Author: Carol L. Douglas

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Monday Morning Art School: how to start a painting

Île d’Orléans waterfront farm, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for more details.

Everyone is Polish on Dyngus Day

As all good Buffalonians (even those of us in exile) know, today is Dyngus Day. It has been called the Polish Sadie Hawkins Day, a celebration of the Baptism of Poland or the first real post-Lenten party. To me, it’s the first true sign of spring, and the perfect metaphor for beginning a painting: energetic, a little chaotic, and full of possibility.

Set the energy

If you’re as bleary as I feel, start with loud, perky music. May I recommend polkas?

Starting a painting can feel like looking at the far horizon. It’s exciting, but overwhelming. The way to keep from getting lost is to start simple, think big and be patient. Every successful painting begins not with detail, but with confident, broad moves that establish the foundation.

Marshes along the Ottawa River, Plaisance, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for more details.

Start by drawing

To start a painting successfully, start with drawing. No time spent with pencil or paper is ever wasted. You can do twenty loose, inventive, exploratory sketches in the time it takes to struggle through one flawed underpainting. These quick studies build confidence, sharpen observation and clarify your composition before you ever touch the canvas.

Toning (oils, acrylics and gouache only)

A warm or neutral wash knocks down the glaring white of gesso. (You’re not sealing the canvas; gesso is formulated to take paint.) Tone helps your eye judge values more accurately. From there, I draw my sketch in with paint; others use vine charcoal. I try to keep this loose and responsive while still honoring my drawing.

Cape Spear, Newfoundland, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for more details.

Less flailing, more looking

In a comment on Friday’s blog post, student Bonnie Daley noted that careful observation would also help in fishing. What if we committed to spending time looking before we cast our lines, metaphorically as well as physically? Careful observation is one of the most important painting techniques for beginners and professionals alike.

Study your subject until the complexity simplifies into two or three major value shapes. These large shapes form the structure of your painting. If they’re correct, everything else will fall into place.

The beauty of a more limited palette

A common trap for beginners is buying too many paints. Instead, use a limited palette of paired primaries with a few earth tones. This approach simplifies decision-making and creates natural harmony.

Think of color in terms of value and temperature rather than exact hue. That apple doesn’t need to be the perfect red; it needs to relate correctly to the colors around it. In painting, color is relational.

Athabasca River Confluence, 9X12, $696 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Simple block-in, solid foundation

Once your drawing and big shapes are in place, block in shapes with broad color masses. If you keep the edges soft at first, you can tighten as you move along. Note how values and edges interact.

If you’re tempted to add detail now, put down your brush and dance another polka. Student Beth Carr reminded me of just how much Euan Uglow could say with almost no detail at all. Solid block-in reads beautifully without detail, but it’s important no matter how much refinement you want to do. What you place here determines how later layers will work. Once the big relationships work, you can enjoy laying in details and flourishes, if that’s your bag.

An unbiased eye

If you’re ready to sharpen your eye and start seeing your paintings with more clarity, I invite you to join my Fresh Eyes Critique Zoom class on Tuesday evenings, 6-9 PM on April 14, 21 and 28. After that, you’re on your own for a few weeks, because I’ll be in the Cotswolds.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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Learning to see

Cowpath in Patagonia, 9X12, oil on Baltic birch, click on image for more details.

My husband and I are ramping up our daily hiking mileage in anticipation of Britain’s Cotswold Way next month. It’s my favorite way to visit a new place, and I hike for the same reason I paint: to slow down enough to actually see.

We spend a lot of time on the trail even when we’re not training—4.5 miles a day, through Erickson Fields Preserve and Beech Hill Preserve. (Maine, by the way, has the highest concentration of land trusts per capita of any state.)

Country Path, 14X18, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for more details.

