Tag: workshop

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Monday Morning Art School: maximize your painting workshop

Main Street, Owl’s Head, oil on archival canvasboard, $1623 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

The hardest thing for a teacher is the student who says, “yes, but…” to everything one tells them. I should know; I tend to be one of those myself. I know what it means to stubbornly protect what I already know, to rely on my own skills instead of opening my mind to new concepts.

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

Come prepared

Study the supply list, but don’t just run right out and buy everything on it. Every teacher has a reason for asking for specific materials. In my case, it’s that I teach a system of paired primaries. You can’t understand color theory without the right paints. Another teacher might emphasize beautiful mark-making. If you don’t buy the brushes he suggests, how are you going to understand his technique?

A tube of cadmium green that I once bought for a workshop and never opened still rankles. I never want to do that to my students. When you study with me, I want you to read my supply lists. If something confuses you, or you think you already have a similar item, email and ask.

(If you find yourself buying something for one of my classes or workshops and not using it, would you let me know? It means I’m missing something.)

Bring the right clothes. I send my students a packing list for clothes and personal belongings. But modify it for the weather you’re expecting. Don’t ignore the insect repellant and sunscreen.

The Surf is Cranking Up, 8X16, oil on linenboard, $903 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Know what you’re getting into.

“How can you stand this? It’s all so green!” an urban painter once said to me after a week in the Adirondacks.

There are no Starbucks in Acadia National Park or on the clear, still waters of Penobscot Bay. If you’re dependent on your latte macchiato, you may be uncomfortable at first. But the beauty of America’s wild places more than makes up for it. (And somehow, there’s always coffee, even where there’s no cell phone reception.)

Take notes

There’s a sketchbook on my supply list; plan on writing as much as you draw. If you write down key points, you’ll remember them far better than if you just read my handouts.

Listen for new ideas and ask questions. If I can’t stop and answer them mid-stream, save them for after the demo. Participate in discussions and know that your voice is valued; I’ve learned more from my students than from anyone else.

Home Farm, 20X24, oil on canvas, $2898 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Be prepared to get down and dirty.

I’m not talking about the outdoors here, I’m talking about change and growth. I am highly competitive myself, so it’s difficult for me to feel like I’m struggling. However, it’s in challenge that we make progress. Use your teacher’s method while you’re at the workshop, even if you feel like you’ve stepped back ten years in your development. That’s a temporary problem.

You can disregard what you learn when you go home, or incorporate only small pieces into your technique, but you signed up for the workshop to grow and change. You can’t do that if you cling to your own technique.

Connect with your classmates

There’s power in those relationships. Exchange email addresses. Keep in contact. Follow them on Instagram or Twitter. You’ll learn as much from each other as you will from me.

This was originally posted in March, 2023, but since I’m teaching a workshop starting today, I thought it was worth repeating.

If you’re ready to start painting, I’ve just released Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. You’ll learn seven essential protocols that every successful oil painter needs to follow. Each course focuses on one protocol, and you can take them in any order that suits you.

Reserve your spot ASAP for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: preparing for a plein air painting workshop

High Surf, 12X16, oil on prepared birch painting surface, $1159 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Plein air painting workshops? I’ve taught a few (gazillion). Like most good instructors, I’ll send you supply lists, clothing suggestions, and travel instructions before we set out. But there are intangibles that will help you have a better time.

Plan to be flexible. In March when I drove over the mountain to Sedona, AZ, the last thing I expected to see were inches of snow on the ground. But weird stuff happens. Weather, light and circumstances change. Adaptability is a great skill, and rapid change is what makes landscape painting both the most difficult and the most rewarding of all the painterly disciplines.

You can never plan for every eventuality—for example, my rental car from Phoenix had neither snow tires nor a snow brush. But if you set out with a broad range of stuff you’re likely to need, more or less you’ll have enough stuff to make a stab at almost everything. And your teacher or peers will have whatever you need to fill in the rest.

Sunset over Cadillac Mountain, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 includes shipping and handling.

Last year at Sea & Sky at Schoodic we knew we had a Nor’easter bearing down on us on the last day. We coped by preloading extra painting time earlier in the week. Everyone got lots of painting and learning in. We had the added bonus of watching a wicked storm crossing Schoodic Point, although there was no paint sticking to paper or canvas in that weather. Then there was the time Cassie Sano saw a bear.

