Art Outside
It’s rebellious—sitting quietly outdoors, observing the light dance across the water. It’s the opposite of what the news cycle, technology, and political chaos want me to feel. It's connecting.
A few weeks ago, I was chatting with two art pals about making art outside. The summer was ending, kids were heading back to school, and I needed to reconnect with my creativity. Making art outside seemed the perfect vehicle back to that flow, plus the ideal antidote to any impending doom the news cycle wants us to feel.
Also, making art outside seemed like an act of rebellion. Observing color in real-time atmospheric conditions feels luxurious—after all, no filters or screens are altering our view. It also feels really connected to be in nature with fellow creatives. Feeling connected right now while political chaos aims to separate us further from each other is absolutely rebellious.
And if that’s rebellion, it feels really right.
Making art outside is nothing new—plein air painting and studies are a natural tendency for artists. We draw inspiration from the environments we inhabit, but it took me at least five trips to the same location to understand what I was studying.
Each time I sat to observe and document, I would stare at the ocean. I’m mesmerized by how the water’s color changes with the angles of sunlight, passing clouds, humidity, and all the other atmospheric conditions that constantly fluctuate in this tropical place.
But it’s not the water I’m trying to understand. I’m concerned with the reflections dancing on the water, but I only understand what’s happening on top of the water if I understand the colors that make up what’s below. And even then, for me, it’s not about these landscapes as scenes or even elements.
Then it dawned on me. I love to paddleboard. I can spend hours out on the water. Besides looking for sealife, this is what I’m doing. I’m trying to understand the light and color, but up close. When I’m on the paddleboard, I’m in the middle of these atmospheric conditions. I’m experiencing them. I’m feeling them.
It’s the visual energy and emotions of the color and light that I’m trying to wrap my arms around. I feel color in meditation and in life, and I’m trying to capture the emotional and energetic impressions of what I’m observing when I make art outside.
These swirling thoughts transported me to MoMA’s exhibition, “Hilma af Klint: What Stands Behind the Flowers,” which I saw twice this summer. After spending a considerable amount of time studying botanicals in detail, she began painting evanescent watercolor washes to capture the plants’ aura, sensation, force, spirit, the exhibition notes explained.
This feels very familiar. I need to know more.
To be continued…
XO
Landis
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