This article is part of a special series celebrating the 2025 inductees into the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. Now in its second year, the Hall of Fame honors individuals, organizations, and patrons whose dedication, creativity, and support have helped shape Plein Air Easton into the nationally recognized event it is today.

David Grafton didn’t talk much about legacy. He wasn’t one to take up a lot of space. But those who knew him understood what he built—not just with his brush, but with the kind of open door that pulled a whole community into orbit.

Dave, who passed away before the pandemic, is being honored posthumously this year for his role in shaping Plein Air Easton and nurturing its early artistic community.

“Dave and I met in Easton,” said artist Stephen Griffin, his friend and gallery partner. “I was in Troika Gallery at the time, and his wife wasn’t in great health. I offered to help out—next thing you know, we were business partners for seven or eight years, running the Grafton Gallery together.”

By the time the two met, Dave had already carved out a place for himself as a painter. He was a big guy with a bigger personality, the kind of person who wanted to talk to everybody, learn their stories, and tell a few of his own. “He grew up in New Jersey, and I was from Philly, but it was wild how much we had in common. We’d been to the same places, had some of the same teachers at PAFA (Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts). He was older than me by maybe 20 years, but it didn’t matter. We just clicked.”

When Plein Air Easton was first being imagined, David was part of the conversation. “It was Nancy Tankersley who went to Al Bond with the idea,” Stephen said, “but Dave was there from the start, in the room, having the meetings, being part of what this thing could be. He had the gallery, he knew the artists in town, and Easton was just starting to become an arts town.”

He didn’t just show up for the big decisions. He made the gallery a kind of home base. “After a long day out painting, people would drift in. It’d be eight o’clock at night, and we’d be sitting around in the gallery with some wine and food, just talking. That’s what Dave did—he created a space where people could connect. Artists from all over the country, and later, the world. It was always welcoming. Always.”

Though Dave only painted in the competition for a few years, his influence ran deeper than the number of canvases he completed. “Everybody calls Plein Air Easton the Ironman of outdoor painting,” Griffin said. “It’s intense. Hot, competitive, nonstop. Dave was older and already respected—he didn’t need to be out there sweating it out every year. But he was still part of it. Always in the dialog. Always supporting the artists.”

He also served as a judge at other regional events, supported local arts councils, and brought a quiet professionalism to everything he did. But for Griffin, it was the personal stories that revealed the most about his friend.

“Dave loved to fish—surf fishing off the Jersey shore, the Delaware Bay, down in Maryland. I love to fish too, so we had all these stories, swapping tales about what we caught, where we went, what we used. And we’d bring our paint boxes too—you’d fish, then you’d paint the day.”

His paintings reflected that life. “What I always admired about Dave’s work was his skies. They told a story without telling too much. There’d be so little there, but somehow it made you feel something. People would come into the gallery and say it. They’d look at one of his skies and just stop. And I could tell them, ‘Yeah, I know where that was. I know the day he painted it. I was there.”

There was also a softness in how Dave related to people. “He loved talking,” Stephen said. “Not small talk. Real conversations. He was just so open. That’s rare. You don’t see that kind of openness in everyone, especially in the art world. But Dave had it.”

He also had pride in where he came from—and where he landed. Cape Henlopen was one of his favorite places to paint, and it turned out Stephen’s father had been stationed there when he was a kid. “We had so many overlaps like that. I knew the places he painted because I’d been there too, as a child. We just understood each other.”

It’s hard for Stephen to remember exactly when Dave passed away. He remembers it being sometime before the pandemic, in that blurry stretch of time that feels both recent and far away. But the imprint he left is still visible. You can see it in the friendships that were born in his gallery. In the artists who keep coming back to Easton year after year. In the way people remember how it felt to walk into that space and be welcomed. There was no big moment, no headline. Just a quiet absence that those closest to him still feel. “Yeah,” Stephen said. “I miss him. We all do.”

He’s not forgotten. His fingerprints are still on the fabric of Plein Air Easton—in the way artists gather after a long day, in the quiet confidence of the work on display, in the gallery spaces that welcome instead of intimidate.