Being in the woods every day can be miserable, especially in hard winters. Then we complain about the footing, the north wind and the intense cold. But even cold days can be engaging. After more than a decade, I know these preserves intimately, but they are never boring. They demand attention with their uneven footing, the shifting light on the ocean and weather changes. There’s no multitasking and certainly no playing with your phone. If I want to stay upright, I have to watch where I’m going.

There are a thousand small events in the woods, and they require learning to see. Right now, the moss is turning emerald green and the tops of the trees are a warm smudge of swelling buds. Almost all the snow is gone. I look every day for the first shoots of ferns poking out from drifts of pine needles and leaves; it will mean the soil has finally thawed. But with that comes frost heave, which means roots and rocks where there were none before.

Path to the Lake, ~24X36, watercolor on Yupo, framed in museum-grade plexiglass, click on image for more details.

Painting asks for the same attention

In the studio or plein air, painting requires the same attention in learning to see. Painters who start relying on what they think they know end up being caricatures of themselves. Painting isn’t about what you think you see or know; it’s about what’s actually there.

What’s actually there is always deeper and more complex than what we expect. For example, shadows can be a surprising range of cools and warms, the combination of the absence of light and reflected color. Out my window the bare maples are are a million shades of blue-grey, with shifting edges and values in the rising sun. Just like on the trail, when I slow down and really look, the ordinary becomes complex and, more importantly, beautiful.

Slow down, you move too fast

Our brains are wired to be efficient, to compress information. It’s highly useful to recognize “Man-eating tiger” and follow that up with “Run!” That might be a lifesaver but is the enemy of deep looking. Painters constantly fight that biological imperative.

Successful painters resist that first read. They question spatial and value relationships, draw, think, look and draw again. They develop the habit of visual concentration.

Seeing clearly is difficult. We all have blind spots; we all fall back into shorthand. We can spend months or years repeating the same mistakes.

Beauchamp Point, Autumn Leaves, 12X16, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for more details.

An unbiased eye

Good critique doesn’t tell you what’s wrong; it teaches you how to see differently. It slows you down in the same way a rocky trail does. It forces you to notice what you’ve been skipping over.

If you’re ready to sharpen your eye and start seeing your paintings with more clarity, I invite you to join my Fresh Eyes Critique Zoom class on Tuesday evenings, 6-9 PM on April 14, 21 and 28. After that, you’re on your own for a while, because I’ll be in the Cotswolds, looking.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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All creativity starts with structure

Downtown Rockport, 14X18, oil on archival canvasboard, for more details click on the image.

On Monday, I reviewed outtakes from Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters, a go-at-your-own-pace painting class for people just starting with oil paint. I was looking for an explanation of the fat-over-lean concept for my current Zoom classes and I figured the easiest solution was to review what I’ve already said on the subject. I came away with two thoughts:

I liked my hair better when it was longer.

OK, given that my hair was wet in the left-hand photo, I still regret cutting it off.

More importantly, watching those videos reminded me of just how hard I worked to master talking to a camera. I can now reel off a short video without breaking a sweat. That wasn’t true when I started.

All creativity starts with structure

Painting and making videos feel like two very different disciplines. At their core, however, they demand the same habits of mind. That’s true of most creative disciplines. I recently showed some students a dress I designed and sewed. “Did you do sculpture in the past?” one asked. Not much, but they demand many of the same skills.

Creativity rests on structure. That’s as much about time management as anything. When we were making the videos, my daughter Laura and I laid out daily work paths. When I’m painting, I lay out a similar map.

An instructional video depends on clear sequencing: what comes first, what can wait, and how each step leads logically to the next. That’s true of painting too. In both cases, you’re guiding a viewer through complexity without letting them feel lost.

Heavy Weather (Ketch Angelique), 24X36, oil on canvas, framed, for more information, click on the image.

Ruthless editing

Laura and I recorded hundreds of hours of video for Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. I draw relentlessly before I start a painting, and sometimes scrap projects that are going nowhere. If it doesn’t serve the purpose, it has to go—no matter how much time I’ve invested in it.

