|
Blog:
|
|
Summary: For my second plein air sketching journey, I went north to south from West Palm Beach to Deerfield Beach, exploring eight places along the coast and capturing each in soft pastels. Along the way, unexpected discoveries—from a historic tower and a “Flagler’s Paradise” sign to mirror-like water, changing light, and a curious iguana—reminded me that you never know what you'll find when you slow down and really look. These sketches became more than landscapes; they became timestamps of where I was, what I noticed, and how I felt. Plein air sketching has given me confidence, gotten me outside, and reminded me that so much beauty is hiding in our own backyard. Key Takeaways:
 Plein Air Sketching Journey, Part 2! Eight places, eight sketches, 50 minutes down the South Florida coast, hosted by Jackie Morreale Plein Air Sketching (Part 2): Palm Beach Landmarks and Learnings Transcript Written by Jackie Morreale What happens when you take your creativity and your sketchbook and start exploring your own backyard? For me, it's become one of my favorite ways to see the place where I live, which is Palm Beach County. For this second plein air sketching journey, I decided to go North to South, from West Palm Beach to Deerfield Beach. It's about fifty minutes along the coast. Eight places, eight sketches, and a lot of little moments that I never would have experienced if I hadn't stopped to look and draw. For this particular project, I was going for intercoastal views, fountains, historic landmarks, heavily inspired by this Plein Air sketch from part one in the series, of Worth Avenue Clock Tower that I just think turned out so awesome. So let's take the journey!  Morreale, J. (2026, August 24). Eataly Tower in CityPlace West Palm Beach, FL [Pastels on paper]. CityPlace, West Palm Beach, Florida We're starting in West Palm Beach at CityPlace. I really wanted to draw the fountain there in CityPlace. It's beautiful. It lights up at nighttime. But I showed up on a Monday morning and the fountain was turned off. So I couldn't draw what I had intended. That's one of the things that I love about plain air sketching: You never really know what'll be there until you get there. So instead of the ground, I looked up. I noticed this tower emerging into the sky from the building that used to be a theater that has now been transformed into the Eataly marketplace. That became the drawing. My eye had gone up because the fountain wasn't available to me. I'm really glad I did, because I ended up with a completely different picture than the one I came looking for.  Morreale, J. (2026, August 24). Flagler's House, view from West Palm Beach, FL [Pastels on paper]. Flagler's House, view from Clematis Street in West Palm Beach, Florida Heading over to Clematis Street. One of my favorite places is the little pier at the end of the street. You've got this incredible view of the backside of Flagler's House. There's also this enormous historic Kapok tree right next to the house. If you're lucky, you can see the Breakers in the distance. I happened to get that glimpse in this drawing. The Intercoastal, a beautiful sailboat anchored right in front of me, yachts everywhere. It was incredibly peaceful. No table, just me, my sketchpad, and my pastels. There's something about sitting in a place with that much history and just taking it all in. While I'm drawing, I'm thinking about all the people who have stood in that same place before me, looking with wonder out into the intercoastal view.  Morreale, J. (2026, September 3). Lakeside Sunrise in West Palm Beach, FL [Pastels on paper]. Okeeheelee Park, West Palm Beach, Florida Continuing south, we get to one of my favorite parks in West Palm Beach. There is this lake that I absolutely love. It's almost like a mirror most days. There's a little hill and trees on the other side, and the reflection in the lake makes it look like the landscape is repeating itself underneath the water. I called this one my lakeside sunrise. There were grasses coming out of the water. Green reflected everywhere. Everything felt incredibly serene. That's the other thing I've noticed about Plein Air sketching: You can go somewhere you've been a hundred times, but when you sit down and try to draw it, you see it completely differently.  Morreale, J. (2026, September 4). Boynton Beach Inlet, FL [Pastels on paper]. Boynton Beach Inlet, Boynton Beach, Florida Next stop is the Boynton Beach Inlet. What I love about the inlet is that you can see two completely different personalities of the water. Where the boats are coming through, the water is moving incredibly quickly. There's action, white caps, wind, movement. Then on the other side, where people swim and paddleboard the coral rocks, it's almost completely peaceful... until a boat comes through... then suddenly you get these waves. I wanted to capture some of that movement in the drawing. I kept the structure fairly simple. The inlet walls. Those little moments of movement that make this place what it is.  