Tag: learn to paint

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Monday Morning Art School: the Ten Commandments of painting

Autumn farm, oil on canvasboard, for more information, click on image.

After decades of painting and teaching, I’ve realized there are rules that consistently make painters better. Ignore them, and you can spend years going in circles.

1. See accurately before you paint.

This sounds obvious, but it’s probably the hardest thing on the list. We are thinking creatures, so we easily slip into seeing not what’s in front of us, but in terms of what we think is there. A tree becomes an archetype of a tree. The sky is blue because we’re conditioned to think that way.

Stop naming things and start observing them. What is the actual shape? Where does the light fall? What is the proportion? What is the relationship between colors?

2. Design the painting before you render the subject.

A painting isn’t a collection of accurately drawn objects. It’s a designed two-dimensional shape. Before worrying about the windows in the barn or the leaves on the tree, decide where your big shapes belong. If the composition doesn’t work as simple masses, more detail won’t rescue it.

Autumn Farm, Evening Blues, oil on canvasboard. For more information, click on image.

3. Value is the backbone of painting.

Value is what makes a painting hold together. Squint at your subject and simplify it into light and dark. If those relationships work, you have a foundation. If they don’t, beautiful color won’t save you.

4. Think in masses and relationships, not objects.

Don’t paint a boat. Paint a dark shape against a lighter shape. Don’t paint a cloud. Paint the relationship between the cloud, sky, and land beneath it. Stop illustrating objects and start building a painting.

5. Big shapes before small shapes.

The temptation to fiddle is almost irresistible. We want to paint the little window, the branch, the flower, the ripple. Resist. Establish the largest shapes first, then progressively smaller ones. Fiddling with detail is a form of procrastination, resisting the bigger problem of structure.

6. Learn to draw.

Drawing is thinking. It teaches you proportion, shape, perspective, edges and spatial relationships. You don’t need to become a draftsman, but you do need to understand what you’re looking at.

Main Street, Owl’s Head, oil on archival canvasboard. For more information, click on image.

7. Paint from life whenever possible.

Nature is inconvenient, fickle and highly changeable. Good. These encourage you to make decisions. Painting from life forces you to translate the 3D world into 2D space. You learn to see relationships instead of copying information. You learn what matters.

8. Use photographs as references, never as masters.

A photograph is a useful tool, but cameras flatten, distort, crop, freeze and interpret the world differently than our eyes do. Use photographs to remember information you’ve already gathered through sketching and observation. Then make a painting, not a copy of a photograph.

9. Develop a repeatable process.

Inspiration is wonderful but it’s no substitute for hard work.

A repeatable process supports inspiration. Painters have spent two thousand years developing technique for beginning, developing and finishing a painting. There are small differences in what good modern painters teach, but they’re based on the same fundamentals. Start there.

Apple Blossom Time, oil on archival canvasboard. For more information, click on image.

10. Practice deliberately until the process becomes your own.

Painting more isn’t necessarily the same as getting better. Pay attention to what went wrong in your last painting. Identify the problem. Try something different. Try again.

Eventually, the things you once had to think about become instinctive. But don’t think you’re done finding problems to solve; that’s the enchantment and curse of painting.

11. Don’t be boring.

Follow the rules of technique, but make interesting decisions about the content.

Your goal isn’t to become a machine that makes proper paintings. Your goal is to learn enough about painting that you can make your painting—deliberately, intelligently, and with enough nerve to surprise yourself.

I have just two workshops left 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 Day in the Field

Camden Harbor, Midsummer, oil on canvas, 24X36. For more information, click on the image.

I’m juggling two different activities this week. I’m stripping the wallpaper and carpeting from my hallway in preparation for a bathroom renovation in September. (Yes, that’s mission creep.) I’m also packing my luggage, painting gear and teaching supplies for a two-week road trip. First, I’m teaching Sea & Sky at Schoodic Institute in Acadia National Park. Then I head south to teach Find your Authentic Voice in Plein Air in the Berkshires, from August 10-14.

