The Making of Hā‘ena Mana

When the sun has it's say with oil paints and a canvas.

Haena Sunlight, Oil on Canvas.

Plein air always asks the same thing of me:

Be here.

And I mean really here — with the demands of the bright sun, the salt wind moving everything before me, the shifting light begging for complete attention.

There’s a kind of trust that builds when you paint outside. That despite the power of the waves crashing only a few yards from my easel, I'm also held in this space, as if the land herself is offering me her beauty as a muse for creativity.

First layer: transparent under-painting.

Hā‘ena has her own moods and timing. One moment the sand glows in warm, honey light; the next, a passing cloud drapes everything in periwinkle. I used to worry when the scene changed mid-brushstroke, but now I take it as an invitation. It is a small reminder that painting in the energy of the elements isn’t about capturing perfection but staying in conversation with what the land offers.

Second layer: transparent ocean, opaque sky.

Then there is the wind, flirting with my canvas to fall to the ground while I ask it politely to stay upright. I squinted my eyes, and anchored myself into every visual nuance before me.

And standing there, paint all over my hands (and arms, legs, and face, to be candid) I felt that familiar mix of gratitude and disbelief: I get to be here, creating, in this sanctuary.

Third layer: opaque ocean, shadows.

By the time I added the final touches, my body relaxed into knowing I was done. Not one more stroke, nothing more. No adding anything else in the studio when I'm home, except a signature, varnish, and a frame. I love that feeling. It doesn't always happen, but with this one it really did. Complete, beautiful, graceful closure.

As I packed up, every supply was covered in sand, my brushes were somewhere between “usable” and “retired,” and the painting in front of me had taken on a life of its own — vibrant, unexpected, bursting with life, honest as the island herself. Out there in the salt air, the work doesn’t just record what I see. It records just how the land reflected life in that moment, and how I responded to it.

This piece became a love letter from Hā‘ena— a memory of the light and bliss. The love of it all.

The finished piece. The happiest exhale.

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about the artist