What Does "Painting to See" Mean?
Back in 2005, when I decided to start a blog—I can't believe it was nearly 20 years ago—I had to come up with a title for it. I decided to call it "A Plein Air Painter's Blog" because I wanted to share my journey in becoming a better outdoor painter.
Fast forward to 2024. For a number of reasons, I decided to move my blog from Google's Blogger, which had hosted it for all those years, to Substack. Because I'd begun to paint a little less in the field and a little more in the studio, this also gave me the opportunity to give the blog a new name. "A Plein Air Painter's Blog" didn't quite fit anymore.
So, what to call it? In my journey of over two decades, I began to realize that painting is my way of experiencing the world. It is my way of seeing—hence, the title of the new blog became "Painting to See."
For me, "painting to see" breaks down this way:
As I start a painting, I'm first seeing with a scientist's eye. The beautiful scene in front of me transforms, for a few minutes, into simply an abstract pattern of dark and light shapes of different hues exhibiting a variety of edge characteristics. Seeing this way lets me discover the scene's optical properties that are the source of its beauty.
But once I'm done with this initial analysis, I change over to seeing more as an artist. What entranced me at the start returns in full force, tearing down the structure I so carefully observed earlier, unleashing beauty. The moment becomes timeless, and suspended in it I respond, not in a conscious way but as if I, too, were some element of the phenomenon before me, pushed and pulled by its eddies.
And that's all just while I'm painting. Seeing this way seeps into my non-painting time, too. Before I became a painter, as enjoyable as hikes were, I possessed only rudimentary observational skills. Once a painter, though, I began to observe a great deal more: the descending call of the unseen canyon wren, the wine-cellar fragrance of a ponderosa pine on a damp morning, the chill emanating from a boulder in the shadows as I use it to steady myself going down a slope. You'll note that none of these observations involve the visual—becoming a painter enhanced all my senses.
For me, painting has become not so much about the end product but about the experience—and not just about the seeing, but about feeling, listening and smelling, as well. The act of painting/seeing encompasses the whole.
(By the way, I also experience the world by writing. You may enjoy the companion blog, "Writing to See.")
Plein Air Painting awakens all your senses.