About two hundred years ago, Masters of Impressionism you may know such as Monet, Degas, Pissaro, Renoir, and more created paintings outdoors or “en plein air” to gain a new perspective capturing light and color. After many quarrels with L’Ecole des Beaux Arts, these artists boldly traded highly esteemed traditions for individual expression. Rather than locking themselves in a dusty, dark studio with insurmountable requirements for painting, these artists snatched up their paint brushes, burst open the doors and let the beaming sunlight stream onto a revolutionary movement in history.
This brief historical account is not to undervalue traditional studies of art. The foundation of realism was the launching point from which the impressionists began. The impressionists’ focus and adoration to light and color still affects great artistic movements happening today. Plein air painting is sweeping its way across America in a growing speed!
There are dedicated artists across the country who study the implementation of the prismatic color sequence to capture the brightest sunset, who nurture and grow their own delicate English roses in their garden to capture true light and color as it reflects through each petal, who travel across the nation seeking new challenging landscapes, who have learned how to paint the deepest blues and purples of the night sky when it seems pitch black, and even those who will build a hat out of cardboard to stand in the sun for two full days covering a six-foot wide canvas. If that doesn’t make me want to jump out of my chair and go paint, I don’t know what would!
On this afternoon I did jump out of my chair after lunch, packed my plein air paint kit, called a friend, and headed to Ridge Ferry Park. It is often difficult for me to remember, as one who prefers to study alone, that bringing a friend will not only make the experience more fun, but bring a perspective unable to be found independently. You can never plan what to learn when you bring along a friend.
Today we decided to paint a hallway of trees leading up to a sunlit sidewalk. My friend sat down in the grass with a make-shift palette I brought for her. I was embarrassed at the materials I plopped down in front of her. She indicated no inconvenience or harm done by it. Calmly and relaxed she painted a beautiful scene of the trees leading our eyes toward the focal point. She seemed completely undaunted by the fact that with all these beautiful highlights in a sunlit, green, meadow… I forgot to bring my yellow paint.
Yellow is one of the main primaries! You cannot make yellow or pretend to have yellow by mimicking it’s temperature and value with other colors. Nothing was working. I tried transparent orange with white, and I even tried a few funky mixtures with my reds and cadmium orange. Meanwhile, my friend peacefully continued on with her work. If there were music to accompany our internal thoughts hers would be peaceful piano music in a lilting major key, and mine would be a clanging, fast-paced symphony rushing on to the next octave. I could not focus on how to paint without yellow. What a small thing to completely stump me on a painting. Did Monet become this frazzled when he forgot one of his colors? He was a colorist, for goodness sake! Would he have taken the opportunity to find a new magical mixture or would he have to pull the boat to shore, amble across the grass and back to his studio?
Regardless, I knew that with each new painting session, I would make mistakes. I knew that one day I would forget a small item, and the next day I would forget something even more important. (The very next painting session I forgot my entire palette and box. I thought my backpack felt light and didn’t think to double check before I hit the trail.) The learning derived from painting at Ridge Ferry was twofold.
For one, I was able to take a step back and be thankful for how much I have learned about color theory. A former version of my artistic self would have been perfectly happy to paint white (which I have learned is a cool color) in all the warm highlights. This is the main piece that stumped me and the very reason I decided to paint in the shadows for today, and continue in the studio. One of the main lessons I hear from every professional that sees my work is “What color can you use other than white to lift a value in your painting?” The possibilities are endless and the results are always better.
Second, I learned that a day in the sun painting next to a dear friend is a moment for which to be thankful. If I were to paint my friend sitting in the grass, she would have added to the serenity of the green meadow scene. This is because she was here to enjoy painting and be thankful this is something we can enjoy together. In addition, the result of her painting was much better because she was at ease with the experience. There is a time and place for both results and processes. Both are equally valuable. If I spent all my studio time simply enjoying the process, I wouldn’t work deliberately and passionately toward getting better- that is often the fire that fuels my work. However, I can easily exhaust myself without knowing it until I’ve forgotten the most important color on my palette, or spend an entire painting session mixing mud. When I become too focused on the result of what it looks like to improve, I need to back up, analyze the process, and think about the learning that took place even in the muddy paintings. Learning what not to do is just as valuable as learning how to do it.
Furthermore, I have come to realize that people who create and those who do not are placed into two categories. Ones who love results, and those who forego the result to enjoy the process. Why can’t artists be both? Can I not be an artist so determined to create the most gorgeous image that will stop you in your tracks and make your jaw drop? That is a clear result that I have not yet achieved but passionately pursue with discipline and vigor. While at the same time, I admire artists like my friend to delight fully in the process of creation without concerning themselves for a minute about the result. Both types of artists are incredibly valuable and each can learn infinite lessons from the other.
I often wonder how the Masters of Impressionism related to one another on this topic. They came from a background of strict rules to work toward a specific result which launched them into a desire to be more focused on the process of painting light and color. It’s as if their placement in history built the perfect storm of results and process. I wonder if Pissarro ever had to coach one of his peers about keeping the desired end goal in mind while still cherishing the process. (He was known for being the teacher of their peer group.) I wonder what language they used to describe these mental barriers. What dialogue took place between friends painting landscapes in the park in the mid 1800s? I wonder how they encouraged one another in a historical, artistic movement in which no one had ever paved the way before them.
Thankfully we have these Masters to look up to, and fellow friends and painters to challenge us.