Painting Big in the Field

Most plein air paintings are smallish for a reason: It's less space to cover while you pursue a moving target, the sunlight. Luckily, you don't need a big space to say big things. On an 8 x 10” board, a single large brush stroke can suggest a lot of form if applied with enough character. 

Little 6 x 8 boards are handy for super fleeting sunset effects. Robert Henri and others carried them in their pockets, hence the name pochade, from french word poche for pocket. 

So why do we bother with a bigger surface in the field? 

Because big paintings can get a big response. Because they’re fun and thrilling to do. Because a show with only small paintings can feel lacking. Because I want my large paintings to feel more like my smaller plein air efforts. Because painting large makes me feel like an artist.

You know when find yourself enthralled with the brushstrokes of a painting? It’s as if each one can transport you to the moment it was painted. You can practically see the paint move, the evidence of tools, the artist's shoulders moving. 

That’s the goal.

I’ve been trying to figure this out for a few years. Each time I try it, I learn a little more. The first step in my strategy is to scale everything up: canvas, easel, palette and box, brushes, and block-in.

It’s a hassle, no doubt about it. You need to haul the gear, battle the wind, and put out mounds of paint that make your wallet cringe. And you need to repel your doubts that you can possibly cover this thing before the light changes. Most outdoor painters have seen photos of Joaquín Sorolla behind a makeshift wooden windbreak wrestling with a 6 foot by 8-ish beast. And then there’s the famous two-and-a-half minute film of Monet in front of a similarly sized canvas in 1915 (though this feels conspicuously like a photo op). 

A 30 x 40” canvas feels good to me. There’s something about the scale relative to my body. I engage with it differently than I do with my usual 12 x 16-inchers. It feels serious. I focus more intently. Like driving 95 mph vs. 15. I move the brush with my arms, not fingers. My shoulders engage. 

I use a Beauport easel from Jerry’s Art-A-Rama that always seems to be on sale for around $100. The palette box is a different story. I had mine built by a cabinetmaker (and don’t want to tell you how much it cost). He did a beautiful job, but I’d forgotten to factor in weight when I gave him the specs and the final product weighed a ton. Another woodworker friend helped me trim it down without losing size and structure. It’s lighter now but still requires backpack straps to carry. On the plus side, it weighs down the easel so I don’t worry about the wind.  

My efforts are still works in practice. I fall back into time-worn habits like everyone else, but these are my mantras:

• Cover territory quickly. 
• Use a lot of paint. I mean lots and lots of paint gobbed on the brush and dripping with medium. (This is tough for me since I’m a drawer at heart and tend to rely on a drier brush and scumbling.) 
• Approach each area as if it’s the last time you touch it. 
• Try to give up expectations of “finishing.” This is easier said than done. When you’re in the throes, painting is such a back-and-forth. But you’re often “done” sooner than you think you are.