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Recently I've been fortunate enough to have painted outdoor (en plein air) in some interesting venues on beautiful days with lots of wonderful people milling about looking and asking questions.  It's always a challenge to stay focused on the painting process while simultaneously keeping up running conversations with interested observers, so this one combined a pleasant outcome of the two disparate challenges! Although we're all wired differently and I'm no expert on anything, my experience over the years has taken me from a place of ignoring "lookers" and "watchers" to being welcoming and interacting with them.  

Most of us love to be "in the zone" when we paint.  I've come to equate being "in the zone" with playing chess.  Like moving my bishop into potentially dangerous territory, I plan for numerous different moves by my opponent.  If he does "this" then I'll do "that," if he does "that" then I'll do "this."  My knight has been strategically moved into position to counter any brash move on the opposite side of the board.  Painting is just the same.  I'm making "this" move in my painting, but I'm strategizing three or four moves ahead.  If I cool this patch of vegetation, I'll need to warm the pathway beside it, which may mean I'll need to brighten the sky above the house, which will require I soften the edge of the roofline, etc., etc.  This thinking requires concentration. But the plein air endeavor usually doesn't happen that way.  I'll be mixing up the cool greens of step one when up walks Ms. Wilson.  "Isn't it fun to paint outside like this?  I'll bet it's so relaxing!"

A laugh and a few words with Ms. Wilson, who wanders off, then I return to my work.  I notice I've got cool green paint all over palette and on my brush.  What was I going to do with it?  It takes precious moments to internally rewind the previous several minutes.  Oh, that's right!  I was going to cool that patch of vegetation.  And then what?  I've lost my "train of thought."  To be honest, lately I've been rudely awakened to the fact that I'm not just middle-aged anymore.  I'm totally senior citizen.  Needless to say, there are elements of that equation that factor into forgetting what I walked into a room for, so finding the track my train of thought left on is no easy matter anymore.  So "losing my place" has to be factored in to outdoor painting with people near to hand.

Nonetheless, I've repeatedly found it worthwhile to stop the painting process and engage the frivolous or serious inquiry.  Lasting friendships have had their start from "chatting up" a visitor.  In fact, some of my strongest painting competitors are folks I talked into coming painting with our plein air group (and who I now halfway wish I hadn't invited!)  I've also made many sales "off the easel" of still-wet, unfinished paintings, had people commission pieces, and met dozens who ended up taking my classes due to our interchange.  In the current economic climate, those are valuable commodities!

Are interruptions ideal while painting outdoors?  Obviously not.  But the possibilities of good thing happening are exponentially increased when passers-by and sincerely interested observers are brought into connection through pleasant, friendly conversation.  I think Tim Deibler, an amazing Colorado artist and friend, once told me that 98% of the people who stop to look are in absolute awe of what we are doing!  If we can help these inquirers and admirers bridge the seeming distance between them and our "brush magic" by "inviting them in," they'll see that we aren't paint zombies, but ordinary people with a special passion for communicating our vision in color on our canvases.  And maybe they'll take one home with them!