by Lori Simons

The Beehive From Sand Beach 2007, graphite, 10 x 15. All artwork this article collection the artist. I started my week at Acadia with a graphite sketch, using a No. 2 mechanical pencil on gold paper. I made no attempt to alter or compose the scene; my objective was to record the outlines of the forms.

I recently had a wonderful experience painting en plein air, which came as a surprise after years of struggling with the process. As a landscape painter, I had always appreciated the importance of gathering firsthand visual information by painting en plein air, but I consistently found that toting the easel, oil paints, and solvent—not to mention the wet paintings—was just too much work. Besides, whenever I visited a state or national park I just wanted to partake of the scenery and get to know the place intimately. That’s hard to do when one feels pressured to produce a painting. However, when I was thinking of visiting Acadia National Park in Maine with a friend last summer, I decided to try plein air painting in watercolor. After working in the medium for almost two decades, I figured my comfort level with it would allow me to paint on-site and still explore and enjoy the environment.

I was not disappointed—with the park or my painting experience. Acadia, like most national parks, is a painter’s paradise. I discovered a variety of natural places that were ideal subjects, such as the rocky shore, the awe-inspiring views from the top of Cadillac Mountain, or any number of glacially formed lakes. In approaching all of these scenes, my lap served as an easel, with a lightweight board and watercolor paper taped to it. All my supplies—brush, palette, pencil, and water bottle—fit easily into a backpack. I had no setup or clean-up time, and because my paintings dried almost immediately, I had no worry of smearing the wet paint on my clothes or car interior. Using watercolor brightened my attitude toward the idea of plein air painting, and because my painting supplies were so light to carry, I could walk for miles in the park with my supplies in a small backpack before deciding where to paint.

Desert Ridge 2006, watercolor, 8 x 11. The sun was so bright when I painted this that the washes were dry before I could complete them. Because the shadows on the rocky cliff changed quickly, I painted this scene from the top down, blocking in shapes and shadows just as they were at that moment, with no attempt to chase the sun.

Painting Studies From Life

When I’m making a study from life, I gain a lot of firsthand information by engaging all my senses fully while recording the scene in graphite pencil or watercolor. Even during the times when I’m without my supplies, I’ll write down my observations in a small notebook and supplement my notes with photos. The written notes later help me recall the feeling and specific memories of being there better than if I had only recorded scenes with photos.

I have a strong desire to experience beautiful places as fully as I can by exploring them on foot or by sitting quietly and listening to the sounds of the environment and immersing myself in the scenes around me. At the same time, it’s important that I use the opportunity to gather visual information by doing a drawing or color study so that I can paint some of these scenes back in the studio. Having the freedom and flexibility to do what I want, when I want, is my idea of a vacation, and yet, because I love to paint landscapes, traveling to a national park offers the rare opportunity to record what I see and feel on paper.

Day 1: Morning at Sand Beach

I had two goals for the first day: Enjoy the park on foot, and gather information on my favorite places with graphite pencil, watercolor, or written notes. I immediately realized how distracted I could be when painting outdoors, but I did find that Sand Beach offered two interesting vistas. One scene is where the ochre-colored cliffs meet the cerulean blue waves that roll onto the sandy shore. The other scene is at the opposite end of the beach, where a steep mountain called The Beehive stands at a short distance beyond a tidal inlet that fills and empties out into the cove beyond the beach.

Little Pond in Pencil 2007, graphite, 8½ x 14. To get a sense of my perspective point, I drew radiating arrows to indicate how far I turned my head to the left or right when viewing parts of the scene. At this time of day, the sun was almost directly above and the colors looked washed out, so I decided to do a graphite sketch in order to faithfully record the shapes and edges of the elements in the scene.

Before I began painting, I sat quietly for at least a half-hour and recorded some observations in a notebook. For example, I noted that the horizon at one end of the cove was sharper and fairly blue and dark, while the other end appeared softer and more yellow. This observation was critical, and I recalled how I admired the effect in a seascape by William Trost Richards (1833–1905). He used harder lines with more contrast at one end of the water and lighter and softer ones at the other. This way of painting where the ocean meets the sky keeps the viewer’s gaze from following the horizon line off the edge of the painting.

