A Rainbow Before the Show: Reflections on My Fourth Outdoor Art Exhibition

A Rainbow Before the Show: Reflections on My Fourth Outdoor Art Exhibition

On the first day of the Outdoor Art Show, I came by a day early to check in and visit the spot where I would be exhibiting my work. My booth number is B54, tucked away in a quiet corner right next to a peaceful pond. The location immediately gave me a sense of calm. It was directly under a large tree, which meant I would have the comfort of shade throughout the day—a welcome relief for both myself and visitors who might stop by.

At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if being in the corner might make it easy for people to pass by without noticing my paintings. Unlike the booths set along the main path, my space was slightly hidden, requiring visitors to take a small step away from the crowd to discover it. For an artist, that thought naturally brings a little concern. Still, as I stood there, sunlight streamed through the branches above, and a double rainbow appeared across my view. It felt like a sign of reassurance, as though nature itself was reminding me that beauty is often found in unexpected places.
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I decided to embrace this feeling and see the location not as a disadvantage, but as an opportunity to create a small sanctuary of art for anyone who wandered over. The rainbow became a quiet symbol of hope for me. I wish that everyone who visits this place during the show will feel a bit of that same good fortune and joy, as if the colors of the rainbow are welcoming them, too.

Before the Outdoor Show begins, before the booths are even set up, I love capturing the atmosphere of the grounds. There is a certain emptiness that lingers in the open space, a feeling similar to when a painting is taken down from a wall, leaving behind a blank spot that once held color and meaning. It is a quiet, expectant emptiness, one that seems to wait patiently for transformation. Soon enough, the booths will rise, and beautiful works of art will fill the space. At that moment, the entire place shifts into something extraordinary—almost like a magical realm, where ordinary surroundings are transformed by creativity and imagination.

It reminds me of the fleeting way a rainbow appears in the sky: suddenly, silently, and almost unnoticed, until you stop to look. The art show feels the same. In a short span of time, this quiet landscape becomes a world alive with stories, visions, and emotions, waiting to be discovered by visitors.

As an artist, I want to say something with all my heart to those who come. Please, do not buy mass-printed, commercial images that carry little more than surface decoration. Instead, come here, to this very place, and support living artists. It doesn’t matter whether it is my work or another artist’s—what matters is that you choose to take home something real, something created by human hands and spirit. Wait for it, even if it means coming back year after year. The patience and devotion of true admirers sustain us.
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This kind of support gives depth to the often difficult life of an artist. It makes our struggles meaningful and allows us to pour our lives and our energy fully into art. Your choice to value original art is what makes it possible for us to keep creating—not only for ourselves, but for the beauty and enrichment of the world we all share.

On the eve of the Outdoor Art Show, I reflect on the quiet magic of empty grounds, the promise of transformation, and the deep meaning of meeting art lovers year after year. More than any award, opening my booth and sharing my paintings feels like the greatest honor.

In this spirit, I find myself returning to the Outdoor Art Show year after year. This will be my fourth time participating, and with each return I feel a deeper sense of connection—to the place, to the tradition, and most importantly, to the people who come. For me, the show is not just an exhibition but a living dialogue between artists and art lovers. Each conversation, each curious glance, and each heartfelt exchange feels like a gift, and I continue to hope that I will meet as many new admirers of art as possible.

That is why the moment I open my booth, carefully arrange my paintings, and see them come alive in the natural light feels so profound. It is not simply the act of setting up a display; it is a moment of recognition, a declaration of my dedication to art. In that instant, I feel something more valuable than receiving a prestigious award. Awards may bring honor, but they are fleeting symbols. The act of sharing my work directly with people, watching their reactions, and knowing that a piece of my vision may stay with them long after the show ends—that is an honor beyond comparison.
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For me, these small but powerful moments of connection define the true meaning of being an artist. They are reminders that art is not created in isolation, but in a larger cycle of giving and receiving, of offering beauty and allowing it to be seen. Each Outdoor Art Show renews that cycle, and I am grateful to be a part of it once again.

So, I document every moment like this. I want to cherish these experiences, which change every year, like an outdoor art show.

The most memorable moment on the very first day of the Outdoor Art Show was that I finally found the owner of my koi fish painting. For some time, I had been waiting and wondering who would eventually be drawn to it, who would see in it the same spirit of grace and vitality that I felt when creating it. That moment arrived when a beautiful, elegant woman approached me. With a warm smile, she showed me a photograph on her phone—a picture of my koi fish painting that she had taken earlier at the Port Jefferson Gallery. She explained that she had admired it there, keeping it in her mind ever since. Now, she stood before me once again, still carrying that image, still feeling its pull.

It was then that I understood: she was the one destined to become the guardian of this work. There was something profoundly moving about the way she carried that memory, holding onto the painting’s presence until she could return to it. It felt as though the koi fish had been quietly waiting for her, as much as she had been waiting for it.

In that moment, gratitude filled me. As artists, we often speak about creating from the heart, pouring our energy into colors and shapes without knowing exactly where they will travel or who they will touch. To see the circle complete—to watch a painting find its home and to witness the joy it brings—is a blessing beyond words. I sincerely hope that this koi fish painting will not only brighten her home but also harmonize with her family, filling their lives with a sense of peace, happiness, and radiant energy.
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For me, this was more than a simple transaction. It was a reminder that art has its own way of finding the right people, the right places, and the right moments. To the new owner of the koi fish, I extend my deepest thanks and my heartfelt blessing: may this painting be a source of joy, inspiration, and beauty for many years to come.

Another moment that deeply touched me this year was seeing a returning visitor—someone who had purchased one of my dove paintings last year. When she came back to my booth, it felt like greeting an old friend. She shared once again how much her daughter loved the dove, and I was moved all over again by the sincerity of that connection. The thought that a child could hold such affection for a painting, cherishing it not just as decoration but as something meaningful, filled me with gratitude.

Because of that memory, I was inspired to paint another dove. In some way, it felt like a gift back to them, a continuation of the story that began the first time they chose my work. When I showed her the new painting, there was a special sense of recognition, as if the spirit of the dove had returned to meet them again.
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Moments like this bring immense happiness to me as an artist. It is not only about creating and showing art—it is about the life that the artwork goes on to live, the bonds it creates, and the emotions it nurtures in the hearts of others. To witness that cycle continue, to know that my work has found a place in someone’s life in such a personal way, is one of the greatest rewards I can imagine.

In a quiet moment, I found myself reflecting on what I truly wish for my paintings. More than anything, I hope that my art will shine more beautifully than any jewel. That is the standard I set for myself, and for that reason, I will always give my very best when I paint.

I am reminded of a story about the artist Gustav Klimt. One day, his son visited him in his studio. Klimt told his son that he could take the most precious thing he found there. The boy looked around carefully, considering the treasures that filled the room, and finally chose a small golden watch. But think about this: in that very studio rested The Kiss, the painting that would one day become one of Austria’s most celebrated national treasures. What greater symbol of value could there be than this? The story shows us that the true worth of art is not always obvious in the moment—it grows, transcends time, and becomes priceless beyond measure.
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This is the kind of art I wish to create: work that will outlast fleeting trends, carrying beauty and meaning so profound that it becomes more valuable than gold. And if I may share a personal hope—it is that everyone who owns one of my paintings will, in some way, become rich. Not only in the material sense, but also in spirit, in joy, and in the wealth that comes from living with art that nourishes the soul.