When we paint, we (hopefully) reduce the chaos of the visible world into shapes, values and color relationships. When I teach painting, I have to distill complicated ideas into digestible pieces. That’s why I ask my students frequently, “does that track?”

Pacing, timing and rhythm

Paintings develop in layers, each stroke building on the last. Move too fast and you mess up; move too slowly, and you lose momentum. Instructional videos demand that same balance. Linger too long on a point and your audience drifts; rush it and they’re confused. I got better at that over time.

The human touch

I haven’t figured out yet how to turn off Gemini’s stupid distillations of my emails. It can’t help being dumb; it’s a machine. Real art and real teaching require humanity and empathy. The painter must anticipate how a viewer will respond.  A teacher must anticipate where a student will stumble. The creator must constantly step outside himself.

Home Port, oil on canvas. 18X24. For more information, click on the image.

Imperfection is not failure

Nothing we do in this world is perfect. Furthermore, nothing ever gets learned by just watching videos or reading. Until you pick up the tools, nothing sticks (which is why there are exercises in Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters).

It’s easier to sit on the couch reading or watching videos about art than making art, because there’s risk in trying. As long as we only imagine ourselves as creators we don’t have to face our inevitable screwups. Yes, our early efforts are clumsy, but that’s not failure; it’s the process.

If you want to study with me

Experienced painters can take my Zoom class Fresh Eyes (Critique), a short, three-week session on Tuesday evenings in April.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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Monday Morning Art School: critique is executive function for the artist.

Pink Carnation, 8X10, oil on Baltic birch, is heading out west for Courageously Created Fine Art Show & Auction, Washington State.

Executive function is a core concept in psychology. It means a set of mental processes and skills that allow us to manage tasks, regulate our emotions and achieve goals. These help us plan, focus and multitask.

Executive function is also a core concept in painting. It’s the ability to critique our work as we’re doing it. We secretly fear outside criticism. But without some way to measure ourselves against artistic principles, we repeat the same mistakes.

Each of us has experienced harsh or unfounded criticism. But harsh words have no place in formal criticism, which is a structured, time-tested tool for growth. (I became a happier person the day I forgave those people, but that’s another story, one of slowly learning to extend the same grace to others that I want for myself.)

Cottonwoods along the Rio Verde, 9X12, oil on archivally-prepared Baltic birch, , is heading out west for Courageously Created Fine Art Show & Auction, Washington State.

“Do you like this work?”

When we submit our work to thoughtful analysis, the question, “Do you like it?” becomes almost irrelevant. However, a strong negative reaction can mean something. The work may be objectively failing or it may prick others’ beliefs or values.

How can you set your ego aside to figure out which is happening? Ask how the work measures up against the elements of design and design principles. Once we learn to ask these questions while our work is in process, we have developed the ability to self-critique. This pulls us out of the haze of subjectivity.

These design elements and principles transcend style and preference; they are the bones of painting.

Blue and purple, Sedona, 11X14, oil on archivally-prepared Baltic birch, click on image for details.

What are the elements of design?

The elements of design are line, shape, color, form/mass, edges, texture, perspective/depth/space. No painting excels in every area; we are mere humans. However, each of these can be strengthened as we get better at critiquing our own work.

What are the principles of design?

The principles of design are pattern, dominance/emphasis/focal points, unity/variety, harmony, balance, contrast, and rhythm and movement. These are different from the elements of design because they operate on a sliding scale, where neither end is best. For example, serenity and energy are both beautiful, but each serves different goals. The question is whether your painting goals are met by your approach.

Fresh eyes

My Painting Clouds class sold out in 24 hours; its goal is easily understood. That doesn’t make it more useful than Fresh Eyes (Critique). Critique is for experienced painters who want to get better, who want to develop that inner voice that guides their painting.

Not all critique is useful, and that goes double for self-doubt. That is vague, overly personal and usually just plain wrong. Disciplined critique is specific, grounded in the elements of design and delivered with clarity, objectivity and respect. It identifies strengths as well as weaknesses. Knowing what works is just as important as knowing what doesn’t.

