Rick Delanty

“Plein Air Painting has a language all its own.” 

–Mark Kerckhoff

Moment, Place, and Feeling

“Capturing the moment” is certainly a worthwhile endeavor in plein air landscape painting—sometimes it seems almost impossible. Changing light, atmosphere, and weather, not to mention windy conditions, insects and onlookers make it a challenge to create that perfect masterpiece that succinctly describes in paint your chosen moment.

But then, that’s what life is made of: subsequent precious moments, none of which will be repeated. That’s why the artist should try to describe the transient and the temporary. Sunsets, shadows, that glimpse of the deer in the grove: here one instant, gone the next. It’s precisely that unique ephemeral quality that gives the plein air painting its charm and power, like setting the rarest diamond in its most appropriate setting. In brushstrokes and imagination of the artist, we see the superiority of the plein air painting over the analytical photograph, which freezes the moment rather than expressing its innermost character. As Andrew Wyeth confided, “It’s a moment I am after–a fleeting moment, but not a frozen moment.” In my plein air work, I would like the viewer to glimpse the precious and sacred essence of that painted moment.

Secondly, imbuing my plein air painting with a “sense of place” is significant for me. It’s not that important that my subject be a landmark, a hallmark, or a benchmark of some kind that everyone would recognize. It is more that the design I create would be true to the “spirit” of the place that is before me.

I believe that “artistic license” is a certificate that I should have to earn, after having already attempted to paint every tree, every trunk and every leaf in the forest. My ultimate goal is to express the natural in a simplified form, that the viewer would feel the place even more than see it in my painting. I have heard many workshop instructors say, that of all the problems students may be having, simplification would resolve most of them. Although all styles have their unique places in the arts, my intention for my own work is that I may paint a bit more like Hemingway, and a bit less like Faulkner.

Finally (perhaps I should say “last but not least”), I desire that my plein air work would have passion and feeling as its foundation. In the works of Sorolla, Sargent, Quang Ho, Jill Carver, Jill Basham, Patrick Saunders, Jason Sacran, Shelby Keefe, Marcia Burtt, Kyle Ma, Morgan Samuel Price, Randall Sexton, and many other plein air artists who have painted and are painting with confidence and conviction, one senses the impact not only of their brushes on the canvas but of nature on their own hearts. Surely that confidence can be gained only through working, and working consistently without doubt or fear. Perhaps the greatest advice I have heard to date concerning how to start a painting is that from Jim McVicker: “Just dive in!” I have never seen any diver do so tentatively.

What are some things I can do to be sure to incorporate each of these three important ingredients in my plein air work?

• I create rapid compositional value sketches of my chosen scene and take reference photos before painting to preserve the “moment” of my setting-up. I always try to have my camera and sketchbook with me whenever I go out to paint.
• To try to achieve that “sense of place”, I do a simple block-in in acrylic, looking up frequently to observe the shapes in front of me. As I paint over the block-in in oil, I am looking for atmosphere and subtleties that photographs can’t capture, including other details, such as texture, birds, figures, clouds, etc..
• Finally, I try to preserve the energy and “passion” of my under-painting as I guide the work through its middle and final stages. I study complementary shapes, the balance of warm and cool colors, gestures, brushstrokes, color choices, relative values, then the placement of final details. Everything in the painting should contribute to the expression of my idea, and to the feeling that inspired me to begin painting.

As I leave any plein air painting site, I remind myself that whether I am painting outdoors or working in the studio, that a great painting is a great painting, no matter where it’s done, and no matter what references are used. To me, any landscape painting created with passion, that inspires a sense of place, and that elevates the precious quality of each moment we are given, is worthy of consideration and praise.

“Sketch everything, and keep your curiosity fresh.”   – John Singer Sargent

“The more I paint, the more I like everything.”    – Jean-Michel Basquiat

As do you, I love to paint. I love nature, the experience of being outdoors. And I love many of the things I see around me, from morning to night: the sky, the light, clouds, people, water, plants, the city.  And then I travel and see more new things. So I want to paint them all! I usually find my easel set up in front of a landscape, but not always. There are just so many things to see, to enjoy—life will not be long enough for me to paint all of my ideas!

But wait a second: before I get trigger-happy, perhaps I should consider the advice of those more seasoned than myself when it comes to selecting subject matter to paint. Let’s see: “Paint only in series, to explore a subject thoroughly.”  “You don’t want any failures—only paint what you’re good at.” “Build your brand by painting one thing, so your collectors will know what to expect from you, and buy that.” “Practice so you can build a formula for making a quality product—that way you’ll know exactly what to do every time you come to the easel.”

There’s some wisdom in those words, for those who appreciate routine, want to avoid making mistakes,  are satisfied with their current work and don’t have the need to try anything new. After all, the choice of subject matter is personal, and one could reason—just as in the case of a musician—that the choice of “the wrong song” could end tragically.

