Painting Retreat Report: Pagosa Springs, Colorado

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North of Town, 8x10, oil - available

Colorado is famous—and rightly so—for its spectacular fall foliage.  Last week, our group of plein air painters, hailing from Ohio, Oregon and Connecticut, experienced this first-hand at the Bruce Spruce Ranch at the foot of the San Juan Mountains.  Locals told us the color was a week or so late, but we couldn't have picked a more beautiful week.

The day before the retreat began, we had a solid day of rain.  But fortunately, our party was able to hunker down in the rustic  cabins with wood stoves fired up, keeping us dry and warm.  When the rain cleared the next morning, our first day of the retreat, we could see snow carpeting the higher peaks.  Despite the weather turning fine after this, mornings proved cold throughout the week.  The wood stoves ended up playing a vital role in our daily routine, and I got pretty good at getting a fire started.  However, my wood-splitting skills didn't improve much.  Although you could buy bundles of firewood, I foolishly chose to split my own for free; it wasn't long before I was enjoying the generosity of the spouse of one of our painters, who seemed to like splitting more wood than he needed.

A couple of mornings, to avoid having to wait for the day to warm up at the Ranch, we headed down the hill to Pagosa Springs, about 10 miles south.  We found several spots along the San Juan River, which runs through town, that gave us views of colorful cottonwoods.  Other days, we painted around the Ranch.  Established in the 1930s as a guest ranch just below Wolf Creek Pass, it is surrounded by fishing ponds, cottonwoods and broad vistas.  You didn't have to walk far for a stunning vista or an intimate view of a creek.  Another day, we headed up to Wolf Creek Pass, which tops out at a literally breath-taking 10,856 feet, and on to the historic mining town of Creede.  (The snow was gone by then.)  We painted there, but we also visited my friend, Stephen Quiller, which I think was a highlight for many of us.

Stephen Quiller is probably the best-known, all-round watermedia artist in the country.  He works in any medium that uses water:  acrylic, casein, gouache and watercolor.  I think he is personally responsible for re-introducing artists to casein and gouache, and he also designed a very helpful system for painters of any medium, the Quiller Color Palette.  (Did I mention he is also one of the artists I include in my book, Beautiful Landscape Painting Outdoors: Mastering Plein Air?)  He's also very personable and eager to help painters.  Although his gallery had closed for the season, he offered to come into town to open it for us and to chat with us.  During the gallery tour, I learned a surprising thing—he also creates beautiful etchings.  A committed plein air painter, he likes to stay out of the woods in November because of hunters, and he uses that time to make etchings.

After the retreat, on the way home, Trina and I stopped in Abiquiu—famous for Ghost Ranch and Georgia O'Keeffe—where the annual studio tour was happening, and then spent two days in Santa Fe, visiting museums and galleries.  All in all, it was a fabulous time, and we're eager to host another retreat soon.

If you're interested in my painting retreats, make sure you sign up for my newsletter, and you'll hear about them first.  Right now, my Maine retreat (August 5-9, 2024) is full, but I've started a waiting list.  You can find out more about my retreats here. 

By the way, I still have room in my one-day, studio-only workshop at Art Fest in Mesa, Arizona, this month.  My workshop is on October 26th, and in it, we'll take plein air references (such as I gathered on this retreat in Colorado) and learn how to create finished studio paintings from them.  You can get $20 off if you use the coupon code SAVEONMF.  You can learn more and sign up here.   

Until next time, here are some more paintings and photos from the trip!

Autumn Vista, 8x10 oil - available

Autumn Friends, 8x10 oil - available

Cloud Shadows, 8x10 oil - available

Our rustic cabin

Snow on the peak

The San Juan River

More on the San Juan River

And Yet Even More on the San Juan River

Caught by the Beauty of theTrees

Critique Time

Around the Ranch

More Around the Ranch

Aspens in Creede

Visiting Stephen Quiller

Oh, Yes, I Painted in Gouache, Too

Aspens on the Ridge

Cottonwood Fiesta

Fall Doesn't Get Any Better

Coal Creek, 5x16 Gouache Sketch

Along the San Juan, 5x8 Gouache Sketch

Color at Fawn Gulch, 5x8 Gouache Sketch

Santa Fe Arroyo, 5x8 Gouache Sketch
(sorry, I decided to sneak in a Santa Fe piece)

Location, Location, Location: Picking a Subject

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Where to start?