Cape Breton Highlands, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for details.

This is for everyone who’s ever asked me for private lessons

When you analyze someone else’s painting, you sharpen your own visual literacy. You begin to see patterns: what creates movement, what deadens a composition, how color relationships sing or collapse. You learn the language of art criticism. That transfers directly back into your own work. You become both painter and editor, creator and critic. You’re able to diagnose problems before they harden into habit. The shared experience accelerates learning in radical ways.

You’ll bring your own work to Fresh Eyes (Critique) and we’ll analyze it together. You’ll learn how to self-critique effectively, creating that executive function for painting. This is a short Zoom session (April 14, 21, 28) meeting from 6-9 PM, EST. If you’re ready to stop second-guessing and start seeing your work clearly, register now.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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Two short Zoom painting classes coming soon

Hammerhead cumulonimbus cloud over Posse Grounds Park, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, private collection.

My daughter Laura had convinced me to not teach a short intersession class in late April, but then I realized I’d be away for six weeks total. (I’m off to do my annual hike before the summer season starts in earnest, this time in the Cotswolds.) I’m worried that six weeks is too long; students will want instruction and the camaraderie of a class and I won’t be there to provide it.

I’ve only got three weeks available so I’ve chosen two subjects that are suitable for a shorter session.

Fog over Whiteface Mountain, 11X14, click on image for more details.

Monday evenings, April 13-27, 6-9 PM: Painting clouds

Clouds are ephemeral, constantly shifting, and yet governed by perspective and structure. In this focused Zoom class, we’ll break clouds down in terms of value, color temperature, atmosphere, edges and movement.

You’ll learn how clouds form in the sky and how that affects how they look from the ground. We’ll concentrate on simplifying their complex shapes and building subtle transitions that give clouds weight and light. We’ll talk about how weather, time of day and perspective change what you see, and how to translate that into paint without fussing it to death.

This is not formulaic painting. It’s based on observing patterns in nature, editing, and confident brushwork. As always, you’ll get direct feedback, practical demonstrations and the benefit of working alongside a thoughtful, supportive group of your painter peers. All media are welcome and all sessions are recorded so you can revisit them anytime.

This short, 3-session class is designed to be a low-pressure way to sharpen your eye. Because of the shorter format, it’s also the perfect opportunity to give weekly Zoom classes a try.

If skies have been your sticking point, this is your way forward.

Sign up now and start painting clouds with clarity and purpose.

Teslin Lake, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for more details.

Tuesday evenings, April 14-28, 6-9 PM: Critique

Every artist eventually hits a wall where they can no longer see their own work clearly. Formal critique is the most effective tool we have to break through those plateaus—it isn’t about subjective likes or dislikes, but about the disciplined, systematic analysis of a painting.

In this Zoom critique class, you’ll bring your finished work and we’ll look at it together with fresh, objective eyes. We’ll cut through the noise and get to the core issues: composition, value structure, color relationships, and intent.

More importantly, you’ll learn to critique your own work in progress, rather than work yourself into a state of frustration because ‘something isn’t right.’

You’ll learn just as much from others’ work as your own. Seeing how different painters solve (or create) problems sharpens your judgment far faster than working in isolation. It’s a collaborative, thoughtful environment where honest feedback moves everyone forward.

Dawn along Upper Red Rock Loop Road, Sedona, 20X24 oil on canvas, click on image for more details.

Critique, by the way, is never about tearing work down. It’s about building your ability to assess, edit, and strengthen your paintings with confidence.

Students will bring work they’ve done on their own for analysis within the group. If you’ve never experienced a formal critique, this 3-session series is the perfect entry point. As a group, we’ll put our minds to the problems you’ve been struggling to solve alone. This shorter format is also an ideal way to test-drive a Zoom-based class.

Reserve your spot now and start seeing your work the way it really is—and what it can become.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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How to collect art

Spring Greens, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, Click on picture for more details.

