began to "click" and I developed a passion for painting outdoors.

I used to think I needed perfect light, a good scene, and a couple hours to paint "en plein air," but after a week of quick, informal paintings, I realized I didn't need to wait for the right conditions. Noticing how different light affects the colors of a barn or the shadows on our street, I understood why Monet could paint the same scene over and over, as every hour of every day is visually unique.

As he studied light on its façade in 1892 and 1893, Monet rented rooms across the street from the Rouen Cathedral.  Even with huge advances in photography, if a picture is worth 1000 words, then information gained while painting on location is worth at least 5,000 words.  Looking at landscapes I painted from photos alone, the colors are too saturated and the shadows too dark.  The camera squashes mountains and erases depth.  Plein air practice helps me recognize the shortcomings of a camera and teaches me skills to correct reference photo discrepancies in my studio.

Monet later reworked a number of his cathedral paintings for an 1895 show.  Sheridan artist Dianne Wyatt uses her summer plein air oil paintings as references for larger, pastel paintings during the winter months.  One can look at Dianne's work and know she's spent years studying the landscape in person, not relying on a photo alone for information.  Note:  Dianne's show at SAGE Community Arts, hanging through Nov. 7, is a MUST-SEE!

Sheridan artist Jim Jackson expressed what I'd also discovered about plein air painting: painters like us want a subject- a main objective, but in quiet study of the broader landscape, the different, subtle components rely on one another; you find a certain Zen in the intuitive process of capturing the most important elements and assembling them to work together as a whole. 

It's as if you're creating a musical arrangement on canvas.  As an artist, you are composer and conductor.  You find a simple melody in the bass dark shapes, the tinkling pings of highlight and the harmony of color and temperature.  You might give a "focal point" solo to a tree, while relegating the enormous mountain to playing backup.  You move, change or omit sections as desired. 

Plein air painting is both meditative and active!  Your eye surveys the scene; you identify major shadow patterns and shapes of lights and darks, and quickly mix the colors you see before they disappear.  At The Brinton Museum's plein air event at their recent Rolls Royce Premier, clouds made the mountain disappear as I painted, but having the blue-grey color mixed beforehand aided me in rendering what made me want to paint that scene.

Plein air painting is like a meditation or a prayer, where you quietly connect with something bigger than yourself.  I personally praise God's creation when I paint outdoors, marveling at the reds and blues in a landscape that once appeared simply brown to me. 

When I don't get time in the studio, 30 minutes spent outdoors, interpreting a scene on canvas provides both a respite in a busy day and a tangible memento of that bit of time.  Even when the painting is terrible, the experience is much more fulfilling than 30 minutes in front of the TV.  It's made more enjoyable with my trusty old dog, Pancho at my feet. 

Besides improving my skills, plein air painting along back roads this fall helped me meet people, from landowners who graciously invited me to paint on their properties, to tourists who needed directions.  I doubt I'll wait for another Strada Easel challenge for motivation to paint outdoors. 

See some of my plein air paintings on my website, or, if you're local, in my studio at the Dayton Art Loop Studio Tour, Nov. 11, 10-4pm.  And don't miss The Sheridan Open Studios tour, Nov. 3-5.