What scares people the most about workshops

New students are afraid there will be better painters at hand and they’ll feel judged. But even the best painters are busy wrestling with their own painting problems. And plein air painters are—in my experience—overwhelmingly kind and generous.

The Wave, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard. For more information, click on image.

What they’re really asking

The real question is, “What a painting workshop really like?” The unknown is intimidating. Will you be rushed? (No.) Will you spend the day watching demonstrations? (No.) Will there be enough individual help? (Yes.)

A quick note on weekly classes before we get into it

Claim your spot in Painting Nocturnes, Tuesday evenings or Painting Water, Monday evenings. Both are 6-9 PM, starting the week of August 17, 2026.

I upload videos of these online classes and you have access to them for as long as there’s YouTube. That means you can review them if you need a refresher or have to cut out early.

Brigantine Swift in Camden Harbor, 24X30, oil on canvas, framed, for more information, click on image.

Let’s look at a typical day

Serious teachers spend a lot of time investigating great locations. I’ll use Home Farm at Undermountain in the Berkshires as my example. This location has farm animals, elegant Victorian barns, and a long view across Parson’s Marsh.

We meet at 9 AM. I start with a short demo to demystify perspective, because architecture can be scary when you don’t know the tricks. Then students separate and start work on their own paintings. I do rounds from painter to painter, timing myself so that I don’t overload them with information. We understand best when new information comes in small bites.

Home Farm at Undermountain is different every year. Perhaps horses will amble over to see what’s happening, or a riding lesson is in the outdoor ring. Goats or sheep graze by the old chicken house. There are always elegant horses in the barn.

We gather to eat our bagged lunches and talk about our work. After lunch, some painters look for another view. Others are still deeply engaged in their first painting, and as long as they stay true to their value sketch they can take as long as they want.

My walk gets longer as students spread out, but I like walking.

What kind of advice am I giving as I circulate? Maybe composition needs simplifying. Perhaps a student lost the shadows that made his sketch so joyful. Maybe her color temperature has drifted, or she’s struggling to establish a clear focal point. Each painter receives advice tailored to where they are, whether it’s their first plein air outing or they’ve been painting outdoors for decades.

At 4 PM, I offer to take anyone who’s interested to Parson’s Marsh for a short hike. It’s a lovely way to stretch our legs and chatter.

Some painters room together, others decide to have supper together, others go explore Lenox’s many charms. Friendships form quickly when people share long days outdoors doing what they love.

Ketch and Schooner, 8X10 in a solid silver leaf frame. For more information, click on image.

I didn’t invent this model

This model used by all good teachers, indoors or out. It’s remarkable how much growth can happen in only a few hours when we’re working alongside other motivated artists in a supportive environment.

After decades of teaching, I know that 15 is the absolute maximum number a class should include. Small groups allow individual attention without sacrificing the energy that comes from painting alongside other dedicated artists. Everyone gets daily one-on-one easel guidance.

I have just two workshops left 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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St. Swithin loves plein air painters (this year, at least)

Carol L. Douglas painting at Acadia National Park
Cassie Sano’s painting of Home Farm at Undermountain’s Victorian barn from the Berkshire workshop.

St. Swithin’s Day was July 15. According to folklore, the weather conditions on this day—rain or sunshine—will hold for the next 40 days.

St. Swithin asked to be buried outside so that ‘the sweet rain of heaven’ might fall on his grave. When he was moved to an indoor shrine in 971 AD, he was so displeased that it rained continuously for the next 40 days.

His legend has a whiff of scientific truth. Around the middle of July, the polar jet stream settles into a pattern which mostly holds steady until the end of August. Here in the northeast, St. Swithin’s weather set fair, which bodes well for my next two workshops: Sea & Sky at Acadia National Park (8/2-7) and Find your Authentic Voice in Plein Air in the Berkshires (8/10-14).

My favorite photo of Becky Bense.

A quick note on weekly classes before we get into it

Claim your spot in Painting Nocturnes, Tuesday evenings or Painting Water, Monday evenings. Both are 6-9 PM, starting the week of August 17, 2026.

