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View from Playa Caracas  6" x 8" oil/panel  plein air

Back in the winter, I was invited to hang a painting at the inaugural exhibit in the new gallery of the newly-named Glen Arbor Arts Center. Roo and I drove through a near blizzard 30 miles or so with another artist and her husband who are neighbors. (Such is life in northern Michigan.) So happy was I to have arrived in one piece, I didn’t think twice before I said yes to the nice lady who grabbed me at the entrance to ask if I would judge the 2018 Plein Air Paint Out.

In fact, I was rather pleased. I imagined I’d get a good bit of publicity off the arts center’s marketing of the event. I might even find a market for my little book, Painting Outdoors: A Plein Air Primer. Certainly, I was a qualified judge. I’d earned my chops with numerous early morning jaunts to the beach in Vieques, and, in 2009, had produced more plein air pieces than any living Artist in Residence at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore (I bragged to myself). And, how perfect that I now paint large and largely in my studio, so I wouldn’t have participated in the Paint Out myself. Using the art biz marketing jargon, I self-promoted my appointment, reporting “I’m thrilled to have been invited to judge the Glen Arbor Plein Air Paint Out this coming August.”

(I’d learned about using that word thrilled from reading posts by other artists who share their joy on Facebook whenever something vaguely encouraging happens. We made a painting! A painting sold! A gallery has decided to take us on! We’ve cleaned our studio! Everything, apparently, thrills us artists these days. Or so you’d think by reading our Facebook or Instagram posts. And, if it’s not on social media, did it really happen?)

I am susceptible to intimidation by reports of other’s thrilling successes (as well as my own) so, when it comes to art competitions, I practice a policy of nolo contendere (“no contest”). I generally don’t enter events such as the one I’ll be judging in a couple of weeks and, when I do occasionally, I’ve learned never do it with an eye to winning. Instead, I’ll enter because I want to see a large painting I’ve made hanging on a big wall. Or to add a line to my resume. Or, in the case of a paint-out, because it’s a good excuse to get out and breathe some fresh air while keeping up my plein air skills.

Perhaps insecurity in our art-making keeps us looking to others to approve of what we create. But I know from my own experience that winning approval doesn't necessarily eliminate doubts and, to me, isn’t all that meaningful. The one time I actually painted in a paint out, I happened to create a “winner” painting. When I came into the exhibit space, my painting had a red dot on it; then, later in the evening, I was given the People’s Choice Cash Award. Yes, it felt good to have the sale and recognition. But, because the painting was gone so quickly, I noticed I missed the conversation I might have had with the painting if it hadn’t gone home with an (anonymous) buyer. I realized that what others think of my work means less than my full appreciation and enjoyment of it.

Winning may thrill but the thrill is all too soon gone. Contending with the difficult question of what our art means to us is perhaps not thrilling, but it is meaningful. So, if you’re reading this blog to get a bead on how I might judge the upcoming paint out, please know that my view of your work is simply that—it should have absolutely no bearing on how you view your work. If I choose your painting as a winner, you’ll probably be thrilled, but, don’t worry, it won’t last! Then you can get back to the serious business of doing the art that is yours to do. And, having had the privilege of wrestling with the task of judging others, I’ll do the same!