“Dave was never chasing the spotlight,” Stephen said. “He just wanted to paint. And have good people around.”

That turned out to be more than enough.

This article is part of a special series celebrating the 2025 inductees into the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. Now in its second year, the Hall of Fame honors individuals, organizations, and patrons whose dedication, creativity, and support have helped shape Plein Air Easton into the nationally recognized event it is today.

It’s always hot. That’s the first thing you remember about Plein Air Easton in July. Artists are sweating on sidewalks and docks, hoping for a breeze or to catch a shadow before it moves. Visitors duck into galleries for a break from the heat, squinting at maps and looking for where to go next. And right there, in the middle of it all, is Local Color.

It doesn’t shout for attention. No big banners, no music spilling into the street. But step inside, and there’s a hum. Artwork by regional artists—some just in from the field, others fresh from the studio—hangs in clean rows. A few visitors linger near the demo table. Someone’s handing out programs. Someone else is asking about a painting. It’s not flashy. But it’s warm. Familiar. Solid.

And it’s been that way for 21 years.

This year, the Working Artists Forum (WAF)—the nonprofit of professional artists who created and continue to run Local Color—is being inducted into the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. It’s not just for showing up, though they’ve done that year after year. It’s for building something that lasts.

Founded in 1979, WAF is a nonprofit organization of professional working artists from across the Delmarva Peninsula. Membership is juried, and the group includes painters of all styles, ages, and experience levels. But what unites them is not just a commitment to craft—it’s a commitment to community. That is evident throughout the year, in their monthly programs and exhibitions. But every July, it shows up in full force through Local Color.

Local Color was born in 2004, the same year Plein Air Easton launched. At the time, WAF was seeking a way to showcase its own regional artists during the festival, particularly those who hadn’t been juried into the main event. The idea was simple: create a parallel exhibit—something open to local and regional painters that could run alongside the plein air competition.

Nancy Thomas was there for all of it. A longtime WAF member and former president, she’s been involved in Local Color for over two decades. “Back then,” she said, “we were trying to create a space where local artists could be seen. Plein Air Easton only allowed so many painters, and there were so many others in this area who deserved an audience.”

It all started at the Tidewater Inn, where the first Local Color exhibit was held, marking a beautiful yet slightly chaotic beginning. It was open-entry at first, welcoming any artist from the five Eastern Shore counties. Over time, it became juried.

“We became the ones who had something going on during the day,” said Nancy. “In those early years, Plein Air Easton was quieter during the week because the competition artists were all out painting. So people came to us. We had the demos. We had the energy. We filled the gap.”

Maryellen Lynott is the current Local Color Chair and Vice President of WAF. A painter herself, she manages the details that keep the show running: schedules, artist communications, that massive opening reception, and of course, those demos.

The demos are often standing-room-only. And they’ve become a kind of signature WAF contribution—generous, informative, and volunteer-powered.

“The demos are a huge part of what we offer,” she said. “Every day during the exhibit, we bring in award-winning plein air painters to do demonstrations that are free and open to the public. People love them—whether they’re painters themselves or just curious. It’s a point of access.”

That spirit of sharing—of bringing art directly to the public—runs through everything WAF does. And it extends well beyond the gallery. In recent years, WAF has used the commission proceeds from Local Color to hand-deliver art supply gift cards to art teachers at elementary schools across Maryland’s Eastern Shore.

“For us to be able to come in and offer some support—it means a lot. It’s direct. It’s personal. And it connects us to the next generation of artists,” said Naomi Clark-Turner, the current President of WAF. Naomi joined WAF just a few years ago. She paints both in plein air and the studio and has found the group to be a place of creative support as well as community action.

One of her favorite memories involves the Local Color picnic paint-out—an event where artists gather on the grounds of a local estate to paint, exhibit, and share a meal with the public. “It’s everything I love about this group,” she said. “The painting, the connection, the joy.”

It’s not a one-way street. WAF artists talk often about the warmth they receive from the community—the way Easton greets painters like old friends, whether they’re longtime locals or just passing through. “I was painting on the street one day during a workshop,” Maryellyn said, “and people kept stopping to say, ‘Welcome to Easton!’ I didn’t even tell them I lived on that block—it was just really lovely.”