Embrace imperfection: If you’ve ever wanted to learn to paint loose, plein air is your best teacher. You simply can’t fuss over the details in the field, especially in half-day exercises.

I tell my students they’re not in class to make masterpieces but to learn. Ironically, that’s when they often do their best work.

Ask questions: This is a hard one for me, because I’m not one for group sharing, myself. But instructors are there to help, and your peers often have valuable insights. Ask your teacher lots of questions. I’m usually grateful for them, because they reveal places where my explanations have been fuzzy or weak.

Surf’s Up is 12X16, on a prepared birch surface. $1159 includes shipping and handling in the Continental US.

Why should you take a plein air workshop?

Painting outdoors forces artists to observe light, color and form more carefully and accurately than working from photos. It’s far harder, and it teaches you to edit on the fly, so when you do work in the studio you aren’t slavishly copying your reference pictures.

Plein air challenges you to simplify and focus on essentials—composition, light, and value—leading to noticeable skill improvement.

Natural surroundings also spark fresh ideas and emotional responses that don’t happen in the studio. There are people joined by a common reverence towards nature, who are (overwhelmingly, in my experience) supportive, intelligent, and helpful.

Painting in public can be intimidating at first, but it builds confidence in your process and helps you become more resilient as an artist.

Lastly, we teach workshops in places that are beautiful—in my case, Maine, the Berkshires and Sedona—and wonderful to paint.

The Surf is Cranking Up, 8X16, oil on linenboard, $903 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

And sometimes there’s profit in it

Mark Gale sent me this over the weekend: “As I was prepping paintings for a pop-up market, I found myself including a couple from a painting series I took with Carol Douglas. Then I realized I have sold paintings from in-person workshops and other Zoom series with Carol. Yes, she will make you a better painter. She also has an uncanny ability to deliver intangible extras. Students from across the country meet, form relationships and stay in touch. Carol’s alums have an enduring community. And sometimes, that piece you thought was just a class exercise, ends up in the hands of a happy customer.”

If you’re ready to start painting, I’ve just released Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. You’ll learn seven essential protocols that every successful oil painter needs to follow. Each course focuses on one protocol, and you can take them in any order that suits you.

Reserve your spot ASAP for a workshop in 2025:

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Business for artists and painting in Sedona

Shadow Fingers, 11X14, oil on Baltic birch, $869 includes shipping and handling in continental United States.

First, the business

My friend Dennis used to tell me, “I’m an accountant with the soul of an artist.” That’s all very well, I’d counter, but every successful artist also needs the mind of an accountant. (Luckily, I never believed in that now-discredited left-brain, right-brain malarkey.)

On March 8-9, I’ll be presenting at the first Sedona Entrepreneurial Artist Development Program. This is open to Arizona residents aged 18 and over. The two-day intensive covers a range of topics from financial management and marketing to crafting an artist statement, developing work samples and selling artwork online. My part will be accounting for artists, and I plan to make it exciting.

Even if you hire someone to do your taxes, you still need to understand what expenses to record and what don’t matter. You need to be able to track your inventory, and, if you teach or run a gallery, how to protect yourself against liability.

Country path, 14X18, oil on archival canvasboard, $1,275 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Painting in Sedona

Immediately following the Entrepreneurial program, I’m offering Canyon Color for the Painter from March 10-14. There are still a few seats left.

I’ve taught and painted in Sedona for several years and know great places for morning light, evening light, and all the light in between. We’ll meet on location at 9 AM, work steadily until 4, and then you’ll have the evening to hike, take one of the famous Pink Jeep tours, or try one of Sedona’s many fine restaurants. If the weather is poor—and it almost never is—we can meet in a classroom at the Sedona Arts Center (SAC).

Dawn on the Upper Red Rock Loop Road, 20X24, oil on canvas, $2,318 includes shipping and handling in continental United States.

The top five things I love about painting in Sedona

  1. The weather—there is a scene in PG Wodehouse’s Quick Service where the old prizefighter Steptoe is trying to convince his wife to give up on Merry Olde England. “What you want wasting your time in this darned place beats me. Nobody but stiffs for miles around. And look what happens today. You give this lawn party, and what do you get? Cloudbursts and thunderstorms. Where’s the sense in sticking around in a climate like this?”

