Except for my first lesson in pastels, I don't think I've ever learned so much, so fast as I have working en plein air, which is a French terms that means "in the open air," especially in reference to painting.
Preston King, my instructor (for anyone who has not read this blog before), said that working en plein air would make me a better studio artist; I don't know about that, but it does make me want to finish a painting in shorter time and makes me realize that when one painting is done, it's DONE. Learn from it, and move on to the next one. Not all paintings are prize winners; not all are precious, but the more that one does, the more one learns, the better one gets. Talent is a gift; we all have talent, but as Stephen King says, "Talent is as common as table salt." The difference comes from hard work and that involves practice, principles of composition, practice, color theory, practice, and much, much more that I still have to learn.
In order to prepare for the Lamar Arts' Paint the Town competition, Preston had me practice painting en plein air as my art lessons. I can't begin to explain how terrifying as well as how much fun it was. The worst day was the first. Nothing is more intimidating than having the instructor paint the same subject and compare the two. However, nothing is more informative, either. One's mistakes are glaringly obvious, and while embarrassing, the lesson is not mean-spirited and one learns more than can be imagined. Though to be honest, I think once was enough for me.
Sorry . . . a lapse into creative, though one-sided conversations:
Why, thank you, Mr. DaVinci; I'll take my palette of pastels and go home now. I'll see you in a few centuries; that's a mighty fine table you're painting there. The composition is excellent and one's eye falls immediately upon the fellow with the long hair, just to the right of center, wearing red, with a blue robe. Me? Nothing . . . just a couple of rocks.
Ah . . . Mr. Van Gogh! You have long been my favorite artist; yes, I know your stars have become cliche, but to me, they still seem the inside of my mind. There have even been poetic masterpieces written to them. And songs. I just like to stare at them--as I do your sunflowers at times. Me? Um . . . it's an apple. I have not yet mastered the tree, though I do a fair to middling bush now and then.
Finally . . . the popular Mr. Kinkade! Your work is the most falsely romantic I know, which is not to say I dislike it. But I'm beginning to prefer the reality of romantic paintings--the lacy shadows of trees, the different shades of purple as well as green, the variegated shades of rocks. Me? I'm happy with the thundering velvet of storm clouds and the roads that lead me onward.
Now . . . Back to the Acts:
Act II: This was painted from inside the studio at Generations Gallery, looking out the window; it is as bad as it looks. No point in delineating all the flaws; they're obvious. Just moan and groan and move on to the next one, the following week.
Act III: The picture I took of it was crooked, but at last I had one that was not a total embarrassment. Thanks to Joy Morgan, who takes pastels on Friday morning as well, who suggested I lower my roof line and to Preston (again and always), who helped with the composition and with the "reflections" in the window. I had no idea how much difference that would make.
Act IV: This is the plein air painting I completed in Barnesville, Georgia, on April 25, 2013. Despite much more professional work from some of the finest middle Georgia artists I've seen, this modest painting, a simple 8 x 10 won first place. I don't think I've ever been so humbled in all my life.