Morreale, J. (2026, September 4). Ocean Ridge beach park, FL [Pastels on paper]. Ocean Ridge Public Beach, Ocean Ridge, Florida About two miles farther south is Ocean Ridge Public Beach. There's a white fence all around the area, and this incredibly clean, white, sandy beach. I found a table close to the sand, although not quite close enough to really see the waves. But I had this beautiful view of the lifeguard hut, trees and calusias behind the fence. The light was just beautiful. White puffy clouds, the sun coming through the leaves. One of those things that I really liked was the wooden boardwalk that meets the fence. You don't see that everywhere here in Florida. It just had this really clean, peaceful, almost timeless feeling. So that's what I tried to capture. Not necessarily the whole beach, just this particular little view of it.  Morreale, J. (2026, August 21). Atlantic Avenue beach park in Delray Beach, FL [Pastels on paper]. Atlantic Avenue, Delray Beach, Florida Continuing south, we get to Delray Beach. Atlantic Avenue is one of my favorite places because there is always something happening. People running, people biking, people walking their dogs. Right across from the beach, there's a table where I can sit and look past the park to the street and the dune fence toward the ocean. That's what I decided to draw on that very hot August day. As I worked my way forward through the layers, I eventually got to this big Calusia tree and the wooden dune fence. Then I ran out of black. So I had to adapt. Instead of fighting it, I leaned into other colors. I used the greens and the browns and the highlights from the sunlight hitting the branches. I really like how it turned out, especially the pathway leading toward the beach. It feels like the drawing is inviting you to walk through it.  Morreale, J. (2026, August 21). Mizner Park, Boca Raton, FL [Pastels on paper]. Mizner Park, Boca Raton, Florida One of the most iconic places in this series is Mizner Park in Boca Raton. The fountain sits right in the center of the promenade. There's almost always somebody taking a selfie in front of it. There's a bench right about here where I was sitting, and the whole place is incredibly designed. The palm trees line up beautifully. The coral colors, the green and blue gazebos. Everything feels very South Florida. I sat down with my sketchbook and started drawing. I got to watch Mizner Park come alive while I was capturing it.  Morreale, J. (2026, August 25). Iguana in Deerfield Beach, FL [Pastels on paper]. Deerfield Beach, Florida Finally, we cross into Broward County and arrived in Deerfield Beach. I wanted to draw the Deerfield Beach Pier. It's iconic. But I couldn't find a good place to sit and draw it. So once again, I adapted. I went a little farther off the boardwalk toward where more of the locals hang out, work out, and found a table overlooking the water. There was some foliage framing the view. I sat down. I stayed there long enough, I suppose, for a very unexpected visitor to show up. This enormous Godzilla-looking lizard. My new favorite iguana. He just kept coming back. He'd look at me. I'd look at him. He'd run away. And then he'd come right back. Eventually he went directly into the foliage where I was drawing. And I thought, 'You're going into the picture.' This one might be my favorite of the whole series, because it captures the experience.  Plein Air Sketching Project Part 2, Eight pastel landscapes from West Palm Beach to Deerfield Beach, Florida, pastel on paper by Jackie Morreale, August - September 2026 Learnings So, what is going from CityPlace in West Palm Beach to Deerfield Beach taught me, eight drawings later? More confidence, more comfort drawing outside, and a supreme appreciation for my surroundings. Every place has given me an experience. Some unexpected interaction or something that catches my eye that I never would have noticed if I just drew from a reference and I hadn't sat down and tried to draw something outside. That makes me think about the bigger journey I've been on. A little over a year ago, I left a 20-year career in marketing to do my own thing. I started podcasting, interviewing people, and now I'm leaning more and more into my art, into creating things, into visual storytelling. And if you would have told me a year and a half ago, 'You're going to quit your job so you can go draw in parks...' I probably would have thought you were crazy. But now, I honestly don't know what else I could be doing that would make me happier.
Imagination Exercise There's a scene in Mary Poppins that I keep thinking about. Dick Van Dyke's chimney sweep character draws this fantastical scene in pastel, and suddenly, Mary Poppins, the children and he step right into it. They become part of the picture. Part of the story, and that is what plein air sketching feels like to me. It's the best possible imagination exercise. You go somewhere, you look around. And you try to capture it. And for that hour, you're completely enveloped in the beauty of the place that you're in.  Deerfield beach Pier, April 2026. Photo by Jackie Morreale. Conclusion These drawings aren't meant to be perfect representations. They're timestamps, a record of where I was, what I noticed, how I felt in that moment. One journey, a whole lot of beauty. Thanks for coming along.  My kids playing at the fountain in Mizner Park, Boca Raton, FL.