    He was urging her back to California, but in Sedona it’s also almost always fine. After this winter, we deserve fine.

  2. The scenery—Sedona combines some very brilliant colors: the reds of Bell and Cathedral Rock, the lush greens of Oak Creek Canyon, the sere yellows of the chaparral, and the deep blue of the sky. Because it’s seldom overcast, shadows jump and the light shimmers. It’s just magical.

  3. The people—I’ve known Julie Richard, the executive director of SAC, for a decade. It’s the same with Ed Buonvecchio, my workshop monitor. The rest of the support staff, including Bernadette Carroll and JD Jensen (with whom you’ll have the most contact), are kind and terrifically helpful.

  4. The hiking—There are 400 miles of hiking trails in the Red Rock Ranger District on the Coconino National Forest. Then there are state and city parks. Sedona is a hiker’s paradise, and I swear Julie Richard can tell you about every single trail.

  5. The funny things that always seem to happen to me there—Painting in Sedona has led to extremely funny interactions between the punters and me. I don’t think that’s from ley lines and vortexes, but because in the grand scheme of things, plein air painters are just one more dot on the overwhelming landscape. Come prepared to smile.
Hail on the Cockscomb Formation, oil on Baltic Birch, $522 includes shipping and handling in continental United States.

If you’re ready to start painting, I’ve just released Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. You’ll learn seven essential protocols that every successful oil painter needs to follow. Each course focuses on one protocol, and you can take them in any order that suits you.

Reserve your spot ASAP for a workshop in 2025:

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Keeping my cool

Bonnie watercoloring on Pearl Street in Camden.

I’ve been teaching a plein air workshop this week, and the air is unusually hot and heavy for Maine. Being a lifelong resident of the northeast, I don’t like heat and humidity. In addition, I promised my students from Virginia that it would be cool here, and Mother Nature made a liar out of me. (To be fair, it’s still cooler than Virginia.)

Years ago, my friend S— moved to Maine from California with the assistance of her mother. She loved her new house until the first really hot day. She flipped the switch on her thermostat to ‘cool’ and waited. And waited. “Mom,” she wailed, “the air conditioning is broken!”

Beth and Libby painting on Beauchamp Point.

“Welcome to the real world,” her mom said. “You don’t have air conditioning.” My California born-and-bred friend had no idea that there were houses in America without it.

Yves painting a house in Camden.

Our old New England farmhouse doesn’t have it, and I generally don’t care. It’s insulated, which helps a lot. We use fans, we cross ventilate, and shower in cool water. That works great for in the house. But outdoors is a different story.

Outdoors, hydration is key, but I couldn’t keep ahead of it this week, as hard as I tried.

Jeanne-Marie achieving perfect balance on a rock.

Student show, Friday July 12, from 5-7 PM

Today will be warm but breezy, so it should be perfect weather to come by my gallery for a show of my students’ work from this week.

We are located at 394 Commercial Street, Rockport. If you’ve ever wondered what kind of  painting gets done in a workshop, this is an excellent opportunity to find out.

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What to wear to an art show

Prom Shoes 1, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435.

I own one skirt and one dress, but I must combine painting and public events over the next ten days. I Googled what to wear to an art show to give myself ideas. The consensus was:

Men should wear a blazer or sport coat, dress shirt, nice trousers or dark jeans, and polished shoes. For contemporary work, they should wear trendy shirts, slim-fit pants or jeans, and stylish sneakers or shoes.

Women should wear a chic dress, skirt or stylish pantsuit, paired with heels or fashionable flats. For contemporary work, they should wear fashion-forward dresses or outfits, statement accessories, and stylish shoes. I don’t own any stylish shoes.

Libby and Sharon discussing the Neolithic stone circle at Beech Hill (okay, I made that up).

This all reminds me of Chelsea back in the day. My goddaughter and I had gone to Brad Marshall’s and Cornelia Foss’ openings, and were catching our breath on the street. We started to count how many people were wearing those heavy black plastic glasses that were then so cutting-edge. We stopped at a hundred. These people were deeply concerned with what to wear to an art show. Being seen is some people’s raison d’etre.

