We are a mix of full-time and part-time professional artists, retirees, and hobbyists. Some of us have years of experience painting outside, while others have had their first experience painting “en plein air” with us. We work in oils, pastels, charcoal, pencil, acrylics, watercolor, and casein. Some of us have elaborate setups with easels, palettes, umbrellas, and chairs, and others just bring a sketchbook and a pencil. What we all have in common is that we have chosen to work en plein air—French for “in the open air”—instead of in the relative safety of a studio.

I started The High Desert Plein Air Artists in January 2014 for community and companionship. I had been plein air painting for a few years by myself, but I wanted to meet other plein air artists in the Morongo Basin. Today there are around 30 artists on our email list, some from as far away as Riverside. On any given Saturday, as many as eight people come out to paint together at a location I’ve chosen.

Creating art is often a solitary activity. When I head out to paint alone, it is a very introverted, meditative experience. I become immersed in the landscape, consumed by my thoughts, interpretations, and reactions. Painting with The High Desert Plein Air Artists is a social experience. We share ideas, talk about potential sites in the day’s area, view others’ interpretations of the same landscape, and have someone to chat with when we need a break. The group also forces me to get out at least once a month—it’s a sacred appointment on my calendar that I can’t miss.

Our gatherings—“paint outs”—look different depending on the time of year. The Mojave Desert weather can be anywhere from gorgeous to utterly unbearable—and those extremes can occur all on the same day.

During the winter, we start around 9 a.m. The artists usually spread out and find their own areas to create. One person will set her easel up to capture the light and shadow on some rock formations, another might be painting a vista scene of a desert expanse and mountains, and someone else might be focusing on a bush in bloom. Some people work in a tight, detailed manner, others are more impressionistic, and some create strongly abstracted pieces. One artist in our group does miniature works on a canvas no larger than 6-by-8 inches. Martha, a professional artist from Palm Springs, joined us last year. The first piece she did with us, a lush impasto oil painting, was accepted into the Joshua Tree National Park Art Exposition last November. Holly, a retired teacher, does colorful, beautifully textured pastels of mountain vistas.

If the weather is cooperating, we will meet up for lunch and share the results of our morning efforts. At that point, some artists will continue to paint, and others will head home. As temperatures rise in the spring, we start earlier. The winds also pick up later in the year. Mornings are apt to be calm, but the winds can really whip up as the day goes on; they have been known to dump easels to the ground and blow works on paper across the desert.

As we head into the summer months, only the true die-hards venture out. We have to start at first light, as close to 5:30 a.m. as possible. We usually only paint for a few hours, and don’t have any group time. By the time we are done painting at 7:30 or 8 a.m., it’s usually approaching 90 degrees, and all everyone wants to do is retreat to the air conditioning of their automobiles. The autumn months are the most unpredictable, with everything from gale force winds and chilling rain to blistering heat. Sometimes we are blessed with an absolutely perfect day, and that makes it all worthwhile.

Joshua Tree National Park covers 1,234 square miles, so we have many potential “studios” and subjects on any given day. I try to find spots with good parking, a restroom, and potential subjects that don’t require a lot of walking. The park is full of Joshua Trees, boulders, junipers, piñon pines, mountains, and more, and it even has a seasonal body of water at Barker Dam. I don’t know if it is possible to exhaust its possibilities. I’ve been plein air painting there for the last six years or so, and I still find new and exciting scenes every time I go.

On one occasion, I was struggling to find a spot to set up. A fellow artist mentioned how the light was hitting the cotton woods a little way down the path, so I headed over there and found my subject for the morning.

A session with The High Desert Plein Air Artists results in artworks that have immediacy, vibrancy, and energy that is difficult to achieve in a studio environment. Outdoors, we take in the subject matter with all our senses, and feel the camaraderie of facing the same challenges (and experiencing the same beauty) as a group.

But perhaps most importantly, The High Desert Plein Air Artists keeps me getting outside to paint and be inspired by the incredible desert beauty, and the incredible artists that join me to create and be inspired themselves.

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Call them bizarre or avant-garde, these mannequins are a form of artistic expression to the Glass Outhouse’s owner, Laurel Seidl. Since 2010, the 71-year-old’s gallery, off Highway 62 near Joshua Tree National Park, has attracted a growing number of art enthusiasts, from locals to tourists from around the world.

The Glass Outhouse features the work of artists from throughout the state in every medium—from photography and oil painting to sculpture and various mixed media. Despite the freaky mannequins and many similarly weird exhibitions, Seidl says, the gallery isn’t about shock value; it’s about showcasing artists who might not otherwise have the opportunity to display their work.

