People often ask me what kind of work I do as a painter. I usually just say I’m a landscape painter. Everyone has some notion of what that is, and indeed I do paint landscapes. But I also paint things that are renderings of ideas, and these two things, being a painter of the thing seen, and being a painter of the thing imagined, are two poles of my artistic life. I veer between them. I spent the first half of the year working out various “idea” paintings – and now I need to have a good look at the great outdoors again.

I’m at the water’s edge, and huge winter clouds hang moodily over Walker Bay. It’s late afternoon and the light is beautiful. As the sun goes lower, all sorts of pink and yellow hues will permeate sky and ocean, presenting immense and daunting possibilities for the humble painter.

I’ve been looking at stuff in Hermanus for well over a decade. I go most evenings and do a quick drawing or a watercolour, the trusty Africanis hound by my side. We have our favourite spots on the beach or along the cliff path.

These are sketchbooky things, and truth be told, we are nothing like Mr Monet, who laboured incessantly in the wind and rain, “clad like the men of the coast, covered in sweaters, boots, and wrapped in a hooded slicker, his easel tied down with ropes and stones.”

No, we often just park out in the cosy cabin of my 2006 Nissan X Trail. I can see plenty of stuff from there, thank you very much.

Hurry up dude, its time to go drawing!

But today I’m outside, on the fabulous Cliff Path, and I’m using oil paints, pretending to be a plein – air painter. (“en Plein air “- the French term denoting working outdoors. It just sounds arty .)

I set myself up and without too much scratching of the head, I get going. I have a piece of cardboard to paint on. That’s my way of overcoming the fear of the pristine canvas. Cardboard is actually a great surface to work on – ask Simon Stone. I meet a photographer called Leanne Stander and next thing she ‘s photographing the artist at work. Then a wandering Spanish bloke also has to take a pic. Why? Did he think he was seeing a great artist at work? Or did he perhaps think he had come across something rather quaint and antiquated, like a model T Ford ? Suddenly my quiet little Sunday afternoon oil-painting experiment is becoming a performance. Help! I’m under scrutiny!

Hero artist, or Model T Ford? (pic by Leanne Stander)

Soon, however, it’s just me staring towards Gansbaai, trying to figure out those shades of aquamarine in the rapidly-changing light.

The cloud on the horizon gets steadily closer, and I pull out a little 15 x 30 cm canvas panel, putting down some dashes of colour as the rain drifts in. Suddenly I’m having a true plein-air moment: wet paint all over the show, rain dripping from the brim of my hat, gathering together my stuff and scuttling for cover. It’s quite exhilarating, this fresh air business. I think I’ll be giving it another go.