In Maine, people are not such slaves to fashion. This is a state where we have flannel and Sunday-go-to-meetin’ flannel. At any rate, I don’t care what you wear, just mark these three dates on your calendar, and come out and support us.

I am very grateful to Coastal Mountain Land Trust for being so welcoming to my students.

Friday, July 12, 2024: Painting in Paradise student show, 5-7 PM

I’m teaching my first of this season’s workshops this week. Since my gallerage (my own coinage, and I like it) is now open, I will be showing their work on Friday evening from 5-7 PM.

The gallerage is located at 394 Commercial Street, Rockport, and we’d love to see you.

This group is keeping me alert, as they’re all very able. I go home every afternoon wondering how I’ll organize the next day’s material to keep them interested. (I never want anyone to go home feeling bored, or worse, ignored.)

If you’ve ever wondered what kind of painting gets done in a workshop, this is an excellent opportunity to find out.

Frequent hydration breaks are a must.

July 18, 2024: Camden Art Walk

Galleries and shops are open all through town. I’ll be at Lone Pine Realty, 19 Elm Street (next to Zoot Coffee). Last month’s Art Walk was rained out, and I went home with cookies, wine, and lemonade, none of which are on my diet. This month, don’t make me drink alone!

Tired painters heading down the hill.

July 19-21, 2024: Camden on Canvas

“Twenty-one notable New England landscape artists will paint en plein air.” I like repeating that, because I am one of those painters. We’ll be at sites in Camden and Rockport from Friday morning, July 19, to noon on Sunday, July 21. I haven’t decided exactly where I’ll paint, but I’ve narrowed it down to either Curtis Island (bring your dinghy) or Fernald’s Neck, unless I change my mind. You can find out exactly where I and the other artists are by visiting the Camden on Canvas Information Tent outside the library’s Atlantic Avenue entrance. Or check my Facebook or Instagram feeds.

The wet paintings exhibit will be open to the public at the historic Camden Amphitheatre, Sunday, July 21, from 1-3 PM. After that, there’s a reception and live auction from 4-6 PM. Tickets can be purchased online for $75 each or by calling 207-236-3440. Proceeds are shared equally between the Library’s Campaign for the Future and the artists.

If you’re ready to start painting, I’ve just released Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. You’ll learn seven essential protocols that every successful oil painter needs to follow. Each course focuses on one protocol, and you can take them in any order that suits you.

Reserve your spot ASAP for a workshop in 2025:

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Drying sails at Camden harbor

Drying Sails, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I have paintings in Camden for the first time in several years. They’re at Lone Pine Real Estate at 19 Elm Street, which is a very good location indeed. Rachael Umstead, the owner, is one of my church buddies and the mother of two very entertaining boys. She and her staff have made a great success of the office. It’s downright swank, something I could never manage in a million years.

Camden harbor is a terrific place to paint boats, and I love bringing students there. You can get a hot dog (or something fishy) and a soda at Harbor Dogs, which has been there for more than 50 years. Ambience? None, if what you’re looking for is fine dining. I’m more inclined to sit in the sun and watch the schooners, the little kids fishing, and the ducks.

That painting under way.

It’s always fun to paint at the harbor after a stiff rain. Sailors will be busy bailing out their dinghies and raising sails to dry. That creates a lovely geometry of docks, sail and other boats.

I painted Drying Sails with my pal Björn Runquist. We were practicing our chip shots for Camden on Canvas, although I no longer remember why we felt that was necessary. I do remember that I encouraged Björn to paint one of the schooners, who waited until he was well underway and then dropped her frills. Sorry, Björn.

Another day, another iteration of the same subject. (Private collection.)

Camden harbor is one of the must-paint places for my students at my July workshop, which is right around the corner. If you’re considering it, you want to register soon, since it’s both close and nearly filled up. My other workshops are listed below.) And if you’re coming from out of town, email me and I’ll give you some suggestions about where to stay—the Maine coast fills up fast during the summer months.

If you’re ready to start painting, I’ve just released Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. You’ll learn seven essential protocols that every successful oil painter needs to follow. Each course focuses on one protocol, and you can take them in any order that suits you.

Reserve your spot ASAP for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: why is a workshop important?