"There's so much here—I don't know what to pick."

These are words I frequently hear from students when we get to the field.  But believe me, even as an experienced plein air painter, I sometimes hear these in my head, too.  Some locations can be so rich that they offer a wealth of possibilities.  As frustrating as it may be to have to pick just one thing, if I want to get anything done, that's what I have to do.

This is where the camera on my smartphone comes into play.  Used as a cropping tool, it allows me to focus on what interests me, eliminating everything else around it.  (A ViewCatcher or homemade tool also works.)  I'll first zoom in so that the subject fills the screen, and then I'll zoom out a bit, taking in more and more of the scene until I get an assembly of elements that pleases me.  Next, I turn to my sketchbook—mine is only 3.5"x5"–and work out a few thumbnail value designs as I described elsewhere in my blog.

What do I look for in a scene?  It's helpful if the subject attracts me in some way, either through an arrangement of light and dark shapes or color play.  (In a workshop, depending on where the instructor takes me, I may not find an attractive subject, in which case I try to select something that relates to the lesson at hand.)  Also, what I pick depends on my goal for the day.  Maybe I'm just looking at color relationships, so I'll worry less about a pleasing assembly of elements.  If want to paint a vista, I might zoom out quite a bit to take in a wider view, and aim for responding to the feeling of a place.

I do all of this before even setting up my easel.  That's because I may not yet have settled on my subject and might choose to go on down the trail a bit more.

But once I do settle, I consider where to place my easel.  Sometimes, I can get a better angle on my subject by moving a few feet left or right.  This is especially true when painting architecture, when I want a viewpoint that will present the angles of roofs and walls in a way that won't confuse my viewer.  Complicated architecture, like Victorian mansions, which have lots of odd roof angles and bric-a-brac, can be confusing. 

I also consider lighting and personal comfort.  The best lighting on your palette and painting surface is even lighting; I like everything in shade, whereas some painters like direct sunlight (which I find blinding.)  I also want to make sure I'm on even ground.  I don't want any rocks to trip me up when I'm "in the zone" and not paying attention to my footing.  In addition, I try to anticipate what's going to happen with my environment, taking into account sun movement. I want my easel to stay in shade—I refuse to take the extra weight of an umbrella on my outings—and I don't want to have to move it in mid-stroke.  And if there's wind, I try to find a tree or rock outcrop to serve as a windscreen.

Finally, I think about the possibility of human interaction.  If I want a quiet, relaxing experience, I don't set up by a shuttle stop.  I mistakenly did that once, while painting at the Grand Canyon, and a busload of tourists suddenly flooded around me.  (In my defense, I will state that the stop was hidden behind several large junipers, and since I had come up the trail from a different direction, I never saw it.)

How Not to Fail: Going Out with One of Four Goals

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No, I'm not homeless.  I'm working on Goal #2, gathering reference material

Which type of outdoor painter are you?  Once you're at your painting location, do you take a long time deciding what to paint?  Or do you arrive on the scene with a specific goal in mind?  If you're the first type, you may have a satisfying experience, but your success rate will be much better if you have a specific goal.  You'll become a better painter faster.

I always try to have one of four goals when I head out.  They're simple:

1. Explore an area
2. Gather reference material
3. Work on a skill or problem
4. Create a finished painting

Exploring an area is what I do if I'm in unfamiliar territory.  For example, my first time in Scotland I didn't know what to paint.  So, rather than doing something complicated (like a finished painting), I decided to focus on just sketching the things that were new to me:  craggy parts of castle ruins, bald hilltops carpeted with bright green grasses, expanses of yellow gorse.  This is a relaxing way of painting, and it increases your knowledge of a strange land.