That kind of welcome isn’t unusual here. Easton has always shown up for its artists. During festival week, that support’s on full display—people open their homes, volunteer at every turn, donate supplies, and fill the sidewalks for Quick Draw like it’s a small-town sporting event.

And it’s in July, when everything WAF does year-round folds into the bigger picture. That’s where the relationship with Plein Air Easton comes in—one built not just on support, but trust.

Maybe that’s why Local Color manages to feel both consistent and fresh. The structure holds: juried entries, daily demos, a big opening night—but the people, the paintings, the tiny unexpected moments? Those shift every year.

Sometimes those moments come with the weather. “Some of the most stunning paintings I’ve seen,” Maryellyn said, “are from rainy days in Oxford. The reflections, the atmosphere—it pushes the artists to capture something different.”

Other times, it’s a matter of grit. “Plein air painting is not for the faint of heart,” Nancy said. “There are bugs, heat, crowds, and ticks.” “Marshes are the worst. Instant bugs,” Maryellyn added.

Even so, the joy outweighs the discomfort. “There’s nothing like it,” Maryellyn said. “To paint outside, to be part of this community, to see the town come alive with art—it’s what keeps us coming back.”

And they do come back—artists, locals, collectors, volunteers. The ones who’ve been showing up since the beginning, and the ones who just found it and don’t want to miss it again.

They come for the art, sure. But they also come for the people, for the rhythm of the week, for the chance to be part of something that still feels a little bit like a small discovery, even after all these years.

Plein Air Easton is a show, yes.

But to WAF, Local Color is also a statement: that art belongs in the hands of the people who live here, and that community doesn’t happen by accident—it happens because people show up.

The Working Artists Forum has been showing up for 21 years.

And now, they take their well-earned place in the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. Not with fanfare, but with the same quiet determination they’ve brought since day one.

This article is part of a special series celebrating the 2025 inductees into the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. Now in its second year, the Hall of Fame honors individuals, organizations, and patrons whose dedication, creativity, and support have helped shape Plein Air Easton into the nationally recognized event it is today.

When Hali Asplundh first set foot in Easton in the late 1990s, she didn’t expect it to be more than a weekend getaway. She and her husband, Scott, were looking for a second home—a quiet place with water views, some charm, maybe a lovely sunset or two. They came from the Philadelphia area and had already checked out the Jersey Shore, but nothing had quite clicked. Then they visited the Eastern Shore.

“It was in February—Valentine’s Day, actually…,” said Hali. “We drove from St. Michaels down to the ferry dock, and I looked across at Oxford and said, ‘Let’s go over there for dinner.’” The ferry wasn’t running, of course, so they had to drive all the way around. “We ended up at Pope’s Inn Tavern and had this great meal.”

That’s when she opened one of the local booklets you find around the Shore—she can’t remember much else about it, but she remembers the real estate advertisement. “There was this little house in Easton,” she said. “I showed it to Scott and said, ‘We need to go look at that house.’ And then, as Scott likes to say, ‘four months later, we owned it.’”

That house, and the house after that in Oxford, would become the base for years of memories, not just as a retreat, but as a way to connect with the area’s growing community. “Living here made us instantly understand the beauty of the area,” Hali said. “So I started looking for a picture of a sunset, because they’re just so glorious down there, right?”

What started as a hunt for a piece of sunset art to hang on the wall turned into conversations with local gallerists and artists. One of those conversations was with Nancy Tankersley, who mentioned she was working with a group hoping to bring a plein air festival to Easton.

“I thought it was an excellent idea,” Hali said. “I was instantly enamored, and we got involved from the start. We supported it that first year and every year after in one way or another.”

Even though neither of them was an artist, they were captivated by the creative process. They would walk the streets of Easton and Oxford during festival week, watching artists painting in real time. “I love driving down the road and seeing four or five easels in the same spot,” she said. “But every painting is slightly different—the angle, the color, the interpretation. I love that.”