0 Comments
Celebrating the Life and Art of Robert George Etienne with his Creativity, Re-Imagined (Part 2)8/17/2026 For my grandfather Robert George Etienne's 100th heavenly birthday, I began recreating his original acrylic paintings on decorative plates using my own medium: soft pastels. After completing Part 1, I realized our family had almost 100 more of Grandpa's painted plates to choose from. So I asked my family to pick some of their favorites, and created four more. But this time, I took his artwork outdoors. Each recreation became a plein air conversation between Grandpa's imagination and mine. Through recreating his work, I've learned more about my grandfather not only as an artist, but as someone who knew how to see. I've learned about composition, color, observation, and most importantly, imagination. We don't have to create the same way. We can take what someone gave us and make it our own. Love you, Grandpa. ❤️ After all these years, you're still teaching me how to stretch my imagination. 🎨 Original artwork: Robert George Etienne 🖍️ Pastel recreations: Jackie Morreale Transcript By Jackie Morreale Hi there, my name is Jackie Morreale, and I am the host of Wisdom for Wannabes. I've completed part two of my art honoring project for my grandfather, Robert George Etienne. For his 100th heavenly birthday, I recreated four of his original acrylic paintings using soft pastels. Then I realized I had almost a hundred more. I asked my family to pick our favorites from among the plates that you see behind came up with four more drawings, all of which were drawn plein air art style.
1: TROPICAL FROG This first piece in part two started with a tropical dart frog. Grandpa focused on this little frog sitting on a leaf. I was sitting outside looking at a completely different kind of scene. I was drawing a beautiful view of the intercoastal in Palm Beach County, Lake Worth, surrounded by trees, grass, reflections, and all the layers of green that you find in a Florida landscape. I decided to put grandpa's frog into the landscape, beneath a palm tree. A little piece of grandpa hiding right there inside of the picture. It made me think about how differently we see things. Grandpa could take an idea, a frog, on a leaf, and create an entire world around it. So I took his idea and put it into mine, and I kind of love the result.
2: CHERUBS The second painting was one of my favorites because it's so different from everything else in grandpa's collection. It feels celestial, spiritual, almost otherworldly. Two hearts connected by this flowing white ribbon or piece of fabric that seems to move behind them almost like a parachute. The background is filled with sparkling blues, reds, whites, and stars, and with this dark area in the center of the ribbon. My kids called it the black hole picture. Honestly, I love that interpretation too. This painting pushed me somewhere completely different. I had to imagine figures that weren't really there, other than in his reference. This one was much more loose, much more intuitive. I was letting myself wonder. And that was really fun.
3: LAKE & BIRDS The third painting brought me back to something Grandpa loved to paint again and again: water. His original artwork shows what appears to be a seascape with seagulls perched on dark rocks, greenery, blue water, and a beautiful blue sky. I went to one of my favorite lakes. I've been seeing this huge flock of Egyptian geese sitting there along the water, soaking up the sun. So I drew the lake. I drew the reflections of the trees. And instead of grandpa's seagulls on rocks, I added the Egyptian geese. I realized, we can take what they loved and find it in our own.
4: THE BEACH Then came the one I knew I had to do: the beach. Jupiter Beach is one of my favorite beaches. You walk through this little path that almost feels like jungle before arriving to the sand. Then suddenly you reach the beach. It's just you, the water, and the sky. It reminded me immediately of Grandpa. I love the simplicity of this one. Blue sky, blue water, clouds reflected almost perfectly on the surface, and a sandy beach. This incredible sense of peace. I quickly realized that water is hard to draw. For about 20 minutes, I watched the water change. At first, it was this beautiful tropical green reflecting the sky. Then it became deeper blue. A pelican flew by. My phone was so hot it couldn't even record the drawing. It was ninety-six degrees F. I was covered in pastel dust. So when I finished the drawing, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of: I hopped into the water. I literally took a dip in whatever I was wearing, covered in pastel, and it was beautiful. The water was so clear, so calm. I floated there and looked up at the sky. Everything was completely still. Just water, sky, and the sound of the waves. I wouldn't trade that morning for anything.  IMAGINATION EXERCISE
