Everyone can be an artist

A tragic gentleman amateur gave England its first watercolors of America

Religious rite of the Secotan-Indians in North Carolina, by John White, c. 1585, courtesy of the British Museum

I’ve written before about how the Cult of Genius gave society the misguided notion that art is a special gift for only a special few. Before the 18^th century, drawing and painting were part of the gentleperson’s toolkit.

John White is remembered as the governor of the tragic Lost Colony of Roanoke. He was also a fine painter. His field sketches spurred a mania for exploration and settlement of the New World.

Almost nothing is known about his background. He attended St. Martin’s Church, Ludgate, married Thomasine Cooper in 1566, and fathered at least two children. He was involved with the court of Elizabeth I, and a friend of Sir Walter Raleigh. He had the education of a gentleman.

Woman of the Secotan-Indians in North Carolina, by John White, c. 1585, courtesy of the British Museum

Raleigh sent White as artist-illustrator to the mad Sir Richard Grenville's first voyage to the New World. His paintings from this trip are an historical treasure. They’re our sole visual documentation of the natives of North America before European settlement.

A plan of the coast near Roanoke Colony, by John White, c. 1585, courtesy of the British Museum

White’s paintings were a sensation in Europe. They were reproduced through engraving by Theodore de Bry and published in 1590 under the title America.

Raleigh next gave White the task of organizing a new settlement in Chesapeake Bay. White convinced more than a hundred colonists to join him, including his daughter Eleanor and son-in-law Ananias Dare. In reward, he was named the colony’s governor.

An Algonquin sorcerer, by John White, c. 1585, courtesy of the British Museum

Roanoke Colony was never their goal. Their navigator simply refused to bring them north to Chesapeake Bay. His argument was that “summer was farre spent, wherefore hee would land all the planters in no other place.”

Grenville had left 15 men to defend his old discovery. They were all dead. The new settlers fixed up the old cabins. In their first military foray against hostile tribes, they accidentally killed friendly natives instead. Henceforth, relations with the locals—already fraught because of Grenville’s "intolerable pride and insatiable ambition"—would steadily deteriorate. Still, things went well for a time. White became a grandfather, to the New World’ first European baby, Virginia Dare.

Curing fish over a fire, by John White, c. 1585, courtesy of the British Museum

Unfortunately, the colonists were starving. Their supply ships were expecting to find them a hundred miles to the north. White returned to England, much against his will, to fix the problem. After a harrowing sail, he arrived in Ireland in October of 1587. His timing was atrocious. The Spanish Armada threatened, and all shipping from England was embargoed

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In early 1588 White was able to scrape together a pair of small pinnaces which were useless for military service. They were set upon by pirates and lost all their provisions. White and his crew narrowly made it back to England.

Clay pot boiling over a fire, by John White, c. 1585, courtesy of the British Museum

Finally, in March 1590, Raleigh was able to send help. They landed at Roanoke on Virginia Dare’s third birthday. The buildings were gone and the settlers had disappeared. The Englishmen spent months looking for them, but they were never found.

White never fully recovered. He ended up on Raleigh’s estates in Ireland, where he brooded on the "evils and unfortunate events" at Roanoke. He never gave up hope that his daughter and granddaughter were somewhere, still alive.

It's about time for you to consider your summer workshop plans. Join me on the American Eagle, at Acadia National Park, at Rye Art Center, or at Genesee Valley this summer.

Hydrate or die

Plein air painters may not often break a sweat, but we’re exposed to the same environmental stresses as athletes.

Niagara Falls, pastel, Carol L. Douglas.

Yesterday, I wrote that when my painting goes south, I ask myself basic questions about my process and the ergonomics of painting. Then I proceeded to ignore my own advice. I felt terrible all day, fighting a headache and fatigue. At 2 PM I took aspirin with a cup of coffee and tucked myself in my bed for a few moments to wait for them to work. At dinnertime, I awoke with a start when my friend Barb hallooed from my kitchen.  I’d missed an appointment and wasted an afternoon.

I wasn’t particularly overtired; I was thirsty. Proper hydration is as much a priority for plein air painters and long-distance travelers as it is for athletes. Although the results of drinking insufficient water are less spectacular for us, they’re no less real.