“I basically started it because I couldn’t hang my own artwork anywhere else,” she says. “Sure, everyone told me I was nuts and it would never work. My family and friends all said, ‘Laurel, don’t do it. You’re going to be disappointed when it doesn’t work out.’ All I said to them was, ‘You just stand back and watch me. I will make this work and make it into something special.’”

In case you are wondering, yes, the Glass Outhouse has an actual functioning outhouse with its own septic tank on Seidl’s five-acre property. And yes, it is made of glass. Thankfully, the glass is a one-way mirror, so no one can look in. But once inside, you have a 360-degree view of the breathtaking desert scenery.

Laurel Seidl in the Glass Outhouse Art Gallery

The gallery is spacious, with three separate areas that usually hold the work of anywhere from 10 to 15 artists. The cement floors and immaculate white walls hide the history of the building, which once housed more than 185 rabbits, when Seidl and her third husband, Fred, ran a farm.

In 1976, the newly married couple moved to Wonder Valley, just north of Joshua Tree, and bought the farm’s property for $3,200 from Seidl’s parents. Before then, Seidl had worked in Silicon Valley for a tech company that manufactured parts for lasers. Her husband, Fred, was a machinist. The couple embraced the quiet desert life. In addition to rabbits, which they bred and sold, they had goats, and even geese in the property’s tiny pond.

The bunny business was lucrative for about five years, until the 5.9-magnitude Whittier Narrows earthquake hit the area in 1987. The temblor spooked the couple’s rabbits, many of which panicked and broke their necks in their cages. The couple sold the surviving 20 rabbits and decided to find a new venture. Fred converted one of the rooms in the barn into a gunsmithing shop, and got a steady stream of business from locals and law enforcement.

Two years later, the Seidls’ 14-year marriage ended abruptly: Fred ran off with Laurel’s best friend of nine years. Instead of bemoaning the loss, Seidl now tells the story with a laugh. “I sent her a thank you card for taking him off my hands,” she says. “I figured I got the best part of the deal. She got him, but I got her dog.”

To make ends meet, Seidl started driving a school bus and painting, one of her favorite activities since she was a child. She says she depicted “everything that would stand still.” She most enjoyed painting big cats on canvas, but she also painted other animals, flowers, and landscapes on everything from vinyl records to hand saws.

Seidl toured California’s arts and crafts circuit with her work, and dreamed of seeing it exhibited. But she was always rejected when she submitted her work to local galleries. “They would take a look at my stuff and say, ‘That’s a hobby, not art,’” she says.

Frustrated and driven by her desire to help other struggling artists, she decided to turn her shuttered rabbit barn into a full-fledged art gallery. But the transformation wasn’t easy. At first, Seidl paid a local artist $200 per month to gut the animal barn and slowly turn it into a habitable building. Eventually, she hired professional contractors, who chipped away at more improvements. In June 2010, during the Glass Outhouse’s first few months of operation, Seidl collected 15 percent of any art sold until renovations were completely finished. (Now, she takes no cut of the artists’ profits.)

Skeletons working out at the “Ghoul’s Gym”

Word quickly spread across Wonder Valley about the woman who ran an eclectic little gallery in the middle of the desert. The Glass Outhouse became a tourist attraction when Seidl’s friend, a gallery curator named Frank Megzet, began constructing metal sculptures and a tiny wood chapel outside the gallery. Over the years, Megzet has added more knick-knacks to the property, which also features mannequins sinking in quicksand, skeletons pumping iron in a “Ghoul’s Gym,” and a trail of colorful glass bottles that gleam in the desert sand.

Seidl still marvels at the number of tourists who take pictures in front of her outhouse, which is so shiny it can be seen for miles. Today, the gallery gets anywhere from 40 to 300 visitors monthly. It has been featured on tourism websites like Daytrippen.com, and on public television. It has a growing fan base on social media. Seidl doesn’t have a cell phone or a computer, so she has friends run the gallery’s Facebook page.

“If you build it, they will come,” Seidl says. And artists from all over California continue to do so. Her roster is booked solid through February 2018.

Seidl hasn’t brought in much profit in the gallery’s five years. In fact, its operation costs are factored into her monthly living expenses. But that doesn’t keep her from greeting you with a kind smile when you visit. She’ll offer you a cold drink from the gallery fridge, and ask what brought you to her little corner of the desert. Then, with her walker, she’ll guide you through each room to tell you about the works, and the artists who had their start on her walls. Some of them have graduated to larger venues, found their own success.

“It really amazes me because, when I started, I was asking people to show their work,” Seidl says. “Now, they are coming to me.”

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