Plein-air painting gives budding artists a studio in the out-of-doors

On a windswept day I stand before my easel on a viewpoint overlooking Puget Sound with a fistful of brushes, smearing ribbons of paint as thick as cake frosting. Grunting with satisfaction, I eye the dark purple clouds I see tumbling across the gray sky and fill my brush again.

I love being out here painting. And I'm not alone.

Lately I've noticed a growing army of like-minded enthusiasts armed with paintboxes, easels and sun hats. You might see them scouring Seattle's parks, suddenly plopping down and pulling brushes and tubes out of paint-splattered boxes.

They are fellow participants in the struggles and joys of painting out-of-doors, also called plein-air painting.

Painting "en plein air" was a term coined by French impressionists more than 100 years ago and simply means painting in the open air. It helped define a move away from painting a symbolic or romanticized view of nature, and toward a more direct portrayal of light and form.

Modern art eventually moved on to other looks, but plein-air painting has never really disappeared. Today there is hardly a region in the country without a plein-air painting group.

Washington, with its varied ecosystems, is the perfect state for painting outdoors; I can attempt rocky surf in the morning and snowy mountains in the afternoon.

Snohomish artist William Elston, a plein-air painter since the 1970s, also sees an increased interest in outdoor painting. "The growth of the amateur plein-air movement has happened largely under the radar, but I think that it will eventually prove to be very significant," said Elston, who teaches classes and workshops in the art.

One of Elston's students, Carl Sussman, is a Bainbridge Island real-estate agent who finds plein-air painting challenging yet satisfying. Working on location can give an "amazing high," Sussman said.

Locally, plein-air painting has plenty of followers. Clyde Aspevig, an artist from Montana, last month gave a landscape painting demonstration to a crowd of 70 enthusiasts. The opening night of his current show at the Nordic Heritage Museum — up through June 11 (see box on G1) — drew even more fans, most trailing Aspevig like happy groupies as he walked the galleries discussing his work. His paintings sell for up to $100,000.

Plein-air painting has never been just for the experts; anyone with time and interest can try it out, and groups can provide an introduction or fellow enthusiasts. Plein Air Washington (PAW), a group of painters both professional and amateur, has seen membership grow in the past five years from the six founders to more than 80 dues-paying members.

One member, artist Jane Wallis of Poulsbo, said painting outdoors gives her a feeling of "being a part of the world." Yes, there are challenges, Wallis notes — rain, dogs and insects among them — but overcoming them is one of the most satisfying parts of the challenge, she said.

And of course, it's the "air" part of plein-air painting that attracts so many followers. "It's intoxicating, all your senses become more acute," Aspevig said.

Elston, the Snohomish County teacher, said he once heard a fellow artist remark: "I like landscape painting because you get to live your life while you're painting it!"

"The phrase has stuck with me," Elston said, "because it seems to allude to the real joy of painting, of being in the present, attuned to the passing of time."

Painting outdoors also forges an intimate relationship between painter and subject, providing a deeper connection to our earthy home. The act reminds me of the Taoist musings of Lin Yutang: "We are of the earth, earth-born and earth-bound. One must have a sentiment for this Mother Earth if we are to have a sense of spiritual harmony."

Paul Schmid is a Seattle Times graphic artist: pschmid@seattletimes.com.

See more of his plein-air paintings at: www.paulschmidstudio.com