Sand and Shadows, 8X16, oil on archival linenboard, private collection

I had a long chat with Olena Babak last week, where we mostly discussed how much we value our artist friends. The plein air world, in which we’re both deeply planted, fosters a sense of community. Many of my friends are artists whom I met teaching or at events. There is something unique in the experience of pitting ourselves against our own unreachable goals that binds artists together.

At the same time, I texted with someone considering my Towards Amazing Color workshop at the Sedona Arts Center.  “What is the most important thing I will take away from this workshop?” she asked. I’ve been mulling that over ever since.

All painting starts with observation and perception, and Sedona is in a natural setting so preposterous that painters can’t fall back on what they think they know. The landscape is vast and the air is so clear that none of the usual tricks of aerial perspective apply. This creates distinctive lighting conditions, especially at sunrise and sunset, which in turn bounces what we think we know about color on its head.

Peace, 8X16, $903 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

That’s a great thing, since none of us should be painting stereotypes anyway.

In most of our world, the dominant color scheme is green, brown and blue, with flashes of warm colors. There is nothing wrong with that, of course; I paint it and love it deeply. But Sedona flips all that on its head. Its giant rock massifs are red and cream, set off by a ferocious azure sky and accented with dull greens.

Meanwhile, the intense warm light forms equally intense cool shadows. A week of painting that light will bleed back into our paintings of the more-delicate lighting elsewhere, helping us capture the nuances of light and shadow. Painting what we don’t know is invaluable for developing a keen sense of observation for when we get back to what we do know.

Early Light is 11X14, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 includes shipping and handling in the continental US.

That raises the question of how accurately we mix our colors. Just as I discourage eastern painters from using premixed greens, I discourage Sedona painters from using premixed reds. Yes, the rocks may be close to burnt sienna, but slathering that on will just make for a flat painting. We need to learn to mix colors to match the subtle variations in the landscape. That’s a skill you can take anywhere.

My personal painting challenge right now is in representing what I’ll call, for lack of a better term, deep space. It’s easy enough to paint an eastern mountain that’s a few miles away, especially when I have aerial perspective to fall back on. The giant rearing rock formations of Sedona, set like massive eroding jewels, are eroded like hoodoos but bigger than skyscrapers. They create their own special drafting problems. They teach me how to convey distance, perspective, and dimensionality. Once you’ve seen that kind of depth in a painting, you can’t go back to using mere layering to create the illusion of distance.

Pensive, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $522 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I am both a committed plein air painter and outdoorswoman (although I can’t tell you which came first). Painting outdoors fosters my connection with the natural world. It’s not just the landscape and atmosphere; it’s also the weather, the creatures and the plants. (That relationship transcends words, which is why I loathe writing artist’s statements.) Sedona has all those things in spades. If you haven’t ever been there, it’s worth the journey.

I hope this answers my correspondent’s question, and by extension, yours too.

If you’re ready to start painting, I’ve just released Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. You’ll learn seven essential protocols that every successful oil painter needs to follow. Each course focuses on one protocol, and you can take them in any order that suits you.

Reserve your spot ASAP for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: ten great reasons to take a plein air workshop

Eastern Manitoba Forest, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Plein air taught me more about painting than several years of intensive studio instruction. I could think of a thousand reasons it’s helpful, but here are just ten.

  1. Nature is inspiring. Plein air painting helps us engage with the natural environment. Creation is an unmatched, unique, unlimited subject. Changing light, colors, and atmosphere teach us so much about creating mood and dynamism. Speaking of nature…
  2. Spending time outdoors is good for us. It’s the best thing for my mental health, so I do it every day. It centers me, calms my anxiety, and constantly amazes, even in places I’ve been hundreds of times. Nature is never routine.
Brilliant autumn day, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, $696 includes shipping and handling in continental US.
  • We get better at painting. I trained as a figure painter, but I think plein air is far more challenging. It teaches us to simplify, compose, and observe. Meanwhile we hone color mixing, brushwork, and drafting. And if the teacher is any good, we get immediate feedback and guidance.
  • We make friends for life. I don’t know why I’m so blessed, but I overwhelmingly have great people in my classes and workshops. Workshops bring together like-minded individuals with a passion for art. They exchange ideas, learn from each other, and establish long-lasting friendships.
  • We gain confidence. Painting on location encourages us to overcome challenges like changing weather, time constraints, and the occasional absurdities of painting in public spaces. That in turn boosts our confidence.
    • Larky Morning at Rockport Harbor, 11X14, on linen, $869 unframed includes shipping in continental US.
  • It’s the fastest way to learn how light and shadow work together. Mother Nature gives us no controlled light boxes, so we are forced to learn how natural light interacts with the environment. That ups our color game in ways we can take back to the studio.
  • We learn to see differently. Working outdoors in the slow lane helps us find unique and often overlooked subjects. These are things we never notice while frantically snapping reference photos with our cell phones.
  • We learn to make decisions quickly. There’s nothing like rapidly-changing light to help us stop dithering and lay down fast, decisive brush strokes. I’ve found that carries over to every aspect of my life.
    • Seafoam, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed.
  • Plein air gets you out of your rut. “The rut I was in had once been a groove,” sang Nick Lowe, and ain’t that the truth! Breaking out of your studio offers new ideas, perspective, and inspiration, and pulls us out of stagnation.
  • Plein air leads to personal growth. Like any serious discipline, plein air painting encourages adaptability, patience, and a deeper appreciation for the beauty of our world. That’s something we take far beyond painting.