Gathering reference material is a bit like exploring, but with more of a focus.  On a later trip to Scotland, I became enamored of a beautiful, ancient stone bridge in the Cuillins.  I wanted to make a big painting of it, but I didn't have the time or materials.  Instead, I spent the morning gathering references for the studio.  Besides sketching the bridge in gouache, I also made some pencil sketches and took a bunch of photos.  (Thank goodness for digital film!)  The idea here is that, once back in the studio, in a controlled environment where you have all the tools and materials at your diposal, you can create a more considered work.

Working on a skill or problem is usually a workshop goal.  But I also do this on my own.  Observing color temperature relationships—how cool or warm a note appears next to an adjacent patch of color—fascinates me, and I can't seem to get enough of this.  (Sunlit canyons with deep shadows are a particular favorite.)  But sometimes I have a question I want to solve.  For example, we've all heard that white in shadow is darker than black in light.  Is this true?  You might want to go out to see for yourself by observing and painting it.

Creating a finished painting outdoors is a Herculean task compared to the other three goals.  I usually reserve this goal for plein air painting competitions—although it's also a good skill to practice if you're heading for a painting competition.   To create a finished painting, you have to be at the top of your game:  good design, good color use and good edge treatment.  And, I might add, it helps first to have had a good night's sleep and a good cup of coffee.

Yet, after all I've said, sometimes it's just nice to let serendipity be your guide—and this is probably the most relaxing goal of all.

(And speaking of Scotland, did you know you can help me get back to Scotland for my next project?  Details are here.)

New Mexico Arts Project: Working on the Proposal

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Making some templates for sketches

I promised I'd offer updates on my New Mexico Arts Project, so here's the first!  If you didn't read my initial post on the McKinley County Courthouse Rotunda project, here's a quick summary.  I'm one of five finalists for the project, and I have to present a proposal to a committee on November 8th.  The project has as $100,000 budget and is part of the New Mexico Art In Public Places (AIPP) program.  The theme is:  "Culture of Place."

I'm doing the easy things first:  using the logical half of my brain to decide what materials to use, how to install the finished works, and what it will cost.  For the past few weeks, I've been seeking information from framers and installers.  Why don't I do these jobs myself?  I've decided that my true expertise lies in two fields:  making the art, and managing a big project.  (I have managed several over the years, some in the art business, others in IT.)  As for all the other tasks the project requires—mounting the artwork and framing it to AIPP standards, and hanging it on curved walls, with some locations being 12 feet above the floor—I want people who know what they are doing. Oh, and I need a plaque maker.  AIPP requires little brass plaques mounted on wood blocks for each work.  I've never had a brass plaque before.

(You might ask why I'm doing all this work first, before having fully fleshed out the concept.  Figuring out the physical constraints of the project—the materials, the sizes—will help me cut the concept to fit.  Maybe it's just me, but it's the way I go about creating art:  Okay, here's a 9x12 panel, now what part of the landscape will fit on it?)

In addition to presenting a budget for the project, I will need to present samples of materials to be used.  Originally, I'd planned to create oil paintings on aluminum Dibond.  But I began to think I might want to include digitally-enhanced photographs, in the way of prints on metal.  I liked this idea.  Then my next thought was, Why can't I reproduce my paintings and put those on metal, too?  This would allow me to make smaller paintings—I was starting to find the idea of creating a series of 4-foot by 6-foot paintings a bit intimidating—which I could then have enlarged.  Enlarging the images won't be a problem.  Because the paintings will be seen from a distance, I can accept a certain amount of loss of resolution.  And because of the distance, texture—an important part of any oil painting—will be lost, so why bother?  This lightning bolt of inspiration filled me with joy and relief.  With all this in mind, I've ordered samples of the product, printed with an image of one of my paintings, to show.

