To Venice and Back Again

Presale Launch:

7th November 6pm

Details will be included in my newsletter

Private View Opening:

Friday 21st Nov: 6pm-9pm

Mince pies and Mulled Wine served

Also open:

Saturday 22nd Nov: 10.30am-6.00pm

Sunday 23rd Nov: 10.30am-4.00pm

Viewing by appointment only after the above dates.

2 Crompton Avenue
Sprotbrough
Doncaster
Dn58ee

A Venetian Painting Adventure

By Andrew Farmer ROI

This series marks my first international plein air adventure — a week of painting in the breathtaking setting of Venice. Though I’ve not travelled extensively abroad, I felt a mix of nerves and excitement leading up to the trip. I was joined by my good friends and fellow Northernboys, a passionate group of outdoor painters from the North of England, each inspired by the likes of Monet, Cézanne and many others that were pioneers of plein air painting.

// Preparing for the Unknown //

Before a single stroke could be made, there was much to plan: unpredictable weather, equipment logistics, and the challenge of safely transporting wet paintings back to the UK. Even the basics — eating, drinking, and navigating Venice —I’m deeply grateful to my friends for their advice and support throughout.

Though I’d visited Venice over a decade ago, I’d never seriously painted there. I wondered whether I’d find my rhythm, whether the city’s iconic beauty would still inspire after being immortalized by so many before me. Adding to the uncertainty was a recent shift in my practice — I now paint exclusively with a single palette knife, having moved away from brushes. The prospect of working in a new city with this evolving technique was daunting, yet thrilling.

I’ve always likened plein air painting to fishing — the light, the weather, the movement — all unpredictable. You never know what you’ll catch. That’s part of the magic: the possibility of striking it big.

// Packing like a Pro //

Packing was its own challenge. A 20kg baggage limit sounds generous until you’re preparing to paint for a week. I trimmed down again and again, making room for souvenirs for the family.

Flying isn’t my favourite activity, but the journey went smoothly. We arrived at sunset, and I couldn’t resist snapping photos from the plane — there’s something humbling about seeing the world from above.

// Arrival in Venice //

We arrived after dark and took a bus to the Vaporetto stop. I bought a single ticket, planning to explore mostly on foot. The reflections on the water that night were sublime — a preview of the days to come.

We were incredibly fortunate to stay in the apartment and studio of the late, internationally renowned painter Ken Howard. Tucked away from the crowds yet close to the city’s heart, it was the perfect base. That first night was spent unpacking, catching up over coffee, and prepping for an early start.

Venice is a visual feast — a candy store for artists. On day one, I got carried away and began seven paintings from sunrise to dusk, driven by the sheer beauty and energy of the place. Over the week, I revisited those initial starts, returning to the same spots until each piece felt complete. Every painting was finished on site — no studio touch-ups back in England.

// Painting in Public //

Though I usually prefer solitude when painting, Venice demanded compromise. At the Rialto Bridge, I found a quiet platform by the water, steps behind me. The crowds faded into background noise as I focused on the act of looking and responding through paint.

One comical moment: while painting an iconic view, a tourist crept behind us for a photo. Moments later, laughter erupted — he’d backed up too far and fallen into the canal!

Another time, Adam Ralston and I chose a seemingly quiet bridge. Within half an hour, it became a bustling tourist trail. And painting on the Accademia Bridge at sunrise? Not for the faint-hearted. Cameras hovered closer to my canvas than I did! Still, the compliments and offers of action shots were heartening.

// Tools and Tactics //

I brought a range of canvas sizes, knowing different subjects call for different formats. The largest was 50x40cm — a real challenge outdoors. These required multiple sessions at the same spot. Smaller panels, easier to cover with the knife, allowed more freedom to roam. They fit into a compact easel setup that tucked neatly into my backpack.

For larger works, I adapted a half-size box easel with shoulder straps — a backpack-style rig that made longer walks manageable.

// Fuel and Flow //

Sleep was scarce — some nights just 3–4 hours. I relied on Italian ice cream, fresh coffee, and handmade pastries from a local patisserie to keep going. As the week progressed, I found my rhythm. Confidence grew, and I began painting solo more often.

Each evening, many of us gravitated to the Arsenale to paint the sunset. It was comforting to see familiar faces after a day of graft, sharing the shifting colours as day turned to night.

I painted two nocturnes by lamplight — small works capturing a quieter, lesser-known Venice. A clip-on light made colour mixing and application possible as darkness fell.

// Final Days //

By week’s end, our early starts gave way to leisurely breakfasts, often cooked by Ian Layton — a real treat before long days of focus. One highlight of Ken Howard’s studio was the hammock suspended from rustic beams. I’d snooze between painting sessions, gently rocked in its cradle.

On the final day, I relaxed with some rapid paintings and souvenir shopping. I searched for a specific mask for my son Jacob — the long-nosed doctor’s mask used to hold herbs during plagues. For Eden, my daughter, I found a beautiful handmade Murano glass pendant.

That last evening was bittersweet. I was ready to return home, to see my family, to sleep in my own bed. We spent hours carefully packing the paintings. My method? Small balls of masking tape between each panel, stacked and wrapped securely. It worked perfectly — all 21 paintings arrived home undamaged.

// Reflections //

As we sailed to the Vaporetto stop that final morning, I soaked in the last views of Venice. New memories mingled with old ones, and I felt a deep longing to be home, busting to tell of the adventure.

To my dear friends — thank you for sharing this journey. And to my wife — thank you for holding the fort while I stepped into the unknown.

This trip may seem small to some, but for me, it was a leap from my comfort zone into adventure. I hope my interpretation of Venice inspires others to do the same — whatever path they’re on.

Andrew Farmer ROI