The modern plein air movement is only about 30 years old. How is
it changing art?
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| Not nearly finished...36X24. |
This is a new approach for me. I’m working bigger,
slower, and more deliberately. Rushing to make many small works sometimes like writing postcards. The difference makes me wonder how plein
air events shape the way we work.
| Rocky, for Cape Elizabeth Land Trust, took me 2.5 days to finish. |
It’s easy to forget how new modern plein air culture is. In 1985, painter Denise Burns formed Plein-Air Painters of America (PAPA). The next year, her group started an
annual exhibition on Santa Catalina Island. The
discipline has exploded in popularity with both artists and collectors. Plein air painting is accessible and
comprehensible. The Art Establishment may look down on it, but the typical punter
loves it.
Today there are hundreds of these events nationwide. There
are also nomads whose profession is to participate in them. But these
events are very different from getting together with your pals at the town park. For example, I never would have forced my work through a line of storm squalls if I were at home. I could return when the light matched my start, rather than struggling to finish in sub-optimal conditions. In fact, I could work an hour a day for a week on one
painting, if I wanted to. None of these options are available for the event painter. We must work fast.
| Towering Elms, for Castine Plein Air, only took me half a day. |
Festival deadlines give rise to a fast landscape style as
inexorably as the Internet has given rise to the 500-word blog post.
According to the Van Gogh Museum, Vincent Van Gogh “put a great deal
of preparation into The Potato Eaters,
his first large figure study, working on dozens of preparatory studies. The
final painting took ‘many days’ to complete, spread over a longer period of
time. However, during the last two months of his life in Auvers-sur-Oise,
Vincent completed a painting every day.”
Clearly, that kind of pace can drive you nuts.
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| Dry Wash, for Santa Fe Plein Air, took the better part of a day. |
As a youth, John Constable was a
dedicated rambler, sketching in the Suffolk and Essex countryside. These
scenes, he said, “made me a painter, and I am grateful.” But this was a
low-brow form of education for the time, and the art establishment suggested he not give up
his day job. Constable always maintained a strict division between his loose
field sketches and his finished paintings.
Paul
Cézanne, of course, didn’t have a car to dump his gear into and go. Instead, he painted Mont Sainte-Victoire more than eighty times, from various vantage points. Most frequently, he worked
from what is now known as the Terrain des
Peintres. It was close to his studio.
Tom
Thomson was transformed into a landscape painter through his intimate relationship
with Algonquin Park. His patron, Dr. James
MacCallum, said that Thomson’s paintings “made me feel that the North had
gripped Thomson as it had gripped me since I was eleven when I first sailed and
paddled through its silent places.”
The modern plein air
painter doesn’t generally develop that deep relationship with a particular
place. On the other hand, we are forced to paint very fast, and that often
results in a different kind of energy and verve. And it’s always fresh. We,
like our society, are constantly on the move. That’s making a new kind of art.


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