Finding the Truth in the Clouds: Why I Paint the Rugged White Mountains

I am standing in a remote Forest Service parking lot, fiddling with the myriad straps and buckles of a running pack. It’s a gray autumn morning in the White Mountain National Forest, and the lot is empty. While many artists wait for the perfect "Golden Hour" glow, I prefer the overcast. The threat of rain, the off-season mist, and the starkness of a Monday morning provide the exact atmosphere I need for my original oil paintings.

Rebecca M. Fullerton, the artist in her natural habitat. Mount Washington, White Mountains, New Hampshire.

From Boston’s Beacon Hill to New Hampshire’s Granite Peaks

My journey to becoming a New Hampshire landscape artist wasn't a straight line. For sixteen years, I lived in Boston, serving as the Archivist for the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC). While I loved the history of Beacon Hill, my heart was always in the backcountry.

When the AMC archives moved to New Hampshire in 2018—near their network of off-the-grid high mountain huts—I followed. I first worked these trails as a seasonal employee in 2001, and returning "for keeps" has allowed me to immerse my creative practice in the land I know best.

Beyond the Vista: Painting the "Worst Weather in the World"

Since picking up oils in the mid-2000s, I have explored figurative and surrealistic styles, but I always return to the landscape. However, my work isn't just about "sunny vistas."

To truly capture the White Mountains on canvas, one must acknowledge the grit. The highest summits here are known for having "the worst weather in the world." My portfolio reflects this duality:

  • Pleasant Vistas: The blue skies and sweeping ridges that tourists love.

  • Stark Realism: The soggy, rotten days, the sharp rocks, and the unsettling clouds that hikers know all too well.

For the art collector, these "bad weather" paintings offer a sense of truth. They aren't just decorations; they are records of a rugged, unforgiving, and beautiful reality.

"The sweep of rock and krummholz, the ever-changing sky, and the blue mountain ridges repeating into oblivion are all collected in my vision and brought back to my studio."

A Symbiosis of Trail and Studio

People ask if I miss the city. Aside from a few museums, I don’t. The "rural uncrowdedness" of New Hampshire provides the mental space necessary for fine art. Today, my trail runs are more than exercise; they are scouting missions.

Whether I encounter a moose or simply the silence of the woods, I am collecting the raw material that feeds my art. Every painting I create is born from this symbiosis—a physical journey through the woods and a creative journey onto the wood or canvas.

My work is a continuous dialogue with the New Hampshire wilderness. If you’d like to follow that journey, you can view my available work here or subscribe to my newsletter for an intimate look at life in the studio and on the trail.

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