    • A personal note: Joe Anna Arnett was a nationally-known painter, but to me she was primarily a sister in Christ, a generous friend and a wonderful, warm soul. I’m not sad for her; she’s done fighting a long, arduous battle against cancer, and now she’s with the heavenly choir. I’m sad for us, because a beautiful light was extinguished on Saturday night. Rest in peace, dear one.

    If you’re ready to start painting, I’ve just released Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. You’ll learn seven essential protocols that every successful oil painter needs to follow. Each course focuses on one protocol, and you can take them in any order that suits you.

    Reserve your spot ASAP for a workshop in 2025:

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    Intimations of spring

    Spring Greens, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $652 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

    Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays me from the swift completion of my hike up Beech Hill (to paraphrase Herodotus and the US Postal Service). Here in Maine, we dropped into the teens last week. However, the worst hiking was through bucketing rain on Monday. I arrived home soaked to the bone and shivering uncontrollably. My student and friend Amy Sirianni stopped by; I met her at my door in a flannel nightgown and robe because I couldn’t get warm.

    What’s a poor New Englander to do when both days and nights turn bitter? My mother used to book a flight to Florida for March or April; it gave her something to look forward to. She didn’t want to come home until winter’s back was broken.

    Coincidentally, I’ve ended up doing something similar. At the end of March, I’ll again be teaching in Sedona, AZ and Austin, Texas. Instead of shivering in sleet storms, I’ll be in shirtsleeves under clear blue skies. Alleluia.

    Most of my workshops are on the east coast, which is my home turf. These are the only two workshops I’m teaching in the west (although I dream of reviving Pecos). Western painting is different from New England in atmosphere, color, and vista. I’m grateful for the opportunity to work in both.

    Sedona is a small city of 10,000 people located within the Coconino National Forest. The town is encircled by red sandstone massifs in various stages of erosion. They glow brilliant orange and red in the rising or setting sun.

    Peace, 8X16, $903 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

    “This color looks exaggerated to me,” I told Julie Richard of Sedona Arts Center when I finished Peace, above.

    “It’s not,” she answered, most definitely.

    Much of what we paint there are long vistas and those incredible red rocks set against junipers, piñons, and prickly pear cactus. We often paint from isolated trailheads, from which we can sometimes watch vast cumulus clouds form over the buttes and mesas and just as quickly blow away.

    Avenue B. Market and Deli at night. We had a riot painting nocturnes here.

    Austin, on the other hand, is the tenth most populous city in the United States (and grown out of all recognition from the first time I saw it). Our painting sites are urban, including the delightful Avenue B. Grocery and Market, where we painted nocturnes and ate fabulous sandwiches last year. Then there’s McKinney Falls State Park with its huge cypresses and turquoise spill basin. That’s where we painted bluebonnets in their thousands. On that magical day, hundreds of birds flew overhead in long, winding skeins.

    “Canada geese?” I asked, confused.

    “Pelicans,” someone answered.

    I find gift-giving challenging, especially for those people on my list who don’t want or need more stuff. I could look at all the catalogs in the world and still not find the right thing for that person who has everything.