My friend asked me to teach a class on how to collect art. I haven’t fitted that in yet, but Maine’s season is almost upon us so it’s something I’m thinking about. (We did get about 6” of heavy wet snow this past weekend, so the paintings illustrating this post are all in open rebellion against Old Man Winter still kicking around.)

Collecting art isn’t about money, prestige or—heaven forfend—TikTok trends. It’s about learning to see and then trusting your judgment.

Forsythia at Three Chimneys, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental United States.

Start with what you like

Start with what arrests your attention. That’s not necessarily what a gallerist directs you to, but what makes you think, what you cycle back to in the gallery or online. If you find yourself lingering and wondering, that’s a good first clue.

Don’t discount your feelings. Barns and lighthouses are sometimes derided as hackneyed, but they give many people joy. Painted well, they can be wonderful.

Art should not fight with its setting, but don’t be afraid to make a bold statement. A good painting will make the room, not blend into it. If it challenges you, that’s a great sign. I’ve found, over and over, that paintings that immediately struck me as pleasant didn’t have staying power. The paintings that endured asked something of me from the start, and sometimes left me feeling uncomfortable.

Spring Allee, oil on archival canvasboard, 14X18, click on image for more details.

Art appreciation

Art appreciates over time, but treating it like an investment only makes sense in the rarified world of so-called ‘investment art.’ That’s a big-money game based on reputation, scarcity, historical significance and market trends. (The investment art market is frequently a vehicle for money laundering because of its high-value transactions, secrecy, and lack of regulation. Even if I had the money, I’d be afraid to play.)

Still, the painting you buy today may appreciate significantly once the creator dies and market scarcity kicks in. My friends have paintings by James Morrison hanging in prominent places in their house. His work has steadily grown in value since his death, but that’s far less important than the joy those paintings bring to them and their visitors.

Investment strategy is no reason to buy a painting, especially if you plan to look at it, not store it in a vault. You’re going to see it every day. It needs power to not become just another household furnishing.

What makes powerful art?

Good art is resolved and assured. It has clarity of intent. The artist understands value, color and composition. There is structure, and enough mystique to keep you thinking. Ultimately, the best art says something, even if that something is a simple message.

Apple Blossom Time, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for more details.

Collecting is a practice

It’s absurd to wait until you can afford a masterpiece (especially since most of us will never get there). Start small. Buy studies, prints, or work by emerging artists. You’ll make mistakes. Everyone does. The goal is to develop discernment.

You will outgrow some of what you buy. That’s evidence that your eye is improving. Early purchases are your education, and you can pass those paintings along to others. As time goes by, you’ll see more, expect more and choose more carefully.

Where should you buy art?

Art sales have (like everything else) decentralized. Galleries, open studios, plein air events, or online are all fine places to buy art. The more art you look at, the better your judgment gets.

There’s no substitute for talking to artists. Ask about their process. Understanding how paintings are created sharpens your collector’s chops.

Take care of your purchase

This should go without saying, but take care of what you buy. Paintings need protection against excess moisture or dryness. Good framing helps protect the work.

Wanna buy a painting? You can start here.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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Monday Morning Art School: the three mantras of oil painting

Deadwood, oil on linen, 30X40, click on image for more details.

I can blather on endlessly about what I call the three mantras of oil painting. They’re simple to understand, time-tested and should be habit for anyone who wants to avoid flailing around.

Fat over lean
Oil paint is bound by siccative oils (usually linseed but sometimes walnut or safflower). These oils harden through oxidation, which is a chemical process. Solvent (odorless mineral spirits) dries through evaporation.

Each successive layer should contain more oil than the one beneath it. The lean layers, thinned with solvent, dry quite quickly. Fatter layers (richer in oil) set up slowly and remain flexible.