I upload videos of these online classes and you have access to them for as long as there’s YouTube. That means you can review them if you need a refresher or have to cut out early.

My own self-assessment

Someone recently told me I need to learn to ‘love myself.’ I cracked up; I spend more time on self-care than anyone but movie stars and influencers.

The activities that interest me most are painting, teaching painting, and writing about painting. Self-assessment is notoriously unreliable, but I think I’m good at these things.

These musings were prompted by Mark Gale texting, “I think, Carol, you can certainly teach people to paint.” That jogged me into asking a few of my Berkshires workshop students to tell you about their experiences. I decided to leave them unedited. Read through them, and imagine what a workshop can do for you.

The absolutely incredible view from HomeFarm at Undermountain, courtesy Berkshires Online

Cheryl Shanahan

Carol Douglas has made me a better painter—twice. I first studied with her in Acadia National Park (2024) and returned for her Berkshires workshop (2025) because I knew I’d be challenged in all the right ways.

We painted at several inspiring locations, including a historic horse farm, a Shaker village, an orchard, and a waterfall (bring your bug spray).

Carol has a remarkable ability to meet every student where they are, offering thoughtful, individualized instruction that sharpens observation, strengthens drawing, and builds confidence.

Under her guidance, I became more intentional about sketching from life, mixing color from direct observation, and exploring gouache as a new-to-me medium.

If you’re willing to arrive with an open mind, work hard, and embrace constructive feedback, you’ll leave painting at a higher level than when you arrived.

Becca Wilson

Taking Carol’s workshops has made me a much stronger painter because she emphasizes the fundamentals in a way that is approachable and immediately practical. I came away with a much better understanding of color theory, working with a limited palette, creating value studies, scaling up drawings, composition, and techniques for painting challenging subjects like multi-roofed barns, gnarly old tees, and clouds. Those are skills that continue to influence every painting I make.

The Berkshire workshop was especially memorable because it was relaxed, encouraging, and full of opportunities to explore. We painted in several beautiful locations, and Carol gently pushed me to choose subjects I probably wouldn’t have attempted on my own. That challenge expanded both my confidence and my way of seeing a landscape.

Carol doesn’t just demonstrate techniques. She teaches you how to really observe what you’re seeing, which completely changes the way you approach a painting, no matter the medium. 

My advice to future participants would be to stay open to painting subjects outside your comfort zone and to trust the process. Carol creates an environment where experimentation feels safe, and that’s where a lot of the learning happens. I particularly loved the final critique with my fellow students. Whether you’re looking to strengthen your technical skills or simply grow as an artist, you’ll leave with both new knowledge and renewed confidence.

Lynda Mussen painting under a changeable sky in the Berkshires. She’s coming back to Schoodic this year.

Lauren Hammond

In 2024, I attended the Berkshire workshop. The moment I arrived, I realized it was the perfect setting to learn how to paint layered bands of green trees, open fields, and wooded landscapes. I dove right in, and with Carol’s generous guidance, I made significant progress in this area.

Amy Holderness

I had the pleasure of taking Carol Douglas’s five-day painting workshop in the beautiful Berkshires, and it was a truly memorable experience as it was my first time taking a workshop like this.  Each day brought us to a different location, offering fresh inspiration and new challenges as we painted our way through the stunning landscape.

Carol is a wonderful teacher who shares her knowledge and encouragement in a way that makes you want to keep painting and improving. One of the best compliments I received during the workshop was, “I wish I had painted that.” It was such an encouraging moment and a reminder of how much I had grown over the course of the workshop.

One of the best pieces of advice Carol gave me was to start each day with a small, 20-stroke painting. This simple exercise helped me loosen up, focus on the essentials, and let go of the pressure to make every painting perfect. The 20-stroke painting I did on-site was eye opening as I learned how to plan my work in advance and then just go for it. 

Kimberly Quinn-Jones’ underpainting on Blueberry Hill at Schoodic.

I came away from the workshop with new skills, renewed confidence, and wonderful memories of painting in the Berkshires. I highly recommend Carol’s workshop to anyone looking to grow as a painter while enjoying a truly inspiring and supportive experience.