    Pensive 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $522 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

    For him or her, experiences are a better bet. If you’re looking for a truly unique gift this holiday season that feels extra thoughtful, try a workshop. (And if you want a workshop for Christmas, print this out and leave it someplace subtle, like under your spouse’s coffee-cup. He or she can use the code EARLYBIRD to get $25 off any workshop except Sedona, which is already a discounted price).

    Also, if you’re thinking of buying a painting as a Christmas gift (another great idea for the person who no longer needs stuff), let me know soon. I’m my own shipping and handling department and I want to be sure your painting is delivered by Christmas. Until the first of the year, you can use the discount code THANKYOUPAINTING10 to get 10% off any painting on my website.

    If you’re ready to start painting, I’ve just released Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters. You’ll learn seven essential protocols that every successful oil painter needs to follow. Each course focuses on one protocol, and you can take them in any order that suits you.

    Reserve your spot ASAP for a workshop in 2025:

    If you missed my North to Southwest virtual opening and have a high tolerance for listening to me drone on, you can watch it here.

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    Living and painting close to nature

    Marty Heagney painting at Hancock Shaker Village.

    “It’s going to rain in ten minutes,” I told my workshop students.

    “How can you tell?”

    “I feel it in my corns.”

    Lynda Mussen painting under a changeable sky at Canoe Meadows.

    I don’t even know what corns are, but it seemed like a nice old-timey term for a skill that’s largely lost today. In truth, I was feeling and smelling the shift in air temperature and humidity that precedes a rainstorm. Sure enough, within ten minutes, it was coming down in sheets.

    It’s been a continuation of the damp weather that has wrapped the northeast in flannel all summer. My students have been remarkably good-natured despite the mizzle and occasional downpour. That’s especially true of Cassie Sano, who’s had to dry out her tent more than once.

    Yves Roblin painting at Hancock Shaker Village.

    “We could paint here all week!” several people said of Hancock Shaker Village. I’d heard the same thing at Undermountain Farm. We were rained out of Wahconah Falls, but I believe it would have earned similar plaudits. Instead, we were rescued by the good people of Berkshire First Church of the Nazarene, who let us use their social hall for the day. Work continued uninterrupted.

    “When the leaves turn over, and the silver undersides are showing, that’s a front change, usually not good,” I told a student from California. It’s a little like what happens when you part your hair on the wrong side; the leaves are ruffled out of their usual position. I was almost right; the weather did change. However, it wasn’t another drenching, but a clearing sky.

    In the US and Canada, our weather almost always comes from the southwest. You can often tell what’s coming just by looking in that direction.

    Then there’s ‘red sky at morning, sailors take warning.’ It means that a high-pressure weather system has moved east. Good weather has passed, making way for a stormy low-pressure system. The first half of that couplet, ‘red sky at night, sailors delight,’ means exactly the opposite. There’s stable air coming in from the west.

    This delightfully fat sow is named ‘Stormy’. Appropriate for this week.

    We used to have an old-fashioned ‘storm glass’ style barometer in our living room. It told us the same thing as the rhyming couplet with slightly more accuracy: falling pressure means unsettled weather is coming.

    These signs were how people predicted the weather before the National Weather Service deployed legions of meteorologists and supercomputers to do it for us. For a detailed read, I find the air’s feel and smell just as reliable as my phone. That’s particularly true in coastal Maine, where the crazy-quilt coastline tosses weather patterns around like pinballs.

    I spend several hours a day outdoors, in all seasons. People who live and work in climate-controlled environments never get a chance to develop that almost-intuitive sense of weather that our ancestors took for granted. They also never get a chance to see the subtle interplay of light and color that makes nature so magical.

    This little donkey didn’t find me particularly endearing. Pity, that.

    In addition to rain, we’ve seen a lot of animals this week. At Undermountain Farm, there were horses, sheep and goats. At Hancock Shaker Village, there were cattle and a great fat pig smiling as she wallowed in mud. I patted a donkey and asked him if he knew why he had a cross on his withers; he trotted away. On Thursday, we watched a family of mallard ducks dabbling in a shallow pond at Canoe Meadows Wildlife Sanctuary, with their fat tails and feet sticking straight up in the air. We couldn’t help but laugh.

    And all too soon, it’s over. Today’s our last day, and then we’re gone for another year. But we’ll be back; the Berkshires are magical.

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