Every Artist Should Go to Monhegan Island

As with many endeavors in life, there are certain experiences every painter should have as they grow. Paint a lighthouse. Capture a covered bridge in autumn. Attempt a glowing sunset. Copy a masterwork by John Singer Sargent. Set up your easel at Motif No. 1 in Rockport. And, at least once, make the pilgrimage to Monhegan Island.

I just returned from a week on Monhegan, and on the ferry ride home I kept asking myself: What makes this tiny island such an important milestone for artists?

Is it the feeling that you've stepped back in time? The absence of constant technology competing for your attention? The rhythm of a place where the tides and weather still set the schedule?

Or is it something less tangible?

Lighthouse Monhegan Island

Red House

View of the village from the lighthouse

Perhaps it's the community that forms each evening, when artists and art lovers gather in rocking chairs on wide front porches, sharing stories about the day's successes, failures, and discoveries. Maybe it's the remarkable quality of the light that greets you in the morning or the soundtrack of the island—the delicate songs of tiny birds mixing with the raucous cries of gulls and the unexpected calls of pheasants  in the brush.

During the week I painted at the lighthouse, explored the museum, set up on Fish Beach, and even attempted to paint the famous Red House while channeling my inner Jamie Wyeth. Standing where he once stood, I couldn't help but wonder what captured his imagination and what he saw that I was only beginning to notice.

Monhegan Island doesn't simply offer beautiful subjects. It teaches.

Painting at Fish Beach

Lighthouse Museum

Todd Bonita Workshop

It reminded me that a plein air painting doesn't have to be finished in one sitting. That chasing the light, no matter how seductive, usually leads to frustration. That simplifying shapes often creates a stronger composition. That pushing values is more important than chasing every detail. Most of all, it reminded me to enjoy the process instead of worrying about the finished painting.

Of course, I came home with hundreds of photographs. They will become references for future studio paintings, but they will never fully capture what Monhegan gave me. The real souvenirs aren't the photos or even the sketches. They're the lessons learned while standing in the wind with a paintbrush in hand, surrounded by generations of artists who have stood in those very same places.

That's the magic of Monhegan.

It isn't simply a destination. It's a rite of passage.