Martin Figlinski

Florida native. Oil painter of Florida landscapes for 40+ years.

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

I’m a Florida landscape painter working exclusively in oil. For more than 40 years, I’ve painted the light, water and atmosphere of the Florida coast.
My seascapes are less about exact places and more about capturing a feeling—the glow of morning, changing skies, rolling surf, gathering storms and the last light of evening.
Here I share paintings, works in progress, coastal studies, photographs and life as a Florida artist.
Florida artist • Oil painting • Landscape painter • Seascapes
https://t.co/VfJAZ34r1I

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

@jfeehan888 I enjoy your posts. Thanks for doing what you do!😀

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

I headed out early this morning, fearful of the rain in the forecast. It rained lightly most of the way to Sarasota, but as I got into Bradenton, I began to see a break in the clouds. A glimmer of hope.

I’d canceled last weekend’s shows because the weather looked bad, and I was hoping this weekend wouldn’t be a repeat. Then, as I crossed the bridge to St. Armands Key, a beautiful sunrise appeared. I hope it’s a sign.

For now, the weather looks good. I’m open early and ready to see everyone. After a long summer of painting, I have a full booth for a change, and I’m glad to finally share the work in person.

I’ll be at St. Armands Circle in Sarasota, Florida, this Saturday and Sunday, October 17–18, from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. both days.

Come out and see me if you’re in the area.

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

I was fourteen years old when I first picked up an airbrush. Growing up in Panama City, Florida, I spent a lot of time around the beach. Back then, there were artists who made their living airbrushing T-shirts for tourists. Most of what they painted were beach scenes. Palm trees, sunsets, waves, and bright tropical skies. After all, the beach was what brought people there.

I was fascinated by those artists. I would stand and watch as they turned a plain white T-shirt into a colorful beach scene in a matter of minutes.
I'd been drawing for as long as I could remember, but this was something different. These scenes had color, depth, and a sense of light that I couldn't achieve with my pencil drawings. The skies seemed to glow, the water had movement, and the colors brought everything to life. I was intrigued by it, and I knew I had to learn how to do it.

That Christmas, I asked for an airbrush and the equipment I would need to get started.

Learning wasn't easy. There was no internet, no YouTube, and very little information available. I managed to find one thin book that explained a few of the basics. Beyond that, I learned by watching other artists, experimenting, making mistakes, and trying again.

I practiced constantly.

About a year later, I got what I considered my first big break. A couple who managed a convenience store on the beach offered me a summer job airbrushing T-shirts at a little stand next to their store. I suspect the opportunity had more to do with the fact that they attended my church than it did with my ability as an artist. But they gave a young kid a chance, and I've never forgotten that.

I was fifteen years old, working alongside artists who were older and much more experienced than I was.

I remember being nervous every time someone ordered a shirt. I wasn't always sure I could paint what they wanted, much less make it look as good as the work of the artists around me. There were plenty of struggles, but I kept working and learning. Slowly, I got better.

Of everything we painted, the beach scenes were always my favorite. I studied how the other artists made waves, how they suggested reflections on the water, and how a few quick strokes could create the impression of an entire sky.

Looking back, those early paintings were highly stylized and greatly simplified. But that was where I learned the fundamentals of painting the sea.

After that first summer, I moved on to larger shops and eventually became one of the more experienced artists myself. I often worked at night, leaving my days free to spend at the beach. Sometimes I went skimboarding. Other times I simply walked along the shore, watching the water, studying the clouds, and paying attention to the changing light.

And somewhere along the way, I began to notice something.

The beach didn't really look like the pictures we were painting.

Our airbrushed scenes were filled with brilliant fluorescent colors, exaggerated sunsets, and perfectly shaped clouds. They were fun, and people loved them. There was certainly a place for that kind of art. But the more time I spent observing the real thing, the more interested I became in the subtle colors and quieter moments that were so often overlooked.

I began mixing different colors. Less saturation. More grays. More attention to the atmosphere and the way light actually behaved.

I wanted my paintings to look and feel more like the places I knew.

That curiosity eventually led me away from T-shirts and onto paper and canvas. I experimented with acrylics and watercolors before finding my way to oil paints.

At first, my fine art was something I pursued for myself, outside of my regular work as an airbrush artist. During the slower months at the beach, I began exhibiting at art festivals and selling my paintings. Over time, what had started as a personal pursuit became my profession. Eventually, I left the airbrush business behind and devoted myself entirely to painting in oils.