They also loved the feeling of being present for something special—of seeing a piece of the festival take shape right before their eyes. One time, they were having lunch at the Robert Morris Inn when Hali noticed a woman painting on the patio next to them. “She was painting a couple under a big red umbrella—it was a hot day, I remember. She did such a masterful job. I took a picture of her painting, posted it, and later found out it won the grand prize. That was fun to see.”

Though their involvement was never about being seen, the Asplundh name is one many people know, especially in the Mid-Atlantic. Scott comes from a family that built one of the country’s largest tree service companies. It’s not something they ever led with, but in some ways, it fits. A respect for land and the natural world is part of what drew them to the Shore and part of what they’ve quietly supported ever since. They showed up, gave, and helped build the foundation that allowed the festival to grow. “We just adored it,” Hali said. “It’s something we made time for. Scott was always very busy, but he made time for that event.”

That appreciation deepened over time. What began with admiration turned into participation. At some point, they asked if there was a way to get more directly involved in supporting the artists themselves. That’s when they took on the Artist Choice Award—an honor voted on by the painters, and one that Hali and Scott have proudly supported ever since. “It became really dear to our hearts,” she said.

But their support wasn’t just financial—it was part of how they experienced the festival, year after year.”Most of their time during the event was spent in Oxford, where they felt most at home. They often arrived by boat, cruising to opening events or just soaking in the scenes from the water. Hali especially loved how the festival offered access to places most people never see. “That first year I went to an artist opening at one of the farms,” she said, “and I remember thinking what a wonderful way it was to see these hidden parts of the Shore.”

And the more time she spent there—on the water, at the farms, walking the small-town streets—the more closely she began to appreciate the craft of painting. “I remember once asking a local artist during a talk if he thought the light here was different,” she said. “He went off on this explanation about how it’s like a lampshade—the light holds. It’s bright but soft, and reflective in a way that’s hard to describe. He compared it to the south of France. Ever since then, I’ve looked at it through that lens.”

That way of seeing—of noticing things others might miss—stayed with her, even as their visits became less frequent. Scott’s health has kept them away in recent years, but their connection to the place hasn’t faded. They still own their home in Oxford, and Hali hopes to return soon, possibly with her daughter. “It’s kind of a cherished memory for us now,” she said.

She was surprised and touched when she received the call about the Hall of Fame honor. “I thought that was quite nice, actually,” she said. “Whether we were in the Hall of Fame or not, we would have continued to support it. We love it.”

And that love—for the light, the water, the land, the trees, and the art that emerges from it—has become part of Plein Air Easton’s story. Not everyone who shapes a festival picks up a brush. Some simply stand back, quietly, year after year, and make it possible for others to paint what they see.

This article is part of a special series celebrating the 2025 inductees into the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. Now in its second year, the Hall of Fame honors individuals, organizations, and patrons whose dedication, creativity, and support have helped shape Plein Air Easton into the nationally recognized event it is today.

Diane DuBois Mullaly was out painting when she got the call. She was standing at her easel at Wade’s Point Inn, in the middle of a plein air painting, when Al Bond phoned to tell her she’d been selected as one of this year’s Hall of Fame honorees.

“I was astonished,” she said. “I knew that my name had been submitted the year before, and I thought, well, maybe someday—but I didn’t expect it this soon.”

It was a full-circle moment. Not just because she’s been juried into Plein Air Easton ten times. Not just because she’s painted the landscapes of the Eastern Shore for more than two decades. But because she’s been part of the event since day one, quietly shaping the experience for artists and audiences alike.

In 2005, Diane was part of a small group of local artists who met at Coffee East, a café in Easton, every Friday morning. One morning, Nancy Tankersley came in to tell them about a new plein air festival being organized by the Avalon Foundation. She was looking for volunteers.

“I really wanted to meet all the artists coming to town,” Diane said. “I just put my name and email address on a piece of paper.” A few days later, she got an email: “Thank you for volunteering to co-chair the Quick Draw.”

Her response: “What’s the Quick Draw?”