Also on this first day I decided to do a graphite sketch of The Beehive as a warm-up exercise. Even when I’m not doing a color study, I can record the details about color during the drawing phase by writing down what I observe. It was windy, so I secured my 10"-x-15" piece of drawing paper with masking tape to a piece of hardboard. To reduce the glare that would normally close my pupils, I wore a baseball cap. While sitting on a small folding stool, I used my lap as an easel. The objective for the drawing was to record what I saw as faithfully as I could, so I took time to draw a detailed outline of the mountain, treetops, and marsh just as they were.

Day 1: Afternoon at Bass Harbor Marsh

Little Long Pond in Color 2007, watercolor, 11 x 15. I completed this color study the day after I did the graphite sketch of the same scene. Because it was windy, my washes dried quickly, so I continually added water to my paint mixtures.

Later in the day, I decided to paint at Bass Harbor Marsh, which is a beautiful scene on the quiet side of the island. Although paintings of this area look peaceful, the atmosphere there is not. Artists usually set up on the shoulder of the roadside by the bridge, and because of the continuous traffic, the noise level is high. However, the beauty of the spot is unsurpassed for marsh scenes. Both sides of the road offer magnificent views of the tidal marsh. The more commonly painted view features a tree-studded island in the estuary and a blue-gray mountain in the distance. It’s not unusual to have a great blue heron pose as well.

After establishing an outline, I started to work with my paints. Unable to concentrate, I noticed my greens all took on a similar value and temperature. Rather than trying to correct this problem, I wrote notes on my painting describing the colors I saw. When it was time to leave, I slipped my dry painting into my backpack, covered my palette, and put my brush away.

Day 2: Morning at Little Long Pond

Little Long Pond is seen from Route 3 just west of Southwest Harbor. This view is one of my favorites in Acadia, so I usually make an effort to draw or paint it each time I visit the park. However, I couldn’t resist the urge to walk along the carriage trail that meanders around the pond, so I set off on foot to explore all the potential scenes in that area.

Little Long Pond (Compositional Study) 2007, acrylic, 12 x 17. The 140-lb paper did not hold up to successive layers of acrylic paint, so I abandoned the painting at this stage with the intention of painting another version later on heavier paper.

The most commonly painted view here is the one from the main road. Peninsulas topped with yellow fields and clusters of deciduous trees frame the pond from each side, and Penobscot Mountain caps the entire view. Having painted from this viewpoint on other occasions, I wanted to take a different approach, so I trekked along the carriage road up to the yellow field on the west peninsula. Much to my amazement, the deciduous trees, when I stood next to them, were enormous. Even the trunk had a girth of three feet. Even better, I could now understand why the field looked yellow, red, and green from a distance. The grass blades, about a foot tall, were made of yellow ochre and green-colored stalks, but the top ends of the stalks were reddish brown. I realized at that moment that photos never could have provided the education I was getting from nature.

I walked for a few hours, which is just what I felt like doing at the time. It was one o’clock before I settled down to paint, choosing the grand view from the roadside. Because the scene was void of interesting shadows and the color seemed a bit washed out from the midday sun, I rendered a truthful graphite sketch to record the outline of the mountain, trees, field, and water. I noted how the outlines of objects stayed the same while the color and shadows changed. Again, I jotted down in writing what greens I saw and how they shifted from warm to cool, as well as making some notes about my vantage point.

Morning at Little Long Pond: Color Study

The next morning I returned to my previous day’s location to paint a color study. Since I had already recorded detailed information in graphite of the scene’s elements, I only needed to get down the correct colors while indicating the general shapes of the mountain, field, and trees. Because it was windy, my washes and paint puddles dried a bit too fast, and in retrospect, I should have used a smaller piece of watercolor paper.