If you have too much oil in the bottom layers, the top will trap the slower-setting paint underneath. That results in cracking and wrinkling. Conversely, if there’s solvent in the top layer, it will evaporate and leave tiny air pockets between the pigment particles. Colors which looked brilliant when you applied them sink into dusty shadows of their former selves. You shouldn’t have to varnish to correct this.

Learn to start thin and build richness gradually. Your block-in can be as thin as watercolor. Your final passages should be buttery and confident.

Midsummer along the Bay of Fundy, 24×36, click on image for more details.

Darks to lights
It’s far easier to go from dark to light than the reverse. There are two reasons for that. First, the bones of all good paintings are their value structures, which create drama and clarity. (Watercolorists do greyscale paintings to compensate for their order of operations.)

In oils, it’s far easier to lighten a passage than to darken it. Titanium white is the slowest-drying pigment, and it’s almost impossible to wipe away completely when it’s in the wrong spot. Putting a light value where a dark one belongs is a time-consuming error, whereas darker pigments are easier to lift, lighten or cover.

This is a rule that I sometimes break. I get away with it because I’ve already established a value structure in my grisaille.

All Flesh is as Grass, oil on linen, 30X40, click on image for more details.

Big shapes to small shapes
It’s easy to muck up a painting if you get sucked into the eyelashes before you get the planes of the face right. The same is true of landscape; no amount of precious foliage can salvage a badly-organized painting.

The human eye reads masses before it reads details. Look across the room and you’ll realize that other than a small focal cone in the center of your vision, almost everything is indistinct.

Start by organizing your subject into large, simple shapes. Squint. Reduce the scene to a few value masses. Place them boldly and accurately. Only when those relationships are working should you begin to subdivide.

If you love detail, think of it as your reward for getting the big shapes right. If your large shapes are off, no amount of clever brushwork will save you. If they’re right, you can say very little and still have a powerful painting.

Winter lambing, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

When good paintings go bad

When a painting goes wrong, it’s almost always because one of these principles has been ignored. Color sinks because paint was applied out of order. Values collapse because the white you used too early has made fifty shades of grey. Composition falls apart because you got lost in trivia.

Start lean. Nail your darks. Think in masses. Then, and only then, indulge in the pleasure of detail.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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Fear is the most expensive mistake an artist can make

During last week’s workshop at Sedona Art Center, I talked to two artists about fear of failure. It’s a costly mistake. Every risk we avoid accrues a debt to ourselves that we can never repay.

Fear is itself failure, and it usually arrives quietly. It’s the painting you overwork because you’re afraid to stop. It’s timid color choice when boldness is called for. It’s the overly-safe composition that is dead on arrival.

If you’re going to mess up, go big

Years ago, my friend Brad Marshall showed me a bin full of failed paintings in his studio. It gave me a goal. There are 300-400 starts in my studio that I’ll never finish, I haven’t decided if I like or that are just plain awful. That’s an accomplishment, believe it or not. I no longer worry when things don’t work. That gives me freedom to keep working.

Of course, I still have crises of nerves. I’m having one right now as a matter of fact, which is why I stopped to write this post. But the only way to resolve it is to swallow my panic and get right back to work.

Painting, like all creative disciplines, is built on failure. As a painting teacher, I can reduce your failure rate by teaching you color mixing, value and composition, but in the end you have to do the work. That means a long trail of awkward, unresolved attempts. The artist who succeeds is not the one who avoids failure, but the one who metabolizes it.

Camden Harbor from Curtis Island, oil on canvas, $2782 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental United States.

What fear does

“Days they force you/Back under those covers/Lazy mornings they multiply…” sang Needtobreathe. It’s easy to avoid facing our fears, but days can turn into weeks and then into years without challenging yourself to make art.

Even with brush in hand, fear changes your behavior in subtle ways. You hesitate. You second-guess. You fuss. Your brushwork tightens, your color dulls and your process stalls.

What if I’m not a genius after all?

