Making Lemonade out of a Plein Air Painting & Lemons

It started with a heatwave and a bowl of lemons. I’d been painting en plein air all week at the Oil Painters of America 2025 National Exhibition & Convention (OPA) in Bradenton, Florida, but by day four—when the heat index nudged over 100—I moved indoors. I set up a silver bowl and some lemons. What I didn’t realize then: I’d just stepped into a painting that would reroute everything.

The OPA event ran from May 27 to June 1 and brought together representational painters from across the country. It opened with the Wet Paint Competition and unfolded across several days of demos, critiques, and amazing conversations that spilled past the easels. I spent the first half of the event outdoors painting en plein air—chasing the light, and finishing small studies before the shadows shifted.

By day four, the sun was relentless. So I stepped inside—no plan, just air conditioning, a few lemons, a silver bowl, and a still life that I approached on a whim. I didn’t know it then, but that moment would shift my plans for the rest of the year.

A Pause, Painted

This wasn’t part of the plan. OPA was supposed to be my starting point, a launch into a summer of plein air painting across America again out of my Prius—chasing the light, following the road. But the heat said otherwise.

After the event, I found myself returning to my lemons back home in my Miami—this time slowly, with glazes and space. I wasn’t racing the weather or packing up at sunset. I was still. Focused. Letting the work unfold, one layer at a time.

What began as a side note became something more. That still life revealed how much I wanted to expand the work—beyond quick impressions—and explore what might emerge if I gave this painting more time, more space, and more of myself.

The Door I Almost Walked Past

Now at home, the shift became clearer: I wasn’t ready to leap back into life on the road, painting plein air full-time and that is okay. 

Living in my Prius and painting my way across the American West had started to feel cramped—literally and creatively. I longed for a studio. A place to reflect. A space to take those fast road studies and bring them more fully to life.

I’d imagined I’d eventually land in a studio out West, maybe in a small town, starting fresh. Instead, life offered something else.

My family owns MiMo Picture Framing in Miami, and they needed help with their business. When a studio space opened up next door, I almost passed it by. Why? It didn’t look like the dream I’d been carrying. But it was real. And it was quietly waiting.

Now, I help in the shop part-time and paint just steps away in my own light-filled studio—something quieter, more rooted, and wholly unexpected.

It wasn’t wrapped the way I imagined. But it was, unmistakably, a gift. And like many gifts, it almost went unopened—simply because it didn’t arrive in the shape I thought it should.

What’s Next? 

This summer, I’m staying longer in the studio and working on a new series of paintings—some inspired by plein air sketches and photos from the road, and others that are entirely new explorations. For the first time in years, I have the space—and the stillness—to take those quick impressions further and to see what emerges when I begin again, right where I am.

While the road taught me how to respond to light in the moment, the studio is teaching me how to linger, to listen longer, and to let the work unfold in its own time.

It was a change I didn’t see coming. But like that still life of lemons—painted first from life, then taken further in the quiet of my studio—what felt like a detour turned out to be direction. The lemonade was already there. I just needed the stillness—and plenty of lemons—to taste it.

With lemons & gratitude,
Rose daRosa

Local to Miami? Rosa’s Studio is available for visits by appointment. Simply email  info@rosedarosa.com for appointment availability. 

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