For years, Francesca Passiglia of Greenfield wanted to paint the Franklin County Jail. When she carried her groceries from Foster’s Supermarket, her eyes often wandered across the street to the brick building.
“It’s a cool building!” Passiglia defended with a grin.
She told her friend and artist Danielle Lucier about her muse, and the pair decided to dust off their painting supplies and unfold their easels across the street from the jail. The sidewalk became their studio.
“We both went out to try it and just fell in love with it,” Lucier reminisced. “It really takes you away from everything thatโs happening in the world.”
Instead of the mind skittering over to a phone notification or a pile of dirty dishes at home, “You are in the moment, and thereโs something really nice about finding a state of just being present nowadays,” Lucier said. “Itโs nice to just have a place where you can block all of that out and your only task is just capturing what you see.”
After Lucier and Passiglia packed their easels, paints and brushes into their cars and headed home, Lucier remembered thinking, “What if we make this a thing? What if we invite other people?”
She texted Passiglia her idea: a free bimonthly club where people of all ages and skill levels create art together outside Greenfield architectural gems. Two weeks later, she posted a flier on Facebook for the Greenfield Plein Air Club, and about 10 experienced and amateur artists met at Poet Seat Tower on Sept. 20 for its first session.
Two weeks later, the group pulled out their supplies and painted Greenfield Garden Cinemas’ marquee from the concrete island splitting Main Street. Next, they painted and drew artist Becca Beauregard’s Halloween decorations, and on Oct. 25, the artists scattered around the Eunice Williams Covered Bridge.
“You kind of forget the beauty around you,” Lucier said, painting the bridge beside a sliver of grass beside the road.
“The three of us are Greenfield fanatics,” Passiglia said of herself, Lucier and Beauregard. Passiglia and Beauregard discussed the possibility of drawing a bright, flickering convenience store at night or doughnuts from Adam’s Donuts for future Sunday sessions.
Lucier said the club now has 60 people on their email list and the group of artists, ages 7 to 87, grows each Sunday.
“It feels like a little form of protest,” Beauregard said. “Despite the world feeling like itโs falling apart, weโre creating joy, because look at it, itโs beautiful,” she said, turning to the artists perched on the field behind the bridge.
Although Passiglia and Beauregard said they rarely finish a painting when the group meets, they agreed that completing a masterpiece is not the group’s goal.
Passiglia said she warned her family that she will not check her phone during the sacred time for creativity to focus on “just standing still and observing,” an activity she said is rare.
“Everybodyโs checking the news on their phone; everyone wants quick results,” she said.
“Itโs about the process, itโs about just being here and being out in nature, and hanging with your people,” Beauregard said.
It feels like a little form of protest.
Becca beauregard
Although both Passiglia and Beauregard earned art degrees, they struggled to find corners of time to slow down and create art until the club.
“Since weโve been doing this, Iโm just finding that we canโt live without it, because we need to do something creative at least once a week,” Beauregard said.
Mia Kortebein of Greenfield brought her 1-year-old daughter Sadie Woodruff to the club, teaching her colors in Spanish as she scribbled with crayons. Kortebein said the club not only gives them an excuse to be outdoors, but also connects her daughter to art and community.
“I think art and creativity serves us all,” Kortebein said. “We all have a creative spirit, whether or not it’s accessible in the moment.”
“You don’t need to be an artist to draw,” Ronit Ben-Shir said while sketching the bridge in pen. The teacher and Greenfield resident said she often hears adults remind children of this lesson, but they forget to listen to it.
“The older we become, if we donโt do things really well, we donโt do it,” Ben-Shir said. “Iโm not an artist, but itโs pushing me to work on this when youโre coming together, and inspiring also by watching other people.”
Next to Ben-Shir, April Jones said the group helps take the pressure off painting. At home before the club, Jones typically sprawled her supplies across the kitchen table, leading her to rarely finish paintings when she inevitably cleared the table, twisting art into “a thing with a capital ‘T.'”
“Now, itโs just in a bag, and I take it with me, and I come, and Iโm done when Iโm done,” Jones said.ย “It doesnโt make me think I have to get it right, I just want to have something to show for what Iโm doing here.”
While the artists worked in the open air, drivers crossing the bridge honked and cheered from their windows, likely expecting to see a herd of deer by the woods, not a herd of painters.
“It was good for our egos, but it also made me realize, no matter what your political affiliation is or where youโre coming from, for some reason, this is, not only just for us but for everybody, such a positive thing,” Passiglia said.
“It really brings out such joy in people,” Lucier echoed. “People are able to drive by and see something whimsical and joyful thatโs happening in our home town.โ