As long as art exists mostly in our fantasies, we can tell ourselves that we would be great if only we had the time/space/money/support to pursue our art. What I’ve realized in my dotage is that I don’t have to be brilliant to make a contribution. I just have to keep working.

Heavy Weather (Ketch Angelique), 24X36, oil on canvas, framed, $3985 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Painting is a numbers game

The more canvases we complete, the more problems we solve. The more problems we solve, the more fluent we become. Fear interrupts that cycle. It convinces us to linger too long, to over-polish work, to protect what should be risked.

So too, readiness is a myth. Confidence doesn’t precede action; it follows it. If you wait for fear to disappear, you will wait forever.

The solution is process and repetition. Painting or drawing a little bit every day helps you get over your dithering about getting started. A repeatable process means you’re less likely to spiral into doubt or self-loathing. Process doesn’t eliminate failure, but it makes it manageable.

Don’t try to avoid failure, outrun it

Equally important is momentum. Give yourself permission to move on from a painting that isn’t working. Start another and another. Each fresh surface is an opportunity to apply what the last failure taught you.

Moonrise, 12X16, $1159 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Happy first day of spring

“March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.” I’ve seen snow on Mother’s Day so each year I try to rewrite that proverb to express my disgust when winter refuses to let go. This year my version is, “March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lion with a thorn in its paw.” I invite you to do better.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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A great painting workshop starts with great students

Bob Torgerson and his painting, courtesy of Beth van Gorp.

At the end of every workshop week, people say, “Thank you for a wonderful week.” I appreciate that so much. Teaching painting workshops is one of the great joys of my life, but a good workshop doesn’t begin with the instructor. It begins with the students.

The best painting workshops happen when a group of painters arrives enthusiastic, curious, and ready to work. I’m not a big believer in ‘talent.’ It matters far less than attitude. What really shapes my week is a collegial group of people who want to learn.

Demonstrating a 20-brushstroke painting.

That energy is contagious. It was there when I was teaching at the Sedona Art Center last week. It seemed like a split second between our hellos and goodbyes.

Enthusiasm beats experience

Some students arrive with decades of painting behind them. Others are picking up oils or acrylics for the first time in years. Unless a class is specifically designed for a certain skill level, that doesn’t matter.

Karelina Wilkening, courtesy of Beth van Gorp.

The students who get the most from a painting workshop are the ones who show up ready to try new things. They’re willing to change their approach, experiment with new ideas, and aren’t afraid to fail. They understand that learning to paint well is a process, not a performance.

Those painters ask questions. They compare notes. They learn from their mistakes and keep going. By the end of the week, their work almost always improves dramatically—not because of any magic on my part, but because they were open to learning.

Lunch break, courtesy of Jean Hoekwater.

Painting is better together

There is something uniquely energizing about painting with other artists. You see how someone solves a problem with color temperature or simplifying shapes. You overhear a discussion about brushes or medium that sends you back to your easel with a new idea.

Bonny Wilson, photograph courtesy of Beth van Gorp.

In my experience, painters tend to be generous. Last week, Jean shared canvas paper for brushwork exercises; Bonny gave me something to calm my ratty gut, people were quick to offer Gamsol or boards. In a good workshop, students encourage each other as much as the instructor does. People share snacks, trade stories and look at each other’s work. That shared experience creates the supportive atmosphere where real learning happens.

Jacob Johnson and me, thinking deep thoughts about art, courtesy of Beth van Gorp.

Curiosity drives improvement

The students who thrive in workshops want to understand why ideas work. That curiosity pushes painters forward. A workshop is never about producing a masterpiece in five days, or being the best in the class. It’s about building skills you can carry back into your studio long after the week is over. When students come with that mindset, the results are remarkable.

Sometimes students have what Jacob Johnson jokingly called an existential crisis: a moment when nothing works and they wonder why they ever took up painting. I keenly feel their nerves. But that’s balanced by my joy when they pass through the crisis and things click.

Scouting for views, courtesy of Karelina Wilkening.