Headwaters of the Hudson, oil on canvas, Carol L. Douglas.

I often bring my water bottle with me, only to use it as a wind-weight on my easel or for wetting paints. Why am I so resistant to drinking in the field?

The problem isn’t the opportunity to drink fluids; it’s the opportunity to expel them. Even if you’re accustomed to peeing in the woods, it isn’t always possible. Le pipi rustique is simply more difficult for women than it is for men, and I subconsciously avoid it.

As a teacher, I’m mindful about not putting my students in situations where there aren’t bathrooms. As a painter, I’m more willing to go off the beaten path.

Curve on Goosefare Brook, 8X6, Carol L. Douglas.

The same is true with being on the road. Beverage options are limited to coffee, water, or sodas. Rest stops are few and far between, and stopping takes time. Fast food, should you be unlucky enough to have to eat it, is loaded with sodium. While one could prepare food and beverages at home, it’s a third level of packing, on top of equipment and clothing. I never seem to have the time to do it.

It’s true that the benefits of water have been oversold in recent years. Still, water is important, and we suffer when we don’t drink it. Our bodies are about 60% water. It plays a role in every major system. Cells that don't maintain the proper electrolyte balance shrivel, resulting in muscle fatigue. Water helps our kidneys excrete toxins and keeps our bowels happy. It lubricates our joints and regulates our body temperature. It helps transport nutrients.

Kaaterskill Falls, by Carol L. Douglas.

Plein air painters may not often break a sweat, but we’re exposed to the same environmental stresses as athletes: heat, cold, and wind. Hiking with our kits, setting up, and tearing down are physically demanding. If we’re not hydrated, we can’t perform at our highest level.

So I’m resolved—once again—to drink more fluids, even when it’s difficult. Now, if anyone has suggestions on how to succeed at that, I’d love to hear them.

An addendum: I had an eye exam this afternoon, and I suffer from a common ailment called epithelial basement membrane dystrophy. That's a fancy way of saying "dry eyes," and it just underscores the need to drink more water.

When does it stop being plein air painting?

“The Three Graces,” Carol L. Douglas

I have never been much for the debate over what constitutes plein air painting. What percentage needs to be done on location? Does painting from your car count? These questions mostly just annoy me. At every plein air event I’ve done, painters continue to work at night after they leave their location. Years of painting give you excellent visual memory. Letting your eyes rest after a day of working in bright light is an important step.

Since the only requirement is that the work be finished within a certain period, it’s up to us to interpret what “painted en plein air” actually means. And the vast majority of artists, I find, are very strict about the rules they establish.

“The Three Graces” as it looked when I took down my easel.

In most cases, I can tell at a distance whether a work was done on location or not. The energy of plein air painting is not easily faked, although the lighting and brushwork may be indistinguishable from studio painting. In plein air painting, the whole scene is constantly subject to change. That lends a frisson of nerves to the process.

“My clients don’t care whether it was painted on location or not,” Brad Marshall once said during one of these interminable discussions. “They’re just interested in whether it’s a good painting.”

“Mercantile’s anchor,” Carol L. Douglas

That’s true, but it becomes an issue for painters when they’re selecting paintings to apply for upcoming plein air events. At what point do after-the-fact edits disqualify a work from consideration?

I did the two paintings in this post during the same week. There was gorgeous weather and I painted almost non-stop on the floating docks at Camden. Of course there were interruptions, since wherever I go, that’s where the party’s at.

Had I gone back to my studio and made the same changes I made yesterday, I’d have had no hesitation in calling them en plein air paintings. However, my husband flew home from Norway, and I didn’t get back to them until yesterday.

“Mercantile’s anchor” as it looked when I took down my easel. Because I’d painted this boat in dry-dock, I know its black hull is underpainted in green.

I made no structural changes to either painting, because I’m trying to make a point. (Otherwise, I’d have moved that boom out of directly behind the anchor.) In neither case was a photo necessary to finish. But in both cases, the surface has been overpainted almost completely, and I had the luxury of time in which to finish them.

So, for the purpose of jurying, is this plein air painting? I don’t have a ready answer, and I’m interested in your opinion.