Color Mixtures for Plein Air Studies GREENS Yellow-green: ultramarine blue and cadmium yellow Warm gray-green: permanent sap green and raw sienna Cool green: viridian with a touch of burnt umber Very dark green: viridian with permanent alizarin crimson and burnt umber YELLOWS Warm yellow: cadmium yellow and raw sienna with a touch of permanent alizarin crimson Cool yellow: ultramarine blue and a small amount of cadmium yellow BLUES Gray-blue: ultramarine blue and a touch of burnt umber (for distant mountains and the shadows on clouds) Intense purple-blue: ultramarine blue thinned with water (for the upper horizon) Intense green-blue: either phthalocyanine blue or cerulean blue thinned with water (for the sky area that is closest to the horizon)

On a whim, I redesigned the mountain by painting it much larger than it actually appeared. As the artist, I have the luxury of making things the way I want, and the mountain is a significant part of this piece for me. At this point a few tourists stopped to look at my painting, but they didn’t seem impressed. I reminded myself that my goal was to gather pertinent visual information for a larger studio painting, not to create a saleable painting on the spot, so I didn’t allow their lack of enthusiasm to discourage me.

That afternoon I wanted to explore again, so I parked at Sand Beach and walked to Otter Cliffs. This trail is wide and easily maneuvered. Not knowing whether I’d find a suitable place to paint, I left my supplies in the car and grabbed my camera and notebook. Several times I took time to sit on the rocks and listen, look, and ponder. I jotted down a few thoughts in my notebook about the colors of the trees—near and distant—and I noted how all my senses were responding to my surroundings.

Perhaps most significant was the discovery of the color and value of white birds. I noticed that when gulls flew in front of the darker, tree-lined hill, they appeared as a bright white fowl, but when I saw them against the lighter blue sky, they were much darker and grayer. Keen observation directly from nature without pressure to perform on the spot had given me the time to meditate and take in visual information that I might have missed if I were trying to get it all down quickly.

Day 4: Morning at Jordan Pond and the Bubbles

After making some notes on this area the previous afternoon, I set up to paint in the morning on a large, flat rock. I placed my palette and water jug on the ground beside me and was comfortable. I began with a detailed line drawing directly on my watercolor paper. The sun was bright and the light breeze kept the insects away. Since I had studied the scene the day before and made a detailed line drawing, the painting progressed quickly.

Unfortunately, some onlookers gathered and temporarily diverted me from my goal of making a useful study to create a finished painting. Changing course in this way would have been a mistake because I would have stopped concentrating on what I needed from the study and started worrying about what others think of the painting. I would have then begun to feel pressured to avoid mistakes and perform on the spot. Much to my relief, on this occasion I forced myself back to my original mind-set.

In the Studio

Usually, when I return home from a painting vacation, I download my photos to my computer and transfer groups of subjects onto a CD. I then gather my drawings and watercolor studies and store them, along with the CD and my handwritten notes, in a legal-size file folder, designating a separate folder for each scene. Sometimes I print photos of the scene I intend to paint first and file those as well.

Jordan Pond and the Bubbles 2007, watercolor, 7 x 10. I took a long time to draw the outlines of the forms before adding watercolor. I used my typical mixtures of sap green with raw sienna or burnt sienna added to subdue the tube green’s intensity, and I added cadmium yellow for the closer trees at the left. The sky, distant cliffs, and foreground rocks consist of ultramarine blue with a touch of burnt umber.

Because I have ample studies, notes, and photo references to guide me, my final paintings usually require less time to complete than if I were to paint them strictly from photo references. Even so, I sometimes make a detailed graphite drawing on sketch paper before I embark on a studio painting. If the drawing is the same size as the intended painting, I then transfer the major lines of the drawing to my watercolor paper using wax-free graphite transfer paper. Other times, when the drawing is not to scale, I photograph it digitally, print a small version of it, and then project the photo’s image directly onto watercolor paper using an opaque projector. Occasionally, I’ll skip these steps and draw the scene freehand on my watercolor paper, starting with the center of interest, then drawing and painting each section individually.

For studio paintings, I use Arches 300-lb cold-pressed paper. Although I generally begin with transparent watercolor, sometimes the need for corrections arises. At that point, I reach for Chinese white and add it to my transparent color to cover mistakes. If I decide to make substantial changes, I usually paint over the entire existing painting using an opaque watermedia such as acrylic or gouache. But no matter what medium I happen to be using, my studio paintings are likely to be successful when I am well acquainted with firsthand knowledge of the subject. And this is something that can only come from plein air painting.

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Comments

Lots of great information. You really have to observe shapes before you can get a good composition.
I'm hindered from setting up sometimes because I anticipate having people hang around and chat while I'm trying to work. It's hard to focus with the pressure to perform.