Some metal print samples

(If you're concerned about longevity, my research shows that the images will be "infused" into the surface of scratch-resistant metal with reasonably lightfast inks.  The inks will last over 65 years without noticeable fading.  Better yet, the exhibit space is completely shielded from direct sunlight.)

I am now at the point where I am trying to finalize the concept and its presentation.  This is, for me, the most difficult part because it's the non-logical, artistic part of my brain that now needs to jump in with something that makes sense.  I want to include the cultures present in the county:  the Zuni and Navajo tribes and the ranching community.  But then there's also the mining industry and the railroad, the latter of which has had a huge impact here over the years.  

There are so many details to think about.  For example, will the Native Americans be insulted if I present images of their landscape?  Do I need a permit to go onto their lands for photography?  (Turns out they won't, and yes, I do.)  The more I research and think and sketch out ideas, the more I find important things I would like to include.

What once seemed a huge space to fill now seems to be not huge enough.  I need to decide what's most important.  And isn't that what we landscape artists do, anyway?  I can do this.

Sketch of the rotunda interior walls

Let's Go Shopping!

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John Singer Sargent in the field.  If it was a good enough
field easel for Sargent, it's good enough for me.

One question I get frequently from beginning plein air painters is:  What should I buy for gear and materials?   I thought I'd address this in my blog now, seeing that Christmas is only 91 days away, and perhaps we should start thinking of what to ask Santa.

Once upon a time, painters had little choice for field easels.  A very simple one, basically made of three sticks bolted at the top to make a tripod, and with a fourth stick attached horizontally to make a shelf, was the only option.  Completely functional, these are still on the market today.  But who wants a VW Beetle when you can get a Cadillac Deville?  Today there's a wide range of field easels to fit every need—including some needs you didn't even know you had.

As you browse through the catalog, here are some things to look for in a field easel:

• Lightness.  Lugging a heavy easel to your painting spot will tire you out.  You'll want to carry your easel—and all your other materials—in one trip from the car.
• Simplicity.  An easel that's complicated to set up steals precious time.  The fewer the pieces, hinges, screws and bolts, the better.
• Stability.  Make sure the easel has a broad footprint so it'll stand up in the wind.  In a tripod, make sure the head is not made of plastic; you can't tighten plastic enough to avoid wobble. 

As for types of field easels, here are three basic types:

• A self-contained pochade box, which will have room for everything, including wet panel storage, brushes and paints.  (You will, however, need a tripod.) An example of this is the Guerrilla Painter 8x10 Cigar Box, my current favorite.
• A stripped-down clamshell, such as the Open Box M.  The bottom part serves as a palette and the top, as a panel holder.  This requires a modular approach; you will need a separate wet panel carrier, turps jar, paint box and brush holder.  (Plus a tripod.) I have several Open Box Ms in different sizes, and I still use them.  (The company seems to be out of business, alas, so here is the Strada, which is something like it.)
• A French easel or similar.  Although this is now considered old-school, it has plenty of room for all your materials, serves as its own tripod and is incredibly stable in the wind.  The only drawback is that it's heavy and has no storage space for a wet panel.  This is my go-to easel when all else fails.

There are many other versions.  But you'll find that no solution is perfect.  Try different options.  You also might check out what your painting buddies use—chances are, they'll have a setup completely different than yours, and it might be better.  By the way, athough I'm writing from the viewpoint of an oil painter, there are similar easels for other media.

Here's a short video of some boxes I own:

And what about materials?  Take a very stripped-down version of whatever you use in the studio.  The same basic concepts apply:  lightness, simplicity and stability.  Take two brushes rather than ten.  Take a limited palette of three colors instead of a dozen.  Take items that will stay securely in your work area without being knocked over by wind or an errant elbow.

Finally, take only the minium you need to accomplish your goal.  For example, if I only want to make color studies, I'll take just a small bag with my gouache kit and work in my lap.  You might have bigger goals, though—and I'll address those in my next post.