Before this March day, and through the early spring, I had been studying the colors of this riverside landscape, making daily morning studies as the winter grays of the marsh transitioned to spring pinks and reds.

When I heard the forecast for rain, I hiked out to the riverside and set up a camping tent to work under cover. I love the way the colors are intensified when the land gets wet, and I knew the pinks and reds of the marsh branches and golds of the grasses would really pop. As I painted, I found that as I had predicted, the colors of the landscape did change as the weather came in. The intensity of the color increased, but surprising to me, the values of the scene also inverted. Before the rain, the river was darker than the land and vegetation around it, but with raindrops falling on the water, the river appeared lighter in value than its surroundings. When the rain started driving down in sheets, the river became the lightest part of the scene--much lighter than the land, trees and even sky. It was exciting to watch!

Unfortunately, my tent was no match for the storm. It heaved in the wind, alternately trying to flatten then inflate, either collapsing and crushing or billowing out and trying to take flight! After some time I became soaked by the forty-degree rain and exhausted by the struggle to protect my things and keep us all upright, I eventually surrendered and retreated with the painting and an armload of supplies to warmer and more secure shelter. When the weather eased, I returned to the site to find my tent bloated with water and lying like a giant slug in the marsh, and my easel thrown several meters away into the swamp.

While that morning didn’t feel like a success at the time, the painting, damaged in my struggles and marred by the rain that inspired it, is one of my favorites. The colors represent the first impressions of the scene, and the scars that adorn the painting tell the story of one spring Rain on the River.