The plan was to paint outside on Good Friday. The forecast was sunny and warm but you know how forecasts are; unreliable liars. By Thursday afternoon, they were saying there was a 100% chance of rain on Friday.
I’ve had a cold for over two weeks. I’m getting better every day. Not a whole lot better, this is taking forever but I can tell that the congestion is a little lighter and the tickle in my throat slightly less irritating etc. etc. I realized that it would be stupid for me to paint in the rain. I didn’t want to stop anyone else from doing so, I just didn’t want to drive to Chaska only to find out that it would be better for my health to turn around and go home, so I emailed the instructor, asking if we were still going to paint outside if it were raining.
Not being a tyrant, he said to bring something to paint in studio if it were raining.
So, I looked around the house for my plan B. I found a Storm Trooper Cookie jar that I thought had real possibilies. Nice shape, shiny finish, ripe with reflections and white. White is fun to paint because nothing is actually white. Just to be on the safe side, I packed up my brand new French easel and went to bed nice and early.
Jay was off playing poker. He came in around 1:00.
His phone alarm went off at 4:00. Twice.
We had a knockdown, drag out fight but decided that it didn’t count since we were both sound asleep at the time. We made up anyway, just to be on the safe side.
I loaded up on coffee and hit the road. The dry, hazy road that looked more likely to turn into a beautiful spring day than rain.
When I reached the studio, the others were debating whether or not to go out but very kindly let the invalid (that would be me, I guess) cast the deciding vote.
“It’s not raining!” I said. “and I bought a new easel; let’s go.”
We went.
First we tried a nearby park on the river. That’s one of the things I love about Minnesota; everywhere you go you can find woods, water and beautiful scenes, even in the middle of our cities. Especially in the middle of our cities. And these parks and reserves each look different every day of the year. Friday, the colors in the still bare woods were muted, muddy, early spring with a pinkish sky and brown water that sparkled with gold. It was very beautiful and we found several spots that would make nice compositions but it was windy. Rick, who lives and paints these parts on a daily basis, had an idea.
We drove a few miles up the road to the next tiny town and found a lovely spot, out of the wind to paint.
Here in town, we arrogantly think of Chaska, Chanhassen and Shakopee as our western suburbs but they’re no such thing. These are beautiful, unique little towns that have been there since long before the city sprawled out to their edges. They’re conveniently close to the Twin Cities but they don’t belong to it. They barely count as part of the greater metro area at all.
We wound up on the main street of a gorgeous little town, set amidst hills and woods, one block from the river. We could have gone up the hill to paint the river and in fact, one of our number did. We could see her from where we set up: on a street corner, completely surrounded by old, photogenic buildings. Rick has painted most of them so he knew what a target rich environment it would be. We could have set up back to back and each painted a different beautiful, character laden old place but for the sake of the lesson, we all aimed at the old wooden church with a low steeple.
The building is covered in white siding, with a dark gray roof and lots of pointed, arched windows. It’s gorgeous. It was fascinating trying to capture the contours of the building beneath the increasingly cloudy sky. A square, white building looks very different under the threat of rain than it does in the sunlight. We all know this but when you’re attempting to paint it, that fact really punches you in the nose. Is the value of that steeple lighter or darker than the sky behind it? Answer: Maybe!
Three of us painted the church. Mike was more adventurous than I: he set up twelve feet away and dove right into his composition. I’m very new at this and set up right next to Rick and basically tried to follow along, copying every move he made. I think I could learn a ton just by watching him make a painting from beginning to end. It was a blast trying to keep up with him. It was also humiliating, frustrating and very humbling but hey: it was Good Friday. A little humiliation is good for me!
I got very warm working and took off my jacket for a while. Then, out of nowhere, we heard a thunderclap. I never saw the lightning but sure enough, it rained on us. I put on my jacket and pulled the hood up and tried to keep working. Turns out, you can’t really oil paint in the rain. The paint gets smeary. It only rained for a few minutes, though. I dabbed the water off my palette and kept going.
While we painted, the sky turned from pinkish to mottled gray to darker gray and back to pinkish gold and the church changed with each permutation of light. From virtually no shadows to lots of lovely shaded contours, the building just kept emerging. This is always the challenge when painting outside: you just have to pick a look and go with it. I did throw in a few of the darker shadows that appeared later in the morning but didn’t try for any of the brighter spots when the sun came out. Rick did. It was like watching a magic trick. Mike’s painting turned out lovely, too! Up on the hill, Natalie produced a beautiful rendition of a foot bridge over the river.
My painting turned out okay.
I’d say my first stab at plein air oil painting was a success. I learned a ton and produced something that doesn’t embarrass me. Of course, as I said, I copied every move Rick made. I even borrowed his liner brush to throw in some tree branches and details at the end. I have to get one of those.
There are dozens if not hundreds of equally gorgeous spots within blocks of my house that I would love to paint. Heck, my own back and front yards have wonderful views that I could make into great paintings if I get good at this.
Hmmm...maybe I should turn the secret back yard into an outdoor studio with pots of flowers, picturesque furniture and a water feature just for painting. I could set up a standing umbrella to work under and write the whole thing off! Ha ha!
Right now, it’s pouring rain. The view of the park outside my front window is a panorama of pink sky, muted trees and blurry atmosphere. If I weren’t so lazy, I’d have an easel set up in the front window and I’d be working on some sketches.
“Ambition is my folly.
I’m a poly-massive
Pain in the ass;
A massive pain.”
This self-description of the title character from the show Hamilton does not describe me.
Sadly, the one ingredient God didn’t throw into the mix when he made me was ambition. I have none. I don’t mind. He filled me with talent, gave me more confidence than warranted and left no room at all for the spark that would have set me on fire and let me rule the world. That omission is a good thing. I don’t think I could be trusted to rule the world.
Ugh. The thought of the responsibility that would entail just makes me want to curl up with a good book.
So, my legacy will not include thousands of beautiful paintings. It will have to be satisfied with whatever I feel like doing. Dozens, maybe. At least it will never have had to live under the boot heel of my despotism, either.
That’s a fair trade.