Sunday morning brought warm sunshine and cool breezes as I slung my painting backpack over my shoulder and bounded toward the overlook. My brushes and tripod awkwardly stuck out of the front and sides of my pack like tree branches. My friend Laura took me on a walk in her backyard- Little River Canyon!
I thought to myself how to be prepared should I attract a lot of attention with my painting. On my first outing I was not prepared to answer a million drilling questions from onlookers gawking over my shoulder. Admittedly, the mental image that floated into my mind was a result of my apprehension. I genuinely love to make to new friends and answer curious questions. I now see those moments as my opportunity to encourage others to slow down enough to take in the beauty around them.
The goal was learning. I continually have to tell myself to be patient remembering I am not the highly achieved painter I want to be YET. You cannot rush or find an “easy road” to replace years of painting experience- the painters at plein air workshops who make light burst forth from their canvas in one swipe of perfect color. Those are the paintings to which I have set my sights. Nevertheless, even if the result looked like mud, I could put my first plein air rep in the books.
When we arrived at the falls it surprisingly wasn’t too crowded. Still, Laura tuned in to my mental dilemma.
“I have an idea!” She said with a curious look. “Can you climb over a fence with that backpack?”
Within seconds she was over the short wooden fence tucked behind a tall, sprawling bush. It looked like it would have beautiful blossoms on it in a few weeks time. I peered around the spot where I saw her disappear, plopped my backpack at the base of the tree, and hopped over. We were out of sight and the waterfall roared louder than before. We nearly had to shout to hear one another. The powerful water cast a gentle mist over us just enough to lightly dampen our clothes. Immediately in front of me by a few paces, the cliff edge dropped down roughly thirty feet into swirling, emerald water. I could squeeze just enough room for my easel at the edge of some craggy rocks.
I took a deep breath, and tap-tapped my brush into some transparent orange to begin my sketch!
Carefully observing the changes in value and color temperature of the landscape, I dipped my brush all across my palette incorporating ultramarine blue, sap green, cadmium yellow light, ivory, and transparent orange. Within a few minutes the warms and cools harmonized to create reflected light similar to when I paint rose petals with warm light shining through.
Laura contributed greatly to the creation of the painting as her curiosity and enthusiasm for light, color, and beautiful things kept the atmosphere lighthearted. If you’re nervous to try your first plein air painting, grab a friend to come along with you. Bring snacks, laugh at jokes, and take in the wonderous beauty of nature. I truly think those three things are what made both the experience and the painting.
There is so much to be thankful for about this entire experience though it only lasted up to an hour in total.
First, I am thankful for my friend and our spirit of adventure throughout this entire weekend. We spent the night before making s’mores and camping under the stars. Even though it poured rain on us in the middle of the night, we didn’t have to bail out on our plans. Furthermore, the heavy rain made the waterfall even more epic with higher water levels the next day.
Second, I had been studying impressionist oil painting for a year before attempting my first plein air study. I thought of this painting session as a celebration and showcase of all the knowledge I had fervently packed into my head and onto what seemed like hundreds of piling canvases. When I stood back from my painting I thought about how a year ago I never would have attempted something like this, or dreamed of painting outdoors by a waterfall!
A year ago, I found myself fumbling around with acrylic paint having little to no knowledge of light and color. If I had not been knocked off my feet by an injury, I may never have launched this endeavor to learn oil painting. On this day one year ago, I wondered how I would direct my attention and energy without running. Now, I cannot imagine a day without painting.
Running is still very important to me. In my year of deliberately studying painting, I never lost my desire to be out on the trails- to compete, to learn how to be the best I could possibly be at something, to build community with others as we learn from one another, to challenge myself, and be inspired.
All of these things grew in importance to me as I learned that I could experience this through both running and art. I realized my painting references came from experiences on the trail that are so unique to running and provide an intriguing perspective for painting. How else would I come to cherish the sunrise after the darkest hours before dawn, or know exactly how each tree stands with decadent beauty and color in each season, or what kind of birds live at each section of each trail, or what type of wildflowers pop up each new week in early spring? I used to think the only way to have a face-to-face, incredible experience with nature was by running. Now, I am ecstatic by how the two are undeniably and beautifully intertwined.
I hope I never go a day without being stopped in my tracks by something truly, awe-strikingly beautiful.