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A steady course of moisture freckled the air; encapsulating us in a wet cloud that we had never experienced before. I stood towards one of the rocky edges that almost faced the waterfall and took in a deep breath, smelling the water and mossy grass which surrounded the water of Seljalandfoos Iceland. "God it's cold," my father standing next to me had complained a good hour and an half, and now quieted down and admired the view. "Alright I'll admit it, it was worth the trek to get here. And you're right; Google images wouldn't have given you the same picturesque view like the one we're seeing now." "Thanks dad, knew you understand once we got here." I replied in a happy tone. I started to take out my plein air material, my stand, pens, pencils, paints and water and started to roughly sketch before me. Dad gave me one of his rare happy smiles and started to wonder off, his shadow pricking the landscape as he moved from the rocks and towards the waterfall. I had brought with me a small traveling stool, I knew the ground would be colder than you know what, and wanted to spare my butt from the cold. I quickly arranged my stool and supplies, which consisted of my mixed media journal, travel paint and other supplies at the ready. I did a quick gouache of color, something to lay down the foundations before capturing the encroaching shadows and fading light. I quickly grasped my pencil, etching in some large rocks, giving myself a little it of ground to play with before laying down my paints. Plein air was still new to me, I thought I was ready for people to come in and out of the scene and some part of me was, but now I had to deal with people and I didn't think I was ready to put figures in my painting. But I had to get over this fear of not putting people in, wasn't the whole reason of being here was to make a local connection? Wasn't this part of the experiment to get out my shell and explore not just a town, but to take something away? To show that I'd grown as a person and artist? These questions swirled in my head as I looked at the scene developing in front of me and decided that I need to be brave and figure this problem out before I let the problem conquer me. Two hours must have passed when my father stomped his way back to me. His boots squelched on the grass and his breathing came in and out even breaths. I stopped for the briefest of moments, squinting my eyes, trying to see the shadows and light playing against one another. "Not bad kiddo," my dad said.