She soon found out. Nancy brought Diane and co-chair Cliff Fleener to South Street Art Gallery and showed them a slideshow from a similar event in California. From that model, they were tasked with designing Easton’s own version.

“Cliff was very gregarious and great on the ground. I was quieter and studious,” she said. “So I went home and wrote a full outline—how I thought it should work. A timeline, logistics, and boundaries. I emailed it to Nancy and Al Bond. We went back and forth and refined it. But that basic structure? They’re still using it today.”

Diane also credits Cliff with the three-part sales ticket system that is still in use. “He came up with this really ingenious design and brought the giant roll of tape,” she said. “He marked where the artists would set up, made sure we had an air horn, a tent, water to give away—he figured out all the stuff on the ground so I could paint that day.”

Diane’s path to plein air painting had its own kind of quiet beginning. She’d studied at Tyler School of Art at Temple University but hadn’t worked in oil until she moved to the Eastern Shore in 2002. Something about the light, the landscape, the wide-open spaces—she couldn’t stop thinking about painting them.

“For Christmas, I asked my husband for a set of oil paints,” she said. “And then I didn’t open them. I was terrified. I had painted in oil in college, but it had been so many years. I was just so intimidated by the thought of doing what I wanted to do most.”

Eventually, late one night, she opened the box.

“I read the instructions. I tried painting. And it went much better than I expected.”

She started studying with artists who came through the area—Camille Przewodek and Tim Bell (now Tim Beal). She also worked for Nancy at South Street Art Gallery and joined workshops led by Nancy. Before long, she was entering plein air events. And then she was accepted. Ten times over.

In Easton, where there’s no shortage of art events or galleries, Diane believes Plein Air Easton stands apart because of the energy and immediacy it brings.

“It’s very interactive,” she said. “Because the art is being created on site, it’s kind of like a spectator sport. People can find the artists, talk to them, and see the work in progress. That’s different from other festivals, where the art is already complete and hung in an exhibit.”

For Diane, that connection is everything. She’s had countless people walk up to her while she’s painting, curious and engaged. And just as many who connect emotionally with the finished work.

“What’s really great is when your art touches someone,” she said. “Seeing a familiar scene through the artist’s eyes makes it fresh for them, and they fall in love with it. That is really gratifying.”

She’s also formed lasting friendships with other competition artists—people she never would have met if not for the festival—the kind of friendships that start in a tent, over lunch, or while waiting for a painting to dry in the heat.

But more than anything, she keeps coming back to the atmosphere of generosity.

“There’s a kindness that flows through the event,” she said. “The kindness of the volunteers, the kindness of the Avalon staff, the kindness of the artists to the spectators and each other. It’s the host families. It’s just amazing. It’s a giant act of goodwill.”

For Diane, it’s been deeply personal. From volunteering to painting to mentoring younger artists, she’s been involved in every layer of the experience. Her work helped lay the foundation, and her presence helped nurture the culture.

“I’ve been there since the start,” she said. “And to see how it’s grown, how it’s evolved—but still stayed connected to what it was at the beginning—it means a lot.”

That beginning included spreadsheets and sketches, sales ticket mockups, and air horn checklists. It included stepping into roles without knowing what they’d become, an unopened box of paints, a quiet decision, and a willingness to try.

This summer, Diane DuBois Mullaly joins the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. And for those who know what she’s given—on canvas and off—the honor speaks for itself.

This article is part of a special series celebrating the 2025 inductees into the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. Now in its second year, the Hall of Fame honors individuals, organizations, and patrons whose dedication, creativity, and support have helped shape Plein Air Easton into the nationally recognized event it is today.

Before Plein Air Easton was anything more than a spark of an idea, Laura Era was already saying yes.

Yes to the idea of Easton as an arts town. Yes to a fledgling plein air festival. And when developer Timothy Dills—who owned Talbot Town Shopping Center and had helped Troika Gallery find its footing—asked whether he should back this unknown thing with actual money.

“We told him, yes,” said Laura, “My gosh, yes.”

Troika was already established then, a fine art gallery run by three professional artists—Laura, Jennifer Heyd Wharton, and Dorothy Newland. When the idea of Plein Air Easton started taking shape, Laura and her partners did what they’ve always done: they showed up.