That was a long time ago.

More than forty years have passed since that fourteen-year-old boy first stood watching those artists paint T-shirts on the beach. And here I am, still painting the same ocean, still fascinated by the same light, and still trying to understand it a little better.

But something important has changed.

In those early years, much of my effort went into learning how to make something look believable. How to paint a wave, a cloud, or a reflection so that someone would recognize it.

Today, that is only part of what interests me.

I'm far more concerned with how a painting “feels”.

Ernest Hemingway once spoke about creating something through art that was "truer than anything true and alive." I've thought about those words often. I believe I understand what he meant, and it's something I strive for in my paintings.

For me, painting isn't about reproducing a scene with photographic accuracy. It's about finding something within that scene that goes beyond its physical appearance.

Does the atmosphere feel convincing? Does the light carry the mood I intended? Can someone look at the painting and remember a place they've been, a particular evening, or a feeling they haven't thought about in years?

Have I left enough unsaid for the viewer to bring something of their own to the experience?

And perhaps most importantly, have I put enough of myself into it?

I believe that's where a painting begins to become something more than a picture.

As I finished this latest seascape, I found myself thinking about those early days in Panama City and the long road between then and now.

I still have so much to learn.

I may never reach a point where I feel I've completely mastered what I'm trying to do. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder whether such a point even exists.

And perhaps that's a good thing.

Maybe the real reward isn't in finally mastering something, but in spending a lifetime pursuing it. In remaining curious. In continuing to observe things we've seen a thousand times and discovering something new.

I know that at this point in my life, I'm more interested in painting, more motivated to improve, and more excited about what lies ahead than I've ever been.

The sea still fascinates me. The changing light still surprises me. And every painting teaches me something I didn't know before.

More than forty years later, I'm still that kid standing on the beach, watching, wondering, and trying to figure out how to capture what I see.

Only now, I'm hoping to capture a little more of what I feel.

And tomorrow, I'll go back to the easel and try to make the next one better.

#26098 “An Endless Horizon” 36” x 60” oil on linen.https://t.co/DFzIVeUnbj

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

A Strange and Beautiful Sight in the Morning Sky

For a moment on this morning’s walk, I thought perhaps the aliens really were coming to pay us a visit.

It began with a strange glow in the sky, showing bright rainbow colors against the darkness before dawn. I rounded the corner and hurried past a house to get a better view. What I saw was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed. High above the trees was an enormous, glowing formation of light, swirling and spreading across the sky. It looked like something from another world.

Then I remembered a post I’d skimmed over about a SpaceX launch scheduled for this morning. Suddenly, it all made sense.

At 6:33 a.m., SpaceX launched a Falcon 9 rocket from Cape Canaveral, carrying a Dragon spacecraft bound for the International Space Station. What I was witnessing is a phenomenon known as a “space jellyfish.”

As the rocket climbs into the thin upper atmosphere, its exhaust expands into a great cloud. Although the sun had not yet risen where I stood, its light was already reaching the exhaust high above the earth. The result was a remarkable display of color and light.

I stood watching as the rainbow colors gave way to brilliant blues and silvery whites. The glowing cloud slowly unfolded into delicate, featherlike strands, stretching farther across the sky before gradually fading into the approaching daylight.

I’ve spent much of my life studying the sky, watching the way light moves through clouds and atmosphere. As a painter, it’s what fascinates me most. I’m always looking for something unusual in the morning or evening light, but this was something I never expected to see.

As I continued my walk, I kept looking up, watching the last traces of that strange light disappear. I knew before it was gone that somehow, someday soon, it would find its way into one of my paintings.

I’ve seen some remarkable skies over the years, but this morning gave me one I’ll not soon forget.

Here are a few photographs and videos I managed to capture as it unfolded.

#spacejellyfish

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

This was the sky this morning as I rounded the lake—the halfway point of my 3.5-mile walk. I started a new audiobook along the way, Mean High Tide by James W. Hall, the third book in his Thorn series. If you enjoy Florida fiction like I do, Hall is well worth reading. I’ve made my way through all of Randy Wayne White’s books and the older John D. MacDonald novels, and Hall has that same kind of Florida atmosphere I’m drawn to.
We’re supposed to get rain off and on most of the week, which usually means more clouds, changing light, and some interesting morning skies. I’ll be watching. Have a good day, everyone!

