I'm working on a video for my YouTube channel discussing the reasons I have moved away from Plein air painting, and in this blog post I will share my reasons for not having abandoned the practice altogether. In keeping with the trend of tabloid-style headlines, the video is to be entitled "Plein Air Painting is Stupid". The fact of there not having been any similar discussions online is what prompted me to cover the topic.
Plein air painting originated in the 19th century, and was an evolution of earlier sketching and watercolor techniques called simply “field studies”. The innovation was spurred on by mass production of portable tubes for oil paint, and metal ferrules for brushes. These allowed for wider brushes and new techniques for painting faster than ever.
The Impressionists, including Monet and Renoir, embraced plein air techniques, using rapid brushstrokes to depict changing light and color. Monet's works, such as "Impression, Sunrise" (1872), exemplify this approach, emphasizing the effects of light on landscapes.
The movement also influenced American artists in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, notably in the northeast and west coast. Artists like William Merritt Chase and Edgar Payne adopted plein air methods to capture the American landscape.
Modern abstract painters have expanded the landscape to include modern architecture and automobiles, but such contemporary realist images haven’t found the same audience as the bucolic countryside paintings of the French Impressionists. Instead, as I discuss in my video, modern plein air painting languishes in a strange niche more popular with aspiring artists than the general public.
Several Plein air painters, mainly on the west coast of the US have made names for themselves and amassed a sizable following online. They have a growing community of plein air enthusiasts, but remain beyond the academic pale of contemporary art and for all their technical prowess are still considered kitsch. In my video, I discuss how the genre as a whole can be seen as kitsch.
So why do I still paint plein air? Mostly for the challenge. It is like resistance training for athletes, the time constraints, distractions, and environmental variables demand new ways of thinking and working. I wouldn’t say I enjoy it, but I have undoubtedly learned from it. When I look back at my work from before 2016, I painted very meticulously, very thinly and cautiously. I would even go so far as to describe my entire outlook on life as cautious in my 20s. Painting in the heat of the summer and encountering strangers of varying degrees of curiosity and outright hostility, and learning to trust my abilities through those experiences helped me to improve as a painter and as a person.
Plein air painting involves tremendous focus and discipline. This comes naturally to some people; the sort of people who enjoy organizing their homes and offices, competitive sports, and social cohesion. I have never been one of those people. I despise waking up early, and I have little patience for preparing an art box or planning trips to paint. In fact, I used to always keep my easel with me while driving and would just wait until a scene piqued my interest. Some people are naturally drawn to plein air painting, and after nearly a decade of trying, I realized that I’m not.
Nonetheless, Plein air painting continues to be useful for field studies, as it was in the olden days of yore. Some of my favorite painters are contemporary British abstract landscape artists who paint Tonalist images loosely inspired by nature. I’ve been mulling over similar concepts in my work. I recently saw an auto-generated cover photo of one of my paintings on a YouTube short suggestion. It was zoomed in and nearly unrecognizable, but there were some really nice colors and patterns. I like the idea of taking coherence into incoherency. Like digital degradation of old video or image files. Or the way Bob Dylan and David Bowie would collage their lyrics from spliced fragments. Plein air painting could serve as inspiration for that sort of thing.
In the years when I painted plein air nearly every day, I remember having this strong conviction of the importance of the work. Artists have to be slightly egoistic and convinced of our own importance. I concisely that there was some sort of alchemy taking place by which the chaotic elements of nature directed my brushwork and produced the essence of the time and place on canvas. Many of my paintings have traces of dirt, insects, sand, and gossamer in the paint, just like Van Gogh's and Monet's.
The idea of the elemental charge of the location may strain credulity, but there is an empirical truth in the environmental influence on the process. Several of Van Gogh’s paintings were done in high wind, and I distinctly remember shivering in the cold and losing my temper in the heat. These aspects of nature direct a process which is inherently intuitive and reactionary. It is like improving a melody over a chord progression played by nature itself. But that’s a very romantic notion, and I stand by my statement that Plein air painting is stupid.
Works Cited
Adams, Henry. The American Impressionists: Their Legacy in Paint. New York: Hudson Hills Press, 2002.
Herbert, Robert L. Impressionism: Art, Leisure, and Parisian Society. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988.
Wilkins, Leslie. "Plein Air Painting." The Art of Painting Outdoors, 2015, www.artofpaintingoutdoors.com/plein-air-painting. Accessed 29 Sept. 2024.
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