Plein Air: Return to the Seen World
The sea was a companion long before it became a subject. Summers on the Maine coast as a child left an imprint that never fully left — the blues and yellows of that particular light, the rhythm of the water, the physical sensation of being near something vast and eternal and alive.
These paintings were made outdoors, in direct observation of the Atlantic and the lakes of Maine, during a period when returning to the visible world felt genuinely necessary. Color — seen and used for the first time as embodied light — lifted something that had grown very dark. Going outside, looking outward rather than inward, was its own form of grounding.
By moving the brush in response to the wind, the light, and the tide, I began to move beyond survival patterns and into a state of presence. The vastness of the water acts as a psychological mirror; it allows for a deep, mindful dialogue between my inner landscape and the physical world.
This practice had its limits — not because the seen world lacks richness, but because the deeper question kept reasserting itself: what lies beyond what the eye can simply see? These paintings were a necessary passage back to color, back to light, back to the conscious and observable world. But they pointed toward something further.
The sea was a companion long before it became a subject. Summers on the Maine coast as a child left an imprint that never fully left — the blues and yellows of that particular light, the rhythm of the water, the physical sensation of being near something vast and eternal and alive.
These paintings were made outdoors, in direct observation of the Atlantic and the lakes of Maine, during a period when returning to the visible world felt genuinely necessary. Color — seen and used for the first time as embodied light — lifted something that had grown very dark. Going outside, looking outward rather than inward, was its own form of grounding.
By moving the brush in response to the wind, the light, and the tide, I began to move beyond survival patterns and into a state of presence. The vastness of the water acts as a psychological mirror; it allows for a deep, mindful dialogue between my inner landscape and the physical world.
This practice had its limits — not because the seen world lacks richness, but because the deeper question kept reasserting itself: what lies beyond what the eye can simply see? These paintings were a necessary passage back to color, back to light, back to the conscious and observable world. But they pointed toward something further.
Above: Pine Point, Triada Samaras 2022, acrylic on panel,, 16 x 20 inches
Above: Casco Bay, Triada Samaras, 20223 oil on canvas,, 24 x 36 inches
Above: Reaching, Triada Samaras 2024, acrylic on canvas 22 x 18 inches