Let's take an imagination journey through grandpa's art. Imagine you're walking through a tropical landscape. You see small creatures hiding beneath palm trees. Just stop and notice them. Then look up. The trees begin to open into a beautiful celestial sky. The sky stretches endlessly above you. The water is almost perfectly still. You walk into the ocean. You submerge yourself and you float. Look up. The sky is above you. The water is beneath you. There's nothing else. You hear the waves. Maybe you hear the shells gently tapping against one another as the water moves them across the sand. Somewhere in that moment you feel connected to someone you whose influence is still with you. CLOSING That's what this project has given me. A way to pause, a way to remember, a way to feel connected across time. My grandfather, Robert George Etienne, passed away in 2024, two years ago, but his creativity... It lives on in the paintings he left behind. I've learned so much from recreating his work; about composition, color, observation, and most importantly, imagination. That's the beauty of creativity. We don't have to create the same way. We can take what someone gave us and make it our own. So, Grandpa, thank you. Thank you for the inspiration. After all these years, you're still teaching me how to stretch my imagination. Love you, grandpa. Thank you. Sometimes the best vacations aren't the ones that take us far from home; they're the ones that remind us how much wonder has been waiting nearby all along. In this Wisdom for Wannabes blog voice note reflection, Jackie Morreale shares one of her favorite days of the summer: a family paddleboard adventure from Phil Foster Park to Peanut Island in Palm Beach County. What started as a simple staycation became an unforgettable journey filled with stingrays, tropical fish, sandbars, houseboats, unexpected kindness, one spectacular wipeout, and a reminder that life rarely follows the straight line shown on a map. The episode concludes with a 2-Minute Imagination Exercise: Your Seaside Odyssey, inviting you to picture your own island and reflect on the adventure you've been waiting to begin. Favorite Quotes: - "The map shows a straight line. Life rarely does." - "Sometimes the easiest way forward isn't paddling harder. Sometimes it's simply realizing that you can stand." - "We weren't really paddling to Peanut Island. We were practicing what it feels like to begin something we've never done before." - "Sometimes staycations are the best vacations." - "The greatest adventures begin with one simple question: 'Do you think we can make it?'"  Jackie Morreale with snorkel gear on her Peanut Island Odyssey
Peanut Island Odyssey By Jackie Morreale I would love to tell you about one of my favorite days of summer. We're not talking about an expensive vacation. It wasn't a cruise, although there was water involved. It was a staycation that turned into an Odyssey. Our mission was simple: Take one very well-loved paddleboard from under the bridge to another island in Palm Beach County, which called Peanut Island. Our paddleboard has seen better days. It's teal, as you can see, probably about four or five years old. Every foam pad on top of it is peeling from years of adventures. We strapped two dry bags onto the front of the board, one with food and drinks, the other one had towels, goggles, and snorkels. We made one promise before we left: 'Let's try our best not to flip the paddleboard.' Which, if you've ever tried balancing two children - one being an energetic little boy who loves doing backflips, and one adventurous daughter - two dry bags, and one determined mom on a single paddleboard, it is a pretty ambitious goal. The adventure started before we even touched the water. We carried the inflated board toward the beach until a lifeguard stopped us. 'You can't launch here,' we heard. Launch. It was such a funny word for putting a paddleboard into the water. It kind of makes you feel like you're preparing for an official boat launch, or maybe even a spaceship. So we carried our little spaceship further down the beach, past the snorkelers, past the white buoys, until we finally reached a place where we were allowed to begin. The moment we climbed aboard, all three of us, stable on one paddleboard, someone snorkeling nearby looked up at us and casually pointed beneath our board. He said, 'There are stingrays under you.' There they were. Just gliding. Quietly sharing the water with us. Nobody panicked, we simply smiled and kept paddling. Soon we reached the boating channel. The current was against us, and boats were moving through at 5mph. The three of us were moving considerably slower than 5mph. It felt like every paddle stroke gained only inches across this boating channel. One small motorboat slowed down and patiently waited for us to cross, which felt like forever. But that simple act of kindness somehow made me even more determined. Eventually we reached the houseboats. Not boats that look like boats, boats that looked like actual houses, little floating neighborhoods with windows, tiny boards tied beside them. Then something unexpected happened: The water became so shallow we could simply step off the paddleboard.
