<aside> <img src="/icons/rename_lightgray.svg" alt="/icons/rename_lightgray.svg" width="40px" /> Notes, Ramblings, and Ideas for The Roar of Spring Rain
Summary: In this article, I chronicle the creation of "The Roar of Spring Rain," an oil painting capturing the Saco River rapids in Biddeford, Maine after heavy spring storms in May 2023. I document my process from initial inspiration through completion, including gathering reference materials at the flooded rapids, working en plein air to capture the water's energy, and spending months in the studio refining the composition. Key influences include the historic mill architecture, the mesmerizing force of rushing water, and insights I drew from fine dining experiences at Elda restaurant. The piece required extensive experimentation with forms, textures, and lighting to convey both the chaos and serenity of the scene, ultimately completed after nearly six months of iterative work between May and October 2023.
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Spring rain can be gentle and light, or it can pour for days. On this particular May, heavy rains and winds of 20–70 mph knocked out power for many homes and businesses, flooding roads and causing rivers to surge.
The day after, I took a walk down to the river to watch the water. I never realized how expansive and maze-like the Saco and Biddeford mills actually were. Built and developed since the 1600s, they strangely reminded me of my travels in Europe, where you're walking around city streets until suddenly you're looking at a gorgeous complex of buildings and foundations built by the Romans. As we've repurposed these buildings from water-powered sawmills and iron forges into apartments, hotels, and small businesses, these amazing places have taken on a new life.
When we finally came upon the water, it was furious. Flowing green and yellow river water crashed through, turning white in an instant as it sloshed about the rocks, stones, and equipment from an era long since past. The looming brick buildings transformed the river beneath their shadows into hues of purple and blue. There was a beauty in the hard rectangular lines of the buildings cutting over the river, as if I were looking through a blue bottle.
Beyond the color, I was mesmerized by the water, so loud and booming as it rushed through and echoed between buildings along the seemingly narrow passes. The acoustics of the place and the sheer force of the water made me feel like I was in a grand concert hall, focused on the conductor watching their every movement. My attention was locked in, and I lost myself just watching.
The composition for a painting of this place at this moment wasn't obvious. No picture could really capture the sense of what I was looking for. Sometimes a collection of photographs can work well as reference material, as reviewing them before working—along with notes or journal entries from the time, or even listening to music that was playing—can transport you back to that moment. Other times, like in this particular moment, I needed to be here. Although the blue and green water that transformed into white mists would make beautiful forms amongst the brick buildings, greenery, and broken fences, it wasn't what I was looking for. The reason I was captivated by this place was because of how mesmerizing it was to be here. Understanding the circumstances, the weather, the history—all of it contributes as narrative elements to the piece. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because I lost myself in the aggression and force. To capture that, I needed to sit here, come back, and try to figure it out with my material onsite.
After waiting a few weeks for another storm just like it, I have my panel primed and ready, along with my easel and everything else I need. There's a logistical consideration when painting outside—especially the way I paint. My goal today is to bring my panel outside and take my time figuring out my composition. I want to recreate something very specific. We will make it happen today.