I have just two workshops left 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: nocturnes and water

Christmas Eve 2, oil on canvasboard, private collection.

I’d like to pretend that I am very systematic about my painting classes, but the truth is that I sometimes go haring off after rabbits. This one was set off by a student who loves nocturnes. I’m focusing on them myself right now, so it seemed like a perfect fit.

Since my classes end up oversubscribed on the first go-round, it makes sense to repeat Painting Water so those people who were shut out last time get a chance.

The bald facts:

Amazing Grace, 12X16, oil on archival canvasboard, private collection

Painting Nocturnes
Tuesday evenings, 6-9 PM
August 18, 25, September 1

In this focused, three-week session, we’re going to demystify the night scene. If you’ve ever found yourself mesmerized by the night sky, this class is for you. Learn more.

“Surf at Marshall Point,” oil on canvasboard, private collection.

Zoom Class: Painting Water

Monday evenings, 6-9 PM
August 17, 24, 31

Light, surface, and movement are the three important elements in painting water. Class size is limited, claim your spot now! Learn more.

I upload videos of these online classes and you have access to them forever (or for as long as there’s YouTube.) That means you can review them if you feel you need a refresher or have to cut out early for some reason.

Why these subjects matter

Water and nocturnes are both subjects that are just a little mysterious. They’re also two of the most rewarding subjects to learn to paint because they teach lessons that carry over into every landscape you create.

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

Water

Water is often the most mesmerizing part of a landscape, which is why I paint it so much. It catches the light, reflects the sky, and adds movement and atmosphere to what might be an otherwise static scene. Yet many painters struggle because they try to paint every ripple. Instead, there’s an underlying structure, based on the physics of light. Once you figure it out, you’ll struggle no more.

In this class, you’ll learn how light, surface, and movement work together to create believable water. That’s true whether you’re painting a quiet pond, a bustling harbor or surf breaking on a rocky Maine shore. Once you understand the principles, you’ll never look at water the same way again.

Nocturnes

There’s something magical about painting after dark. I’m better at it before dawn than after dusk, although most people see it otherwise. Either way, the world is quieter, colors are subtler and every light source suddenly matters.

In this focused three-week session, we’ll demystify the nocturne. You’ll learn how to organize values and use color to suggest darkness rather than relying on blackness. You’ll create paintings filled with atmosphere and mood. If you’ve ever been captivated by moonlight, glowing windows or the last light lingering in the western sky, this class will give you the tools to paint them with confidence.

Both classes are taught live on Zoom and include explanations, discussion, critique and plenty of time for questions. They’re designed for painters who want practical, repeatable techniques they can apply immediately to their own work. As always, class sizes are intentionally small so everyone has an opportunity to participate.

I hope you’ll join me for one—or both—of these classes. They’re two of my favorite subjects to teach, and I think you’ll come away seeing the world with fresh eyes.

I have just two workshops left 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: why most beginner paintings fail

Inlet, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for details.

Most beginner paintings don’t fail because of lack of hard work. In fact, the problem is often the opposite: too much effort in the wrong places. Careful rendering and earnest attention can’t fix a fundamentally-flawed painting.

Detail is seductive

I’ve only known one painter who could start from a single detail and work outward; even he doesn’t always succeed. Most artists end up floundering when they do that. Of course, when you’re new to painting, detail is seductive; it’s just so much fun to focus on the apple rather than the branch. But when you do that, you’re overwhelmingly likely to put that apple in the wrong spot or use the wrong values. And then, you’ll either get to repaint the whole thing or admit defeat.

There have been times when I’ve been tempted to ignore this rule, for example when storm clouds are rolling in. I have learned from sad experience that this never works.

Eastern Manitoba River, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for details.

Good paintings are built from big shapes, not tiny parts. If the underlying structure isn’t solid, no amount of detail will fix it. And painting any one area to completion without considering its relationship to the whole is a recipe for failure.

