Plein Air Painting as an End as Well as a Means
by Phil Sandusky

Most of us agree that plein air painting is an invaluable process. It not only connects artists to the vivid, first-hand experience but it can also help in developing much needed skills. When grappling a subject outdoors that is both complex and fugitive, with moving objects and changing light, artists learn to simplify, see and understand the subject as a whole, and develop their visual memory. However, the prevalent view seems to keep plein air painting in an ancillary role, more often framing it as practice or as a vehicle for small quick preliminary studies for larger, more elaborate studio pieces. Such exercises and preparatory sketches capture a few overriding qualities, but their makers usually have no expectations that such abbreviated statements will fully communicate their point of view. These unassuming but fresh little sketches that have become the face of our modern plein air resurgence hit a much needed lower price point in the art market, but are understandably considered inferior to larger studio pieces as stand-alone works of art.

If one shares those opinions, then a more ambitious plein air painters like myself will have been found guilty of underachievement by association. Allow me to appeal this conviction by showing how plein air painting can be a unique and important end result of the artistic process, rather than only an important cog in the machinery.

First, we acknowledge that a plein air painting doesn’t have to be completed in one short sitting. Many great plein air painters throughout history have worked during multiple sittings. However, a painting done quickly shouldn’t necessarily be devalued. It’s amazing how many patterns can be thoughtfully placed onto a canvas in a couple of hours. We don’t think less of a mathematician who can solve a problem quickly, nor should we devalue an artist who can make a strong painting quickly. In fact, the lack of polish in a quickly executed paintings provides extra insight about the artist’s process. And sometimes the best artistic decisions are made quickly and intuitively. Most of my paintings (all of the ones reproduced here) are done in a single sitting of three hours or less, but I wipe off 4 out of 5 canvases, making me no more productive than a painter who works in multiple sittings.

“Anchored Ships in the Mississippi,” by Phil Sndusky, 2011, oil, 15 x 30.  Courtesy the  Reinike Gallery, Atlanta, Georgia

Plein air paintings do not even have to be petite. Joaquin Sorolla produced monumentally large seascapes and outdoor figure paintings on location. Claude Monet dug a trench into which he lowered one of his canvases so that he could reach the top of it. The only category into which plein air painting can be placed is one defined by the criteria that they were all created primarily outside in the torrents of nature rather than in the controlled environment of the studio. This distinction makes it difficult to articulate many details when painting outdoors, considering that the subject is constantly changing, at least in how it is lit. Plein air painters do enhance their direct perceptions with memories and/or refinements made on similar days at about the same time. But generally, it is at least logistically easier to articulate more details in the studio working from fixed photographic references and preliminary studies. Thus our competency trial of plein air painting becomes focused upon the topic of information. Does a painting with more detail have the potential to eclipse one that is more simplified?  

Through a series of perceptual experiments conducted in the early 20th century, Max Wertheimer, the founder of Gestalt Psychology, demonstrated that smaller perceptions that seem to fall under the umbrella of a bigger perception cannot be added together to form the bigger perception. The motto of the Gestalt psychologists, and what would eventually be called “the first principle of gestalt”, became, “The whole is different than the sum of its parts.” The application of this timeless principle of perceptual psychology to vision comes to bear when our attention is directed towards the smaller quarters of a larger view.

“Church Deconstructed,”  by Phil Sandusky, 2011, oil, 18 x 24. Courtesy Cole Pratt Gallery, New Orleans, Louisiana

As we begin to scan and assess each object in a view separately, smaller perceptions cannot be added together to replicate the initial experience that we had when we first laid eyes upon the bigger view. The best proponents of 19th century impressionism intuited this and made paintings that evoked their experience of the first impression of the subject as a whole with only the whole in mind. The parts of their paintings were often brash, indistinct, or rather odd when viewed from up close, but when seen from a distance, they formed the strongest possible whole. The impressionists chose to design an image on their canvas that evoked just this one distinct experience.

A great dilemma of more traditional forms of representational painting is that one canvas is used to evoke many different distinct experiences associated with the same view that happen in succession. In these paintings, individual parts of the bigger view are articulated to evoke a sense of what we would see when we focus our attention on each separately. These paintings read well when viewed from up close where the smaller parts are more distinct, but when viewed from a distance, the overall effect of the painting may be less evocative.This is why traditional more articulated paintings when seen from a distance can often look a bit boring and photograph-like compared to smaller studies of the same view or good impressionist paintings done of similar subjects. Yet, these more traditional pieces that contain more information still remain the best vehicle for communicating the breadth of our vision as it plays out in time. But the best proponents of this type of painting don’t allow the whole to be completely compromised by the parts. They skillfully negotiate between the whole and the parts allowing the parts to have more voice, but not too much more. They allow the parts to be a little less interesting each in themselves so that the whole can still have good impact.

Thus my closing argument in defense of plein air painting’s role as a stand alone art form is to remind you of a simple principle of design; when the number of design requirements increases, the ability of the design to satisfy any one of the requirements is lowered. If you design an airplane only to be fast, it will be faster than a plane that is designed to be both fast and maneuverable. An artist concerned only with making a painting that evokes his first impression of a subject as a whole must produce a painting with greater impact as a whole than another artist of equal skill whose objective is to produce both a strong whole and strong parts. The painting best suited to evoke the most powerful statement of the whole is more succinct and has less information. Since this type of painting can be executed as well outdoors as in the studio, it is more desirable in the case of landscape painting for it to be done from the first hand, direct experience rather than insulated from that experience by time and the walls of a studio. Claude Monet didn’t paint outside in 28 degree snow flurries for his health.

“View from Dog Hill,” by Phil Sandusky, 2011, oil, 15 x 30. Courtesy Cole Pratt Gallery, New Orleans, Louisiana

Finally, let’s not sell short our modern resurgence of plein air painting by having as its icon a small, unassuming little thing that has to be elaborated upon in the studio. This type of painting should have a place in the movement, but not as the poster image. Let’s set the bar high. Great things can be done in the changing sun!

ABOUT PHIL SANDUSKY: Phil Sandusky lives in New Orleans, Louisiana, and works exclusively from life. He teaches landscape painting and life painting both privately and at the New Orleans Academy of Fine Arts. He has published several articles and the following books: New Orleans en Plein Air, Painting Katrina, and Jacksonville Through a Painter’s Eyes (Pelican Publishing Company, Gretna, Louisiana). These books contain reproductions of his paintings and essays by Sandusky about painting and vision. His latest volume of New Orleans paintings will be released Fall 2012. Sandusky is represented by the Cole Pratt Gallery in New Orleans LA, Stellers Gallery in Jacksonville FL, and the Reinike Gallery in Atlanta GA. His website is www.philsandusky.com.