One of the occupational hazards of having a studio cat is that sooner or later every available work surface becomes a cat bed. Smalls has recently decided that the paper cutter is hers. She can sleep there for hours, completely unconcerned with the fact that I actually need the thing. Yogi— “Momma Cat”—usually sleeps in this spot, so now I find myself wondering: Where’s Momma Cat?
The answer, I suppose, is wherever there is another piece of equipment I need to use. Unfortunately for the cats, I’m going to need this particular piece of workspace shortly. I have mats and frames to prepare before I head out the door.
I’m leaving tomorrow morning for a week-long plein air event. My painting kit is packed. My bags … are not. The next eight weeks are going to be busy. I have at least eight plein air events on the calendar between now and November 1, along with a few workshops that I’ll be teaching. There will be a fair bit of driving, a lot of early morning painting, and (I hope) a whole lot fewer hot days of standing in the sun.
It’s been a particularly good year for painting events so far. I started the season with a first-place finish at the Rice Gallery Magic Hour plein air event, followed by Best of Show at the Historic West Bottoms Plein Air. I had Top Five finishes at both the Rock Island Bridge event and the West Bottoms Nocturne, and received Honorable Mentions at STEMS and the Summit Plein Air Festival.
More recently, I was fortunate enough to receive Best of Show at both Paint Marceline and the Arterie KC Plein Air. That’s a lot of good news in one season, and I’m feeling pretty good about how things have gone.
Awards are fun. I won’t pretend they aren’t. But I also don’t want to measure the success of a painting season entirely by ribbons, placements, or judges’ decisions. Those things are gratifying, but they’re not really the reason I keep hauling my gear outdoors. What I really want is to make work that I like.
I want to come home from an event with paintings that feel like mine. Sometimes those paintings get recognized. Sometimes they don’t. The important thing is to “keep on keepin’ on.”
When I’ve had some time between events, I’ve been quietly developing a series of 8 x 10 oil paintings. The series is focused on the rural landscape of the Missouri River bottomlands stretching between Clay County and my boyhood home of Saline County. It’s a landscape I know well. Painting outdoors, you can drive past the same stretch of road a hundred times, then one day stop and spend two hours seeing the place with fresh eyes.
The series is still developing, and I’m in no hurry to decide exactly where it’s going.
Alongside the oils, I’ve also been making smaller studies with water-soluble pastels. These are quick, portable explorations. They are another way of studying the same landscape and testing ideas. I’ve also made dozens of small value studies in preparation for the bitterest of winter months, when getting all of my plein air gear outdoors may not always be practical. They give me a way to keep working through composition, light, and value when the weather makes outdoor painting difficult.
If time and weather cooperate on the way home from this coming week’s event, I may make a little detour and perhaps add another color study or two to the Missouri River bottomlands series. There’s always the possibility of turning the trip itself into part of the painting process. A road home can become an opportunity to stop somewhere I’ve passed before, pull out the easel, and spend a few hours painting.
There will also be plenty of time behind the wheel to think and consider what my in-person workshops might look like in 2027. Teaching is an important part of what I do.
For now, my painting kit is packed. My suitcase isn’t. And somewhere in the studio, a cat is sleeping on my paper cutter. I’d better get moving.
Mark Alan Anderson 
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