The first plein air painting outing of the year always feels like a fresh start, and this year began with the newly formed Jackson’s Art plein air group. On Friday, January 3rd, I rose in the dark, bundled up against a brisk -1°C, and made my way to Hampstead Heath, London. By the time we arrived, the temperature had climbed to a toasty 5°C—perfect weather for penguins or plein air painters. Despite the chill, the frost sparkled under a bright winter sun, and the intrepid few who turned up were ready to brave the elements.
I teamed up with Simon, who had his sights set on painting the Henry Moore bronze sculpture. With no firm ideas of my own, I decided the bronze was as good a subject as any. As we trekked across the frosty heath, I congratulated myself on remembering gloves and layers but quickly regretted not bringing a seat. Standing for hours might be fine when you’re 20, but my arthritic left knee and occasionally grumpy back had other ideas. Once I set up my easel, though, the magic of painting took over. Time and discomfort melted away as I became absorbed in the process. It’s amazing how painting can transport you—until you step back to assess your work and your body suddenly reminds you it’s not quite as young and sprightly as your spirit. One of the unexpected joys of plein air painting is the conversations with passers-by. I used to be nervous about this, worried about being interrupted or judged. But now, I genuinely enjoy these moments. Most people are curious and wonderfully complimentary, and their kind words often provide an encouraging boost. Some even share their own artistic aspirations or fond memories of painting, which creates a lovely connection. It’s a reminder that art isn’t just about the work itself but also about the way it resonates with others. After a couple of hours, I finished my piece and realized I was frozen solid (okay, maybe just my fingers, but it felt dramatic). I made a beeline for the cafe at Kenwood House, which, at that moment, felt like the coziest haven on earth. Sitting next to the radiator wasn’t just a preference; it was a necessity. I thawed out with a hot drink, my aches quietly reminding me that plein air painting isn’t just art—it’s endurance training. Rather than venture back out for the afternoon session, I stayed in the café, perfectly content to trade my easel for a sketchbook. Pen and wash sketches kept my creative momentum going without requiring me to brave the cold again. Honestly, staying warm while sketching by a radiator felt like the kind of compromise that comes with age (though I’d like to remind you—I’m not that old). At 3 pm, the group reconvened for a final meet-up. We posed for photos, shared our stories of the day, and exchanged ideas. Despite the aches and chills, there’s something deeply rewarding about plein air painting. Even though I treat these outings more like sketchbook exercises—experiments and studies rather than finished works—they’re a vital part of my creative practice. My attention was drawn to a small group of pigeons taking the role of clean-up crew, busily scavenging cafe crumbs with the same focus and determination we’d brought to our painting. Watching their hustle reminded me of the simple joys of being present and resourceful - whether capturing a a scene on canvas or making the most of a bright winter’s day. Their antics added a playful note to an already memorable outing on the Heath. The Jackson’s Art plein air group plans to meet every other month at different locations across the country, and I’m already looking forward to the next adventure. There’s something magical about painting outdoors, capturing a scene directly from life, engaging with curious passers-by, and (hopefully) remembering to bring a seat next time. Here’s to more plein air adventures. What do your think about plein air painting in the winter? Please share your thoughts in the comments below. I’d love to hear from you.
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As I step into the new year, I find myself reflecting on how far I’ve come since moving to Cumbria, in part to pursue my dream of being a full-time artist. In 2021, I officially registered as a self-employed professional artist with HMRC, ready to dedicate myself to this creative journey. Like any new venture, the early days brought their share of challenges. Progress in earning a stable living was slow, and I soon realized the need to explore part-time teaching opportunities to supplement my income. These efforts not only helped pay the bills but also led to unexpected growth and fulfillment.
This past year, in particular, has been one of serendipity and opportunity—proof that chance encounters can sometimes change everything. In the spring of 2023, a simple Facebook post became the catalyst for a remarkable series of events. Hoping to find a field of bluebells to inspire my work, I reached out to my local community. A young woman named Hannah responded, introducing me to a beautiful piece of private land brimming with bluebells and gorse bushes. But it didn’t stop there. Through our conversation, I learned she was about to start a creative role at the nearby Rosehill Theatre, which in turn connected me to their Kind Futures program. Kind Futures is a community initiative that fosters safe and supportive spaces for creative projects, workshops, and events. As part of their learning process, artists like myself were encouraged to step out of the studio and engage with the community. It was an experience that not only boosted my confidence but also opened new doors. I found myself leading projects that were as rewarding as they were varied: creating murals with an LGBTQ mixer group, designing a mural mosaic with an adult social group, and creating a pavement art project for HarbourFest in Whitehaven. These projects gave me invaluable experience and inspired me to take on more community-focused work. My residency as an artist at the Rosehill Theatre has become a cornerstone of this aspect of my practice. Through this role, I’ve been able to provide ongoing art projects to a variety of communities, further cementing my connection to the local area and the people within it. Another unexpected opportunity came when I took over a plein air painting group from an artist friend who could no longer run it. Meeting once a month on Saturdays, Lake District Plein Air has become an invaluable part of my routine. Though I might never have started the group on my own, I’m incredibly grateful for the chance to lead it. It’s not only a wonderful way to connect with other artists but also a great motivation to regularly head out and paint directly from nature—a practice that constantly inspires and invigorates my work. My involvement with the charity Curious Minds further deepened my connection to community art. As part of their “Art in Rural Schools” project, Artsmark, I was invited to collaborate with schools to enhance their art curriculum whilst teachers were sent on continuous development programs. As a result, one school even asked me to return and help deliver their curriculum using the AccessArt pathway. What could have been a daunting task—revising a 6-week hour long program for each year group into a single, 6-hour workshop—turned out to be an absolute joy. Working with children of all ages, I was inspired by their creativity, curiosity, and enthusiasm for learning. To help fill financial gaps, I also began working a few days a week as a primary school teaching assistant. What initially felt like a practical solution has since become a source of unexpected joy. Supporting children in their learning has been immensely rewarding and has taught me so much along the way. Amidst these varied experiences, my studio practice remains my sanctuary—my “happy place.” It is where I can recharge, reflect, and create. It’s a constant reminder of why I embarked on this journey in the first place. Looking back on the past year, I see the seeds I’ve sown beginning to sprout. The opportunities and connections I’ve nurtured are showing healthy green shoots, each one holding the promise of growth and possibility. I am filled with gratitude for the people I’ve met, the projects I’ve been part of, and the lessons I’ve learned. These experiences have enriched my journey in ways I never expected. As I look ahead, I feel hopeful and excited. This year will be about tending to these green shoots, watching them grow stronger, and seeing them bloom. To everyone who has been part of this journey—thank you. Your support, kindness, and collaboration have made this path all the more meaningful. Here’s to a new year of creativity, community, and continued growth. Have you a story to share? What seeds have you sown this past year, and what are you excited to see grow in 2025? Please share your thoughts, reflections, or dreams in the comments below! If you’d like to learn more about the organisations mentioned in my blog, please click on the following links: Rosehill Theatre Curious Minds Artsmark AccessArt Kind Futures |
AuthorI love to paint and sketch and although predominantly a studio artist, I have discovered the joys of painting and sketching outdoors. Archives
January 2025
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