The water was crystal clear, warm, and turquoise. We walked in two feet of water. We laughed. We pulled the paddleboard across the sandbar together. And we found that sometimes the easiest way forward isn't paddling harder. Sometimes it's simply realizing that you can stand. When the water deepened again, we climbed back onto the board one by one without tipping it over. Back into the current. Back toward the island. Back on our mission. I paddled. My daughter used her hands behind me like an extra engine. My son jumped into the water and kicked underneath the board, to become our motor. Everyone helped. By the time the beach was finally in clear sight, we were exhausted. So we started counting. It was 41 more strokes. Forty more strokes... Thirty more... Twenty... Ten. And finally, the nose of the paddleboard touched the sand on this beach that is Peanut Island. Our Odyssey mission was complete! After an hour and a half, we had made it. The dry bags had stayed dry, and we went exploring underwater.  Mission complete! We made it to Peanut Island on the paddleboard. We drifted past needlefish. We floated beside boats that had arrived there the normal way: with motors. We reached the rocks near the inlet. It felt like swimming into another world. Schools of angelfish, clown fish, bright tropical fish of every shape. A lone barracuda quietly passing by. And my personal favorite, the blue-green parrot fish. So beautiful. Their scales shimmered with every color of the sea as they happily munched on sargassum floating nearby. The same seaweed that people, including me, complain about on the beach at this time of year, was a feast for them. It's funny how perspective changes everything. Around 6:30pm we looked at each other and realized: If it took us an hour and a half to get here, we should probably head back home. The return trip began slowly, really slowly. was paddling as hard as I could while my legs dangled in the water and we barely moved. Then another paddle border glided effortlessly past us, standing, relaxed, looking like she hadn't even broken a sweat. So I called out, 'How are you going so fast?' She smiled and said, 'Pull your feet out of the water.' I folded my legs on the board very carefully as to not rock the boat, literally. Suddenly we were flying! Well, flying for us. We moved pretty quickly. We stopped for pictures on the sandbar. We were brave enough to take out my phone and laughed and did cartwheels and had a blast. It was beautiful. We were back in the two feet of water sandbar paradise. A sunset painted the sky. We could see the beach under the bridge just ahead. Everything felt easy. Only 30 minutes of rowing this time. The current was with us. But maybe... too easy. As we approached the final channel, I folded my legs back into that same position, boarding the boat as to not rock it with all three of us and the two dry bags, which are still dry.  Back on the sandbar! Right before... Then... wipe out! All three of us tipped over. Our two dry bags, now suspended completely upside down by these things, were half in the water. A mask floated away, snorkels drifted. It was chaos. My incredible kids went into rescue mode immediately, swimming their hearts out, treading water, pushing the paddleboard upright with all their might, retrieving everything that floated away. We didn't lose a thing, although the dry bags were definitely not dry anymore. I refused to check on the electronics until we were safely back. When we finally reached the shore, it ended up that the key worked, the phone worked. Everything was heavy. Everything smelled like seawater. Our souvenir from our Peanut Island Odyssey, and somehow everything was perfect. We just had an island adventure. Later that evening after packing away the blow up paddleboard and rewarding ourselves with giant ice cream sundaes, I looked at a map and I realized something: From the park under the bridge to Peanut Island is less than a mile as the pelican flies. It doesn't look very far, but maps don't show:
The map shows a straight line. And life rarely does. Sometimes we look at someone else's success and think, 'Well, they only had to go a mile.' Maybe. But we have no idea what currents they paddled against. Looking back, I realized we weren't really paddling to Peanut Island. We were practicing what it feels like to begin something we've never done before.
Maybe that's how every worthwhile adventure works. 2-Minute Imagination Exercise: Your Seaside OdysseyToday I'd love to invite you on your own 'mental' seaside journey. Close your eyes. Imagine warm sand beneath your feet. Hear the rhythm of gentle waves rolling onto the shore. Feel the warmth of the sun on your shoulders and a soft ocean breeze across your face. In front of you waits a paddleboard. Maybe it's brand new. Maybe it's scratched. Maybe it's exactly the one you're carrying through life right now. It's enough. Take one deep breath. And step onto the board. Feel it gently rock beneath you and begin paddling toward your own island. A dream you've put off. A painting you're looking to create. A book waiting to be written. A conversation you've needed to have. A healthier version of yourself. As you paddle, notice the current. Instead of fighting it, simply keep taking the next stroke. Notice what appears along the way. Perhaps a stingray glides peacefully beneath you. Bright tropical fish remind you that beauty often hides below the surface. A stranger offers exactly the advice that you needed to hear. A gentle breeze reminds you that you don't have to do everything alone. And if somewhere along your journey, you fall into the water... Smile. Sometimes it becomes your favorite part of the story. Now imagine arriving at your island. Step onto the warm sand. Take a deep breath. And look around. Notice what you've discovered, not just about this place, but about yourself. Sometimes staycations are the best vacations. Sometimes, the greatest adventures begin with an old paddleboard, two kids, two dry bags, and one simple question: 'Do you think we can make it?' That's all an Odyssey really is. Have a wonderful day!  Morreale Peanut Island Snorkel Crew |
Jackie MorrealeJackie writes from her own experiences and reflections on her journey in seeking wisdom, creativity, spirituality, and life in general. This is "putting thyself out there" at its finest. 
Archives
September 2026
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed
|
Wisdom for Wannabes
10299 Southern Blvd. Unit 212771 Royal Palm Beach, FL 33411 USA |
© Wisdom for Wannabes LLC 2026. All Rights Reserved.