Winter Retreat 2024

Finding a bit of Solitude: Painting in Glen Davis

Recently, I took a trip to Glen Davis, a hidden gem nestled in the Capertee Valley, to spend time alone and to paint. The place was jaw-droppingly beautiful, very isolated and absolutely silent at night. There are bluffs, hills, and escarpments all around: a magic smorgasbord of painting opportunities. This was the plan: to wake early, meditate, read, rest, and paint. To dive deep in to painting, and satisfy my soul. This is what I had been craving to do for weeks - always wishing for the time, whilst being horribly busy at work, and feeling like my brain had been baked by too much city noise. I needed a break from everything.

Did this work? Not really. I needed a break so badly that I found it hard to wind down. I had so many delicious plans but I was so tense and urgent to fit it all in that I found it hard to relax. And I found it hard to paint. I found my landscape painting overwhelming, disappointing, and frustrating. I rubbed off quite a bit.

What did I learn?

I have this tendency to race out and just paint without much planning. I frequently find myself starting out well enough, enjoying being in nature, full of optimism, with a vision in my head of what I could create. About halfway through, things start to turn ugly - I get lost, the tones are wrong, the light changes. The painting doesn’t live up to the vision I have. Know I am not alone in this experience. I recognise what I call “the art school sigh” : people around me in painting groups are always meeting frustrations and tutting, sighing, wiping off. This is part of the learning process, I’ve decided. You have to paint dozens of bad paintings to learn how to paint a good one.

I had to take a step back and take some guidance. I have been studying Landscape Painter's Workbook: Essential Studies in Shape, Composition, and Color by Mitchell Albala. Learning to stop. Plan. Think.

Capertee