Join me for a workshop

When students thank me at the end of the week, I also thank them. A great workshop is a collaboration between teacher and students and the enthusiasm you bring makes all the difference.

If you’ve been thinking about taking your painting to the next level, or simply want a week immersed in art with other painters, I’d love to have you join us.

A sweet note, courtesy of Kelly Flint.

My upcoming workshops bring together artists who are curious, supportive, and ready to learn. Whether you’re refining your process or rediscovering the joy of painting outdoors, you’ll spend the week surrounded by people who share the same passion.

Bring your brushes, your questions, and your enthusiasm. The rest will take care of itself.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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Monday Morning Art School: a small-space home studio

One of my students at last week’s plein air workshop at Sedona Art Center lives in a small space in New York. She wants a home studio but is worried about how to fit it into her apartment. When I first started painting professionally, I worked in a corner in my kitchen.

I recently got an excited video from another workshop student giving me a tour of her new studio in a spare bedroom in her house. I was thrilled because I’ve noticed that my students with a designated painting space—no matter how small—always work more consistently

A home art studio can work in a spare bedroom, a corner of the dining room or even a spot in the basement. Almost any space in a modern home beats the garrets in which some of art’s greatest masterpieces have been made.

Pink Carnation, 8X10, oil on Baltic birch, currently on hold for someone.

Natural light or the next best thing

Natural light is the gold standard for painting, but in its absence there are excellent LED full-spectrum bulbs available today. My last studio had north-facing windows. My current one faces east, but it’s not much of a hardship. I just close the blinds if there’s glare. The vast majority of us don’t live in purpose-built studios, so we work with what we have.

Even with the best natural light, you’ll need supplemental lighting. Fixtures should be positioned so the light falls across your canvas and palette, not creating glare into your eyes.

Your light shouldn’t be too close or it will be uneven. Check that it doesn’t cast shadows across your canvas and palette, and that the light is more or less balanced between the two. Uneven light makes it difficult to judge your painting accurately.

Toy Monkey and Candy, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 framed.

Protect your walls and floors

I’m the messiest painter ever. I had a brand-new laminate floor in my kitchen, so I had a hard plastic floor mat and checked regularly for spills that escaped it.

I also had a small plastic rolling cart next to my easel in which I kept my brushes, paints and supplies. Efficiency mattered more than aesthetics. Everything was within easy reach.

Ventilation

For pastelists, a HEPA filter will keep dust down, which reduces the health risk of powdered pigments. That doesn’t work for volatile organic compounds (VOCs) so oil painters will need an exhaust fan. It doesn’t have to be complicated; your kitchen fan will probably be sufficient. Or, simply crack open a window.

Don’t wash your brushes in the kitchen sink

I’ve had utility sinks in all my houses, and I’ve washed my brushes there. On the road I sometimes wash them in the shower. If you have no choice, be sure to wipe out the sink thoroughly when you’re done, and don’t wash brushes over your dishes.

Prom Shoes 2, oil on archival canvasboard, 6X8, $435.

Choose the right easel

Your easel should hold your work securely and at a comfortable height. I started with this style single-mast easel (the exact model is no longer available) and eventually graduated to this model, which I still use today. If you have a pochade box or plein air easel, you can always use them in the house as well.

The smaller the space, the more organized you have to be

Nothing kills momentum like hunting for tools or supplies. Keep your brushes together in jars or where you can see them. Store paints in a shallow box or drawer so colors are visible at a glance. You don’t need lots of materials. In fact, less is usually more when it comes to art supplies.

Leave room to step back

You must be able to step back to judge your work. Arrange your workspace so you can easily step back six or eight feet away from your canvas. That may mean standing in front of the stove, but you can give the risotto a quick stir while you’re there.

Make it a place you want to work

You don’t need a grand atelier for serious work. What you need is a functional space where painting becomes a habit rather than a logistical challenge. Make it comfortable and inviting and you’re more likely to develop a regular painting habit.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters