The floods of early June forced the owners of the Studio Gallery to close the business, and along with that my studio was no longer. I had barely gotten the paintings back on the walls after my show, when I had to take them all home. So it goes.

But, I did paint this summer, and I am pleased with the results. I completed another of the Plein Air contest paintings, Pleasant Valley Pasture. Eagles Above the Clouds, which is from only one of the 200 cloud photos I took during the stormy early summer, is another. Then Gracie, Togo Tailor, and Togolese Women appeared. I am embarking on a series from my time in Togo as a Peace Corps Volunteer. The tailor, was the fellow in the market who made your dress, or shirt while you shopped for other necessities. The Togolese Women painting came from a dream that had been recurring all spring. But they are actually like the many women I often saw on the road to Tsevie, a real place where I often rode my Mobylette as I drove to the capital city of Lome, 75 kilometers from my home.

GRACIE

PLEASANT VALLEY PASTURE

TOGO TAILOR                                                                 TOGOLESE WOMEN

Valerie Connelly currently has two of her works, Eagle Above the Clouds and Barns , showing in the Main Street Gallery at the Cedarburg Cultural Center, as one of the works presented by the Cedarburg Artist's Guild.

The Cedarburg Artists Guild's Fall Show begins on September 2nd and runs through November 2nd 2008. Valerie has two paintings in the show: Togolese Women and Snowy Rocky Mountains.

The first morning of the Strawberry Festival in Cedarburg, Wisconsin, dawned sunny and cool. A perfect day for an outdoor event. The air was calm as my husband and I drove northward to the site where my booth would stand. I felt elated. Happy to be trying the festival world again, having done so in the 90's with my hand-carved block prints. I remembered the sunny days and the need for a tent. So this time, I had done it right, and my EZup tent fitted with my banner would be a good temporary home for my paintings as I offered them to the patrons of this very well-established and popular event. In spite of a delay waiting for a parked car to be removed from my booth's place on the Columbia street section of the fair, by the time the patrons were strolling by my temporary home, I was just putting the last zip-ties on the backs of the paintings to keep them from falling off the lattice walls. Every little breath of wind caused the walls to flex, which annoyed me at the beginning and which I realize saved my tent by the end of the day. People smiled happily as they looked into my booth. Some came in to see the paintings up close, and others lingered to flip the pages of the portfolio to see the paintings I hadn't brought with me. All seemed right with the world, until by 2:30 pm or so, the first clouds of the front peeked over the buildings to the west. White and unassuming at first, the first sign of the coming storm was the subtle increase in the breeze. Long gusts of stronger intensity foreshadowed what was to follow.

Undaunted by the need to constantly reset the walls of the booth, I kept getting up and sitting down in my own dance of the festival until the clouds changed. The fluffy white billows gave way to gray shelf clouds, unassuming but indicative of the force coming behind them. The winds rose, while across the street the umbrella stand laden with wind chimes began to shake in a cacophony of urgent warning. Tents shook, contents fell to the ground, people began to run in all directions as the storm approached and then engulfed the town. I secured the tent side facing the coming storm, but had no more time to put on the other two sides. The cloth acted as a baffle, but also as a sail, and the wind rose higher, shaking the booth with a violence I could not have expected.

I was all alone in my booth, hanging onto one of the front supports of my tent. Two women, no bigger than I am, came running toward me. "How can we help you?" they shouted above the din.

"Grab the front poles and hang on!" I shouted back, "I have to get the paintings off the walls!" I scrambled in panic to snip the zip-ties off the backs of the artwork and began to stack it on the card table. I tried to avoid damaging the canvasses, but I was losing the battle with the wind. One of the women helped, as I snipped, she grabbed the paintings and stacked them. But not familiar with how to do this, she was stacking them so the frames could cut into the paintings.

"Here, you cut the ties, I'll stack the paintings," I shouted. Together we got the paintings off the walls, but there wasn't enough room for them on the table and on the chair. And then, the rain began. "Thank you for your help, but you can go, get out of the rain. I'll manage," I called to the women. Just then, into the booth came Jason and Anna Sadjak. Jason is one of the maintenance team at our town-home complex. They had been to my booth earlier, and when the storm began, they ran to help me. I learned all this after the event, of course, but without them, I could never have saved my paintings.

My husband, Mike called, "The storm has just taken down the power lines on Buntock. There's a fire on the pole. I'm on my way!" He was clearly frantic to get to me.

"I can't talk, I'm trying to save the paintings!" I shouted into my cellphone. "Just get here fast!" I was still panicked, trying to keep the paintings off the street, now flowing with the deluge. The winds blew stronger. We all tried to keep the paintings dry. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the winds died down, and the rain paused. The crowd had disbursed, and there were only half-crazed vendors, trying to save their wares and their tents. The storm had flattened many, and the paramedic ambulances screamed their way through the streets to help those who had been injured.

I couldn't think. Never before had I felt so exposed, so helpless. Even with the good hearts of caring people who had come to my aid, I realized just how powerless human beings are in the face of Nature's ferocity. I have always loved watching storms from the windows. Never afraid. But this first hand communication with the elements left me shaken. Mike arrived, and we managed to get all the paintings and some of the equipment into the car before the rain began again. Jason and Anna stayed with me as Mike drove away. We all carried what remained of the contents of the booth to my car, just a block and a half away. The sun returned as we arrived at my car. Wet, calmer, and sure to get home in one piece, I thanked them for staying with me, and we all hugged each other, laughing at the whole scene.

As they walked toward their car and I drove away, I decided to take this as a warning. I spoke aloud to myself. "I'm too old for this kind of thing. It's a good lesson, and I'll just have to realize I can't do outdoor festivals in tents."

By the time I got home, the sun was shining and the storm had gone eastward over the lake. As I unpacked Mike's car, I inventoried the paintings. One had a tear. Just a small tear. Something that could be repaired. All the rest were fine. The booth was still on the street, still standing, and when we went back later to retrieve it, one thing became very clear: The walls had been flexible, and that was why the tent didn't crumble. The remains of other tents littered the street, and one vendor had just set up his wares off the back of his truck and was still selling his beautiful, hand crafted fishing lures. A gust of wind blew down the board, flinging all the lures into a tangled mess on the ground. He just laughed. "At least I sold nearly a thousand dollars worth before the storm!"

"You're in the right business," I said. "I sold $15 worth of greeting cards for my trouble. This isn't the place for me!" And maybe that's true. One torn painting, one battered tent and one lesson learned.

Day two of the Strawberry Festival dawned sunny and cool. I stayed home.

By the way, as I write this piece in the afternoon, the clouds and wind have returned. I'm glad I wasn't in the street in a tent.

Painting en plein air is exhilarating and exhausting. I spent five days in five different locations, trying to paint something that would be worthy of inclusion in the contest sponsored by The Cedarburg Artist's Guild and the Cedarburg Cultural Center in Cedarburg, Wisconsin. I will say this, it is a good thing to be able to shoot a reference photo or two of the site your a painting before you begin, and this I did every day.

On the first day, I started in the Silver Creek Park, dragging cooler, paints, canvas and dog along with me. I wanted to capture the flood-swollen creek and found a comfortable spot away from the street. Once settled in place, Gracie and I found the serenity of the golden summer morning very pleasant indeed. People stopped by to say hello and admire the progress of the work. By noon, I was glad my husband came to get the dog. I continued to paint well into the afternoon, but my energy waned as did my ability to see my work clearly. I was losing focus. I was tired. I didn't like the results of my efforts. So, I dragged my equipment to the car vowing to do better the next day.

On day two, rejuvenated, I headed north to the well-known Covered Bridge Park. And, sure enough, right next to the current-day road was the old covered bridge. I scouted the park area, which still showed the effects of the recent flooding, for a shady vantage point with water and bridge in view. Returning to the roadside, I finally set up and began to paint. A photographer and a family ready for their portrait shoot had just beat me to the spot. No problem, as they'd be gone in less than an hour. I started the work of under-painting and planning the canvas. When you are painting en plein air, the sun reminds you that time is passing. You had better catch your subject quickly, and set the shaded and bright areas and hold onto them as the sun arcs above. By early afternoon, my painting seemed worse, not better, and I was frustrated with the imposition of speed. I love detail. Detail takes time. And I had no time. So, I gathered up my painting supplies once again and headed home, still unsatisfied by the experience.

On Sunday, day three, I set out for Pleasant Valley Road. I knew I'd find a great pastoral scene up there, and yes, I did. I set up my easel just behind my car, left the trunk open, uncapped my bottle of Coke, took a swig, and started to paint. There were clouds. There was a superb distinction between the very sunny scene and the shadows of the trees and grasses that framed my view. The subject matter inspired my hand, and the painting was going very well. I had been painting for a couple of hours, standing all the while, when I dropped the cap to a tube of Mars Black on the ground. As I bent to pick it up, the muscles in my back spasmed, as they do from time to time, and locked tight. I couldn't move. I managed to sit on the folding chair, but I couldn't bend in any direction. Not even two inches to get my Coke. Not able to move at all, I knew the painting was over, but how was I going to get home? From the cellphone I carried in my pocket, I called my husband, and he agreed to help me. Waiting for him, I felt suspended in time and space, comfortable enough if I didn't flinch. Needless to say, that painting en plein air had now taken on a new meaning. When it goes well, something else will interrupt the day. That painting came home unfinished as well. I skipped painting on Monday and rested, hoping to regain my enthusiasm.

On my fourth day of painting, paint-in-town-Tuesday, still fearful of another back problem, I took some photos from the Columbia Street Bridge of the ducks sunning themselves near the spillway where the falls thunder below and yet the water flows still above. The mother duck and her ducklings were cooperative, happily soaking in the sun. I then headed to Boy Scout Park. There were several other artists working there, and the view across Cedar Creek was inviting. After chatting a bit with the two fellows on either side of my spot, I took the small 9 x 12 canvas and began the work. This went better. Smaller is good, and I realized my problem the other days had been that I tried to do a 16 x 20 canvas in one day. And, I had heard how other artists had spent two or three days painting one canvas. Okay, so why hadn't anyone mentioned that smaller was better as a possibility? I spent just under three hours, completed the painting and happily went to join other artists for the free picnic lunch under the trees near City Hall. After a congenial time, I headed home, surprisingly tired after only a few hours outside.

On day five, I decided to paint the ducks and the waterfalls. I printed the photo, and set up on my patio. Technically, I would still be painting en plein air, but, the back spasms that had begun on Sunday were lurking around every movement I made, reminding me every few hours to take it easier than I wanted to. And the work went well. I had only the 16 x 20" size canvas board to work on, since we had to use stamped and approved materials. I painted all afternoon, and in just under four hours, produced the painting I liked best for my efforts.

In just a few days I had learned how hard it is to paint en plein air, really en plein air. I also learned that artists work on the same painting two or three days in a row, even when painting en plein air. I also decided to believe that if Monet and Manet, Van Gogh and Gauguin and all the rest had had digital cameras and computer photo printout capability, they too would have taken photos and painted in the studio. Perhaps it is the onslaught of frailty that has convinced me to allow for some flexibility in my own rules as I seriously pursue painting as something more than a hobby. It will be all right to use the photography technology that allows us to capture the beauty of nature in all its splendor, with no loss of intensity or nuance. I will allow myself the time I need to paint even if wishing to be fully en plein air. I now call it en plein air de l'atelier---in the fresh air of the studio workshop. This allows me to bring the outside inside and still paint outside, if that makes any sense. And I will finish the other paintings soon.