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Everyone should see beauty every day.  

Perhaps that seems like a strong imperative, an impossible task, or a dream not yet realized.  Could it be that we just don't know how to see?

I'm going to come back to this thesis on days that may seem dry or lifeless, but today I want to revel in a beauty-abundant week.   

I don't get to travel to paint outs nearly as often as I'd like—pesky night vision issues keep me from some long day trips, or budget and schedule issues keep me from long distance trips, but I do get to some special places on my agenda list.  One such event happened this week in Jacksonville, NC, a place where I have connections I love. I make an effort to get to their ART BLOCK paint out each year where I am challenged and encouraged by the artsy friends I've made there. 

I had two full days to paint. I packed my paint gear, a simple lunch, drink, and snacks, insect repellent, and hope— hope that I'll really see beauty, be inspired by beauty, accurately portray beauty. 

Site selection—the first step to success.  There are many good books written on this topic  so I won't detail here except to say a bad choice can be fatal to success—wincing as I recall my second site choice: lovely white boat, bad composition, blustery weather at water's edge under willow tree that whipped me with long rope-like branches as I tried to concoct a painting with one hand on my brush and another clinging tightly to my easel and painting.  I didn't stand a chance.

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Design—another battle for success.  I went out on the second morning with a view in mind, found the perfect set up to a great view, had a toned panel perfect for the color scheme, faithfully did my little composition sketch that I normally do to help me get the placement and value patterns working on my chosen canvas.  Then I began faithfully, stroke by stroke—or not so faithfully, because when I had gotten to the point of no return, I realized something was wrong--bad  placement that killed my center of interest. 

Painting is like juggling.  You're tossing balls of design, hue, value, intensity, temperature, stroke, and mood up in the air and catching them in rhythm, but drop one—just one—and the game is up.  I dropped one and then another.  That pesky “never make any two intervals the same” rule (Greg Albert, The Simple Secret to Better Painting) glared at me.  I had unwittingly moved some lines from my composition design to the middle of the painting.  And I dropped the value ball, too.  And the temperature ball.  But I had seen beauty and I had had fun.  Moving on.

The rest of the story is where I felt the wind of enjoyment in this labored euphoria. I saw magic shapes and colors that delighted me like a visual concert.   I enjoyed every messy minute of the capture—Phthalo blue on all my clothes and pollen in my eyes—and paint taking shape on my gessoed panels.  And the memories— oh, so good.

I renewed my acquaintance with one of my favorite sites, the Pelletier House on the bank of New River. The straight lines contrasted with soft florals and the morning back light inspired me.  

I sketched and painted boats and branches on the river edge.   I was fascinated by the multi colored blades of Wilson Park palm trees with sharp tips, shadows, and sunlight. 

In my last hour and a half of the day, I was captivated by the drama of simple cattails in the  warm, late afternoon sun. This was the prize catch of the day.

Painting en plein air is, I think, the best way for me to really see beauty because I really have to take it in through all my senses but discern how what the eye sees is different from what logic or memory reconstructs.

Really seeing is the adventure that makes beauty pop out of unexpected places.