“Painting is a Hike. Finding Strength in Painting through Sensitivity and Worry. Gratitude.” by Gressa Mapes

Painting is a Hike.

During the first few weeks at Mount Gretna I had the privilege of studying under the talented Rachel Rickert. I learned a lot of things– some physical, some metaphysical– all painterly. 

When I got here, I had no idea what to expect. Our first day was hot, sweaty, sticky, and overall an overwhelming experience. No one made objectively “good” work that day– no one was able to truly excel in painting “genius”. There was a cloud of overall discouragement hanging heavy in the muggy air. We were thrown into the deep end and had no idea what we were doing. Rachel told us that first day that plein air is a true sport– and wow, was she right. I had never been particularly good at sports… I left that day having made my first ever plein air painting, yet thinking “How am I going to do this??”.

At the time painting felt like an insurmountable task. Now, why is this wrong? It is not wrong in the sense that painting is insurmountable, because it is. I was actually wrong to think of painting as a task. One of the things that struck me in our first week of advice from Rachel was that she would talk about painting as an experience. By thinking of painting as a task, we are putting the entire weight of the idea of painting upon our brushes. 

It is as if we are on a hike (fitting for plein air, am I right?). You can wonder what the view will be like at the top of the mountain, but you truly do not know until you are there. This is how we must think about painting. Painting is the hike- we must concern ourselves with the trail, motivated by the excitement of the final view, but not bogged down by it. We can enjoy moments on the trail along the way– little fragments of beauty– hints of what is to come– and we keep climbing. There may be stumbles along the way, but the point is we keep traversing. We think of the hike as the trail– not the final view. 

Before entering this program I had never really understood painting at its core as an experience. Yes, I experienced it, but I never considered how my experience would be the definition of the result.

Finding Strength in Painting through Sensitivity and Worry.

One day, I got incredibly overheated. I had to move my entire setup somewhere in the shade. I was disappointed in myself. I wanted to make a “good” painting and I had failed. Not only was I hot, but Rachel had pushed us to use only our yellows and titanium white– an unsettling strange palette. I was so defeated, I simply sat on my drop cloth, trying to collect my thoughts. It was a few minutes later when Rachel came over. She sat down with me and we simply talked: I told her how I doubted my place in this program, how I felt I didn’t belong because everyone here is so talented. The idea of a “good” painting weighed heavy like an anchor in my mind. Many things stick out to me from what she said in her replies, but I will bring light upon a critical point: seeing sensitivity as a strength.

When one typically thinks of strength, one does not picture an unsure and slightly self deprecating painter. Yet I realized that day that there is strength in these perceived weaknesses. For one, it shows that you (yes you) the painter cares deeply about what they are doing. If we didn’t care, we wouldn’t be worried. Secondly, because we are worried we are sensitive– if we are sensitive we are gently in tune with our emotions.

With these two aspects, we create a vulnerable journey of painting. A “worried” painter creates the most kind and intuitive work… if they do it right. The key? You must be concerned and at the same time be free. Every brush mark counts– you must put your whole soulful thoughts into each color, each line; and yet you also must be spontaneous. This is the dichotomy of good painting.

Rachel taught me that every single aspect of our experience would be seen in the end result of a painting. The viewer will undoubtedly see your “worry” but if it is well placed worry, it will be seen as interconnected kindness– a sensitivity knowing no bounds.

In the face of harsh reality, gentle artists not only persist, but excel. There is no “good” painting. No task. We worry about what makes painting good, but we must worry with a curiosity that brings wonder and awe. Painting is never completed to perfection and yet that is what makes it so wonderful.

Gratitude.

I will never think about painting the same way again after that conversation. I am incredibly grateful to the Mount Gretna School of Art, but specifically Rachel Rickert who taught me to have confidence in both my abilities and more importantly, my sensitivity.