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

The Gulf is darkening beneath a restless sky. A few warm streaks of light remain in the clouds as the waves roll in. The day is ending, but the sea keeps moving.

#26093 “Where the Light Remains”
18” x 24” oil on linen. https://t.co/3v5CDAWlUX

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

As the Gulf rolls in beneath a steel blue sky, a band of warm light still lingers along the horizon. The waves break with a soft roar and slide across the sand before the Gulf gathers them back. The light is slowly fading, the day quietly giving way to evening. Maybe that is part of what makes it beautiful—the knowing that it will soon be gone.

#22092 “Steel Blue Evening” 18” x 24” oil on linen. https://t.co/HX8PDMCTEI

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

@bonjourblonde Thank you!!

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

I’m a Florida landscape painter working exclusively in oil. For more than 40 years, I’ve painted the light, water and atmosphere of the Florida coast.
My seascapes are less about exact places and more about capturing a feeling—the glow of morning, changing skies, rolling surf, gathering storms and the last light of evening.
Here I share paintings, works in progress, coastal studies, photographs and life as a Florida artist.
Florida artist • Oil painting • Landscape painter • Seascapes
https://t.co/VfJAZ34r1I

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

@weaver227980 Thank you!😀

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

When the day lets go, the Gulf answers in soft light and color. Sea oats lean into the evening breeze, the waves roll in with their familiar hush, and the last glow lingers across the water like a memory not quite ready to leave. It is one of those quiet Florida moments that asks nothing of us but to stand still and take it in.
#26028 “When the Day Lets Go” 24” x 36” original oil on linen.

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

At the quiet edge of the Gulf, a small sandpiper moves through the shallows, light on its feet as the tide breathes in and out.
The bird pauses, patient and unhurried, finding what it needs in the simplest places—where sand meets water and the world slows down for a moment.
Watching it, you're reminded that life doesn't always ask for grand movements. Sometimes the best way forward is steady steps, quiet attention, and trust that even the smallest path along the shoreline can lead exactly where it should.
"Sandpiper at the Water's Edge"  8" x10" oil on linen.

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

https://t.co/efLZ3mycMz

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

A harvest moon hangs low over the water, glowing orange through the heavy evening air. Above it, soft pink light catches the edges of the clouds, bringing warmth to an otherwise vast and endless sky. At the edge of the surf, a lone egret stands quietly, watching the shallow water for one last meal.

There is something peaceful about its solitude. The sea continues its steady rhythm, the moon rises without hurry, and the bird remains completely present in the moment. It is a scene of quiet survival, but also one of beauty—a reminder that even beneath an immense sky, life carries on in small and purposeful ways.

26079 “Under An Endless Sky” 12’ x 16’ oil on linen.

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

https://t.co/vLYuF4dtxs

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

I was in the mood to paint something with power and movement as we tracked Tropical Storm Bertha making its way up the Gulf. It brought back memories of living in Panama City Beach, where an approaching storm quickly became the talk of the beach.

Most of the tourists would pack up and head home, their vacations cut short. For those of us who lived and worked there, it meant a welcome little pause in the middle of an otherwise hectic tourist season.

One of the highlights was always going down to the beach to watch the Gulf change. The waves became larger, heavier, and far more energetic than usual—powerful and beautiful at the same time. I especially loved the way the emerald water seemed to glow against the darkened sky. That contrast, along with the feeling of a storm gathering offshore, is what I wanted to capture in this painting.

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

https://t.co/LamI2vBVVY

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

As the sunset settled over the water, coral and gold burned low along the horizon. The sea rolled quietly toward shore, and the sea oats moved in the breeze as the last birds crossed the light.

#26091 “The Shore at Sunset” 12’ x 16” oil on linen.

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

It feels like an old beach memory rising back to the surface—the gentle breeze moving through the sea oats, the scent of salt air and warm sand, the distant calls of birds, and the steady hush of waves meeting the shore. Some places stay with us like that, living quietly in the senses long after the day is gone.
#26027 "Beach Memory"  24” x 36" original oil on linen.

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

https://t.co/lO54y0uEa0

[Martin Figlinski @Figlinski]

The calm, beauty, and quiet sense of wonder that comes from standing at the water’s edge and watching the day slowly fade—when the light softens, the edges begin to disappear, and the entire landscape seems to settle into a quieter rhythm.

"As The Day Fades" 24" x 36" oil on linen.