Learn the art of aggressive simplification. Use a big brush and don’t pick up its smaller cousin until all your shapes are blocked in. Take your glasses off while looking at your subject, or, if you’re cursed with perfect vision, squint.

Value is king

Color has three facets:

  • Value—how light or dark something is;
  • Hue—the position on the color wheel (i.e., red, blue, yellow, etc.);
  • Chroma—the intensity of the color.
Île d’Orléans waterfront farm, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, click on image for details.

You can play fast and loose with hue, but if you don’t have a good value structure, your painting will collapse. Value is the bones of all 2-D art.  

Beginner paintings often suffer from compressing the value range into a narrow band of midtones. The result is flat, muddy, and lifeless. That’s first an observational question, but it’s also an issue of design. The painter hasn’t considered whether there is an interesting pattern of lights and darks.

Start with a sketch limited to just four values. Make sure it’s attractive and interesting before you move on to paint. Then, establish your value range early and stick to it. Work the whole canvas at once, comparing constantly. Ask yourself: should this shape be lighter or darker than the one next to it? That simple question can transform your painting.

Step back frequently. If you can’t do that, use your cellphone to take a picture of your work in progress; that can sometimes give you the necessary distance. If you’re really in doubt, convert that photo to greyscale and see what it tells you.

Grand Canyon at sunset, oil on canvasboard, 9X12, click on image for more details.

You can’t fix a weak painting by adding more paint

No amount of detail or bravura brushwork can salvage a weak composition. Instead, stop and figure out what’s wrong. If you can train yourself to see big shapes first and organize your values with intention, your paintings will immediately improve.

I have just two workshops left 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.

I have just two workshops left 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.

I have just two workshops left 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.

I have just two workshops left 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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Am I being selfish?

The Pine Tree State, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Am I being selfish?

I hope you’re all sitting quietly amid the remnants of Christmas and Hanukkah. I’m always glad to celebrate with my loved ones (and almost as glad to be done with it). This year, however, I’m on a mad rush to paint the rooms in my daughter’s first house so they can move in this weekend.

There’s a nagging little voice that I’d like to stomp out whenever it shows up in my life. It sounds practical, even virtuous. Isn’t this selfish? Shouldn’t I be spending this money and time on something more useful? I know that voice well; it torments me by telling me to do administrative tasks before painting. For others, it’s particularly loud when they consider signing up for a painting workshop.

I’ve spent my life hearing how art is secondary to the serious pursuits of math, science, history and economics. We tend to treat art education as optional, but scores of studies point to its importance both for the developing mind and for adults.  That moves it up in priority, from something you earn only after all responsibilities are met to something that’s vital for health and happiness.

No other discipline is framed this way. Nobody suggests that continuing education for engineers, teachers, or physicians is selfish. In those fields, learning is understood as maintenance. Painting is no different. If you care about your work, you need input—fresh eyes, structured guidance, and time to think deeply about what you’re doing.

The Late Bus, oil on archival canvasboard, 6X8, $435.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Self-indulgence or stewardship?

When you enroll in a painting workshop or online class, you’re hardly buying a luxury object. You’re investing in skill, clarity, and confidence. These are durable goods. They don’t wear out. They compound. A single breakthrough in understanding composition, value structure, or color harmony can quietly reshape every painting you make going forward. That’s not selfish; that’s efficient.

The Road to Seward, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in the continental US.

At a good painting workshop, you’re no longer guessing in isolation. You see how other painters solve problems. You learn why certain approaches fail and others succeed. Most importantly, you learn how to look. That’s the real product of art education, and it can’t be downloaded from a quick video or absorbed by osmosis.

Most painters don’t lack ability; they lack time and space. A workshop gives you sanctioned time to focus on your practice without apology. For caretakers, professionals, and anyone used to putting themselves last, this can feel transgressive. But it’s precisely why it matters. When you invest in your creative life, you model seriousness—about art, about learning, and about your own inner life.

From a practical standpoint, workshops often save time and money in the long run. How many years have you spent circling the same problems? Muddy color. Weak focal points. Paintings that never quite resolve. A few days of clear instruction can untangle issues that have stalled progress for a decade. That’s not extravagance; it’s problem-solving.

