Between The Sunshine And The Showers...

May has drawn me outside more than usual. I run the Lake District Plein Air group, so I do get out to paint at least once a month, but this time I’ve managed four outdoor pieces—all within a few weeks. That’s out of the ordinary for me. Three were painted in a gorse and bluebell field during a welcome spell of sunshine, and the fourth at Old Dungeon Ghyll on a much wetter, more unpredictable day.

The days in the gorse field were particularly special. Glorious sunshine, yellow blossoms in full bloom, a smattering of bluebells carpeting the ground—there was something very grounding about being in that space. I went back more than once, not just to paint, but to take it all in and let myself settle into the landscape. I even took my drone along one day, which gave me a different perspective altogether and will be useful when I revisit those scenes in the studio.

Painting outdoors always comes with its own set of challenges—changing light, unpredictable weather, and the pressure of working quickly. At Old Dungeon Ghyll, for example, the rain brought the session to an abrupt end. But I’d done just enough to be able to finish the piece later. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to stop and when to take it back to the studio to let it unfold more slowly.

Even though plein air painting isn't my usual way of working, I’ve noticed a shift. I’m beginning to feel a little more at ease with the process. I still think of myself primarily as a studio painter, but I’m starting to enjoy the rhythm of outdoor work. There’s something very real about being face to face with a place and having to make decisions in the moment. It sharpens your instincts and encourages a more direct response—both of which have started to feed back into my studio practice.

In the studio, I can pause and reflect. I can move things around, simplify or exaggerate, follow a feeling rather than the facts of a place. But I’ve come to see how important it is to pair that with time spent outdoors. Even when the plein air paintings don’t feel finished or polished, they give me something that studio work alone doesn’t—an immediacy and honesty that’s hard to replicate from memory or photographs.

This month has reminded me how valuable that balance can be. The more I get outside, the more I realise it’s not about perfection or producing a finished piece every time. It’s about showing up, paying attention, and trusting that each attempt adds something to the bigger picture.

I do consider myself a plein air painter, and I’m often invited to lead plein air workshops—but I’m still learning, and I think that’s something worth sharing. Each outing teaches me something new about how I see, how I respond, and how I want to paint. There’s value in being open about that ongoing process, especially when guiding others. This month has reminded me just how much the act of getting outside—no matter the weather or outcome—feeds both my confidence and my creativity. It’s a rhythm I’d like to keep going.

Whether you’re just starting out with plein air or have been painting outdoors for years, I’d love to hear how you navigate the balance between spontaneity and structure, observation and interpretation. Do you prefer working in the moment, or taking time to refine things later in the studio? Feel free to share your thoughts or experiences in the comments—I always enjoy hearing how others approach the practice.
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