I’ve painted the landscape most of my life. It’s not that that subject is part of my “brand”, really. And the subject is so vast that I will never be able to paint it just the way I intend during each and every session.

I must say here that I’m not creating a product, though, but original art. If I’m going to spend my life painting, then I’d like my paintings to mean something. And in each of those paintings, I would like there to be more going on than just a rendition of an object, or several objects. How about mood, or emotion, the particular way light plays on a surface, or simply the creation of a striking design? Pierre Bonnard held that, in any painting, “The principal subject is the surface, which has its color and laws over and above those of object.” Edward Hopper left us word that all he “ wanted to do was paint sunlight on the side of a house.” In setting my own course in choosing exactly what to paint, I am beginning to believe that, as Theresa Bayer puts it, “The subject is a means to an end, the end being excellence in artistry.”

When I look at the work of other artists, I am always intrigued not only by what they paint but how they paint it. It appears that Richard Diebenkorn was curious in that way, too, when he said, “One wants to see the artifice of the thing as well as the subject.” Contemporary artist John Burton echoes the counsel of J.S. Sargent above when he advises the artist to “Draw everything, so you’ll be afraid of nothing.”

You might have seen some of John’s  unusual concept pieces and world-building paintings that he has created, along with Bryan Mark Taylor’s ideas along those same lines. Both artists produce wonderfully large landscape paintings as well. But it is not so much their subjects that attract, or is the hallmark of their work: it is the years of perfecting their craft that comes through, be it a painting of a space vehicle, or a pinnacle in the wilderness. It’s that confidence from the daily solving of painting problems both technically and intelligently that we see in their works, no matter the subject.  Jim McVicker is another versatile master- artist who comes to mind, and who also paints a variety of subjects: boats, portraits, figures, cityscapes, still lifes, et al. He isn’t afraid to try a new subject because well,  he’s just not afraid to try it. As Jim has said, “There are a lot of things you could be afraid of in this life, but painting is not one of them.”

When you come to think of it, creating a painting is not a life-and-death matter, on the level of a surgeon operating on a heart, or a weapons specialist defusing a bomb (although I know that I have at times approached blank canvases in this manner). I want to be free within my own mind to try new things, to discover more of the world and why it appears the way that it does. And I also desire to improve my artistry, by expanding my repertoire.

This year I have intentionally done four things in my work as an artist that I have done very little of in the past. I went to New York so I could paint some cityscapes. I returned to watercolor painting as an “adjunct medium” and joined the National Watercolor Society for an upcoming show. I created three large-scale acrylic paintings, the largest I have ever done. And this month I took a still-life painting workshop with the still-life master, Jim McVicker. I am believing that these forays outside my Main Line will have cognitive, instinctive, and technical impacts across my body of work.

Bottom line: when we choose a subject to begin a painting, there are at least two levels of reality operating. One is the physical subject of the painting that we see (the Model). The other reality is the Design that we feel and create from that subject.  In Art, of course, the Design is superior to the Model.  No need to have anxiety about trying a new model, if you can design it the way you wish. At the very least, we could gain information or develop a renewed confidence that could be applied to our larger body of work.

So let’s go—it’s time to try something new!

Real confidence only comes from study and practice.—Harley Brown

As I’ve been preparing to paint lately, I’ve been thinking about how great it would be if “Confidence” were just a color I could squeeze out onto my palette. It would mix smoothly with all the other colors, and give each brushstroke the snap and spring that would bring those flat shapes to life, to imbue those colored spots and masses with the energy and authenticity that would ultimately make my painting sing in a frame on the gallery wall.

Alas, I can’t find it on the aisles of the art store. It’s not bottled, boxed, compressed, or container-ed. I have been able to read about it: how it changes lives, impels men and women to the top of Mount Everest and to the bottom of the South Pole. It was inside Amelia Earhart’s leather pilot’s helmet when she flew across the Atlantic in one go, for the first time, and on the shoulders of General George Patton’s short jacket as he out-thought and out-fought German commanders across Europe and Africa. You can see it in Monet’s impressionist markings in the “Water Lilies” series in the Musée De L’Orangerie, and in the economic charcoal drawings of Picasso and Georgia O’Keeffe. Sometimes it seems like it’s everywhere I’m not.
Robert Genn was a prolific writer and artist, a Canadian with a can-do sense of life, and while he was here he wrote about things in life that way. He wrote, “To float like a cloud, you have to go to the trouble of becoming one.” Wow. That’s my goal, to paint like I breathe: easily, effortlessly, and economically. I’ve heard workshop instructors tell their students, “Use the Big Brush! Paint with Confidence, and Boldly! Go Big or Go Home!”