Last light at Cobequid Bay, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

But wait, there’s more

Art isn’t just something you produce. It’s something that shapes how you think. Painting teaches patience, discernment and restraint. It trains you to make choices, live with them, and revise intelligently. Those skills don’t stay in the studio. They ripple outward into how you handle uncertainty everywhere else.

Investing in a painting workshop isn’t selfish; it’s a vote of confidence in your capacity to grow. And that’s one of the most responsible choices an artist can make.

I’d love to have you join me for Trust the Process (making technique tell the story you want to tell), my live Zoom class designed to help you build a dependable, joyful, repeatable painting practice. (It’ll give you something to focus on besides the bleak midwinter.) We’ll dig into technique, creative decision-making and the mindset that frees you to paint with confidence. We meet Monday nights, 6-9 PM EST, starting on January 5, 2026. It’s suitable for all levels and all media. You can learn more here.

I have just two workshops left 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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Why care about composition?

Forgotten Man, 1937, Maynard Dixon, courtesy Brigham Young University Museum of Art

Composition is the quiet engine of a successful painting. It’s the part viewers feel before they start thinking rationally. It’s also the part painters often skip past too quickly. I’m busy writing my upcoming Zoom class, Trust the Process (making technique tell the story you want to tell), and of course composition is a big part of that.

Rouen Cathedral, Full Sunlight, 1894, Claude Monet, courtesy Musée d’Orsay

The first pillar of composition is harmony

Harmony in notan is about space cutting—the abstract division of the picture into dark and light shapes. This is not strict value modeling or chiaroscuro. It’s closer to pattern and rhythm. When Whistler painted Symphony in White, No. 2, he wasn’t describing light so much as arranging shapes.

Harmony in line is about the boundaries between shapes and the relationships between those boundaries and the surrounding space. The Charioteer of Delphi is a masterclass in this. Even in stillness, the interlocking lines guide the eye with clarity and restraint. Strong line harmony keeps a painting readable from across the room.

Harmony in color depends on hue, saturation, and value working together. Monet’s Rouen Cathedral series shows how disciplined color harmony can create vastly different moods using the same motif. Color isn’t decoration; it’s structure.

Vitruvian Man, c. 1490, Leonardo da Vinci, courtesy Gallerie dell’Accademia

What’s my number one rule?

If you’ve taken any of my classes, you’ve probably already answered, “Don’t be boring!” All rules can be broken, but only once you know what they are. Jacques Henri Lartigue’s Cousin Bichonnade works precisely because it bends expectations with confidence. Predictability is the real enemy, and that means being unpredictable even to yourself.

Dividing the frame in interesting ways helps avoid that trap. The rule of thirds is just the very beginning. There’s no law that says you can’t put the subject smack dab in the center of your composition. Look no farther than Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man to see the power of symmetry and geometry in design.

Maynard Dixon’s Forgotten Man and Abandoned Ranch demonstrate how restraint, scale, and placement create emotional gravity. Both tell the story of the Great Depression indirectly, yet powerfully. Which brings us to focal points, which are different from the subject of a painting. Know what and where they are before you paint. Use contrast and line to support them—and never park them on the edge of the canvas.

Before the Race, 1882–1884, Edgar Degas, courtesy The Walters Art Museum

Finally, consider the motive line, or kinetic line. It’s tied to the major area of focus, divides contrasting values, and must be complex and intentional. Edgar Degas and Winslow Homer both used motive line to energize still scenes, guiding the viewer through the painting with quiet authority.

Want to learn more about this? I’d love to have you join me for Trust the Process (making technique tell the story you want to tell), my live Zoom class designed to help you build a dependable, joyful, repeatable painting practice. We’ll dig into technique, creative decision-making and the mindset that frees you to paint with confidence. We meet Monday nights, 6-9 PM EST, starting on January 5, 2026. It’s suitable for all levels and all media. You can learn more here.

I have just two workshops left in 2026! Reserve your spot:

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

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters