Plein Air, Persistence, and Perspective: My Southport Experience.
Every plein air event has a story behind the paintings. This year at the Southport Plein Air Festival, mine had a few chapters I didn’t expect.
Plein air painting always comes with its own set of challenges—weather, light changes, curious onlookers, and the occasional unexpected obstacle. But this year, the obstacles felt like they were testing me from every angle.
Fire Ants, Mosquitos and Flying Canvases.
It started with the elements—nature doing what nature does. At one point while painting, I realized I was standing in the middle of a fire ant colony. If you’ve never been mauled by fire ants while trying to paint, let me tell you, it’s not exactly conducive to calm brushwork. There’s nothing quite like trying to keep your composure while your legs feel like they’re on fire.
Then came the wind.
Southport has these sudden coastal gusts that come out of nowhere. One of them caught my biggest canvas and sent it flying off my field easel like a sail. When it hit the ground, a hole was punched straight through it. For a moment, I just stared at it thinking, Well… there goes that.
But plein air teaches you something important: adapt or pack up. So I patched the canvas right there, reset the easel, strapped the painting down tighter, and kept going. Because once you commit to painting outside, you commit to rolling with whatever the day throws at you.
The Part People Don’t Talk About.
Not all the challenges were physical. During the event, I had an interaction with a fellow artist that left me feeling uneasy—something that, at the time, I brushed off and kept moving past. When you’re in the middle of a festival, painting against the clock, surrounded by people, you tend to compartmentalize things and focus on the task at hand.
But as I drove back home later, replaying the week in my head, it finally hit me.What I experienced wasn’t just an awkward interaction. It was racial profiling and racism.
That realization sat heavy. It’s a strange feeling when you recognize something after the fact—when the moment has already passed and you’re left processing it alone in the quiet of a long drive home.
And unfortunately, moments like that aren’t unfamiliar. Welcome to my life as a brown man.
Most days, I just keep moving forward. I focus on the work, on the art, on the people who show genuine kindness and support. But it’s still something that happens, something that lingers in the background even in spaces that are supposed to be about creativity and community.
Why I Still Show Up.
Despite all of that—the fire ants, the wind, the damaged canvas, and the heavier moments—I kept painting. Because painting outdoors is still one of the most freeing experiences I know. Standing in front of a canvas with the ocean breeze, trying to capture a fleeting moment of light… that’s why I do this.
And in the end, the community showed up in a way that reminded me why I keep coming back.
I was honored to win the People’s Choice Award at the Southport Plein Air Festival. That award means a lot because it comes directly from the people who stopped, looked, connected with the work, and cast their vote. After everything that happened that week, that moment felt like a reminder that the art still speaks louder than the noise.
The Real Story Behind the Paintings When people see a finished painting hanging in a gallery, they rarely see the full story behind it. They don’t see the wind trying to steal your canvas, the ant bites, the patched holes, or the emotional weight you might be carrying while you paint. But all of that ends up in the work somehow.That’s the reality of plein air painting—and honestly, the reality of life. You take the hits, patch the holes, and keep painting. And sometimes, despite everything, you still come out the other side with a painting you’re proud of and a story worth telling.