There were planning meetings, early judging panels, and community conversations about what this could be. Troika even helped sponsor one of the very first awards. “It was a Troika Gallery award… I forgot what the category was—it could have been for Best New Artist or something like that,” she said. There were also the Sunday auctions at private estates, figuring out logistics late into the night, only to be up again at the crack of dawn, making it all happen. “We did what had to be done,” she says. “It was a lot of work.”

However, if you’re picturing clipboards and spreadsheets, think again. Laura’s memories of those early years aren’t just about logistics—they’re also about stories. Like the time a local homeowner stood up in the middle of an auction and confronted a bidder trying to buy a painting of her house. She had a cane. She made it clear: this was her estate, her painting, and she wasn’t leaving without it.

“She walked over to the person outbidding her, like the Grim Reaper,” Laura said, laughing, “and said, ‘I am bidding on that painting.’ And this poor man… he just kind of folded.”

But that’s part of it, too. Plein Air Easton has always had moments like that. The kind you don’t forget. The kind you’re still laughing about twenty years later.

Back then, Troika also hosted exhibitions of the judges’ work. Kenn Backhaus and West Fraser were among the first. The gallery was where things were happening—it was a hub, a backdrop, a resource. When Laura heard that the Avalon team was looking for a judge for the 15th anniversary, she suggested Dr. Dan Weiss, then President of the Met Museum in New York. He came. He judged. “That was a big coup, and now that he’s retired to the Shore,” she said, “he keeps showing up—most recently to judge Troika’s ‘Fabulous Forgeries’ show.”

Like everything else on the Eastern Shore, Plein Air Easton has grown. What started as a few days in one town has become a sprawling, multi-location event stretching across counties. The artists go to Oxford, Tilghman, and St. Michaels. There’s more art, more collectors, more energy. And yes, many more galleries.

“At first we were the only ones,” Laura says. “Then they started popping up, and we wondered—are we creating competition for ourselves?”

She smiles when she says it.

Troika has always played the long game. Laura never set out to be the “plein air gallery”—her artists are landscape painters, portrait artists, and sculptors. Some do plein air; some don’t. But they’re all serious professionals. And Troika, for 28 years now, has been a place for serious art.

It started with three artists and the idea that Easton deserved a proper fine art gallery. They brought in other artists they admired—about fifteen to start—and built a reputation on quality. Dorothy passed away a few years ago. Jennifer moved to South Carolina. Laura now runs it on her own, with help from her gallery manager, Peg. They represent over 40 artists.

“We’re just about fine art,” she says. “Not just plein air.”

Still, she knows what plein air brings to the town. The immediacy. The sense of occasion. The magic of seeing a painting that was made just hours before, fresh from the easel. “You capture the moment, the feel,” she says. “And hopefully the viewer connects enough to open their wallet.”

That combination—the energy of the artists and the willingness of the community to support them—is part of what makes Plein Air Easton unique. The volunteers, the venues, and the patrons who open their homes. And then there is the Avalon Foundation’s attention to detail— the steady hand of leadership from Al Bond, Jessica Bellis, and the team behind the scenes.

“They’ve done a phenomenal job,” Laura says. “I can’t say enough good about them.”

When Al called to let her know she’d been selected for the Hall of Fame, Laura wasn’t sure what to say. There’s a long history here—long memories, long hours, long friendships—and it’s not easy to sum up what all of that has meant.

But the recognition matters.

“In my opinion,” she says, “we were definitely worthy. And we are very humbly pleased.”

The truth is, without people like Laura Era, there might not have been a Plein Air Easton. There certainly wouldn’t have been one with this kind of foundation—this kind of credibility—this kind of heart.

Easton has changed. The festival has grown. But Troika is still here, holding the door open. Still saying yes.

This article is part of a special series celebrating the 2025 inductees into the Plein Air Easton Hall of Fame. Now in its second year, the Hall of Fame honors individuals, organizations, and patrons whose dedication, creativity, and support have helped shape Plein Air Easton into the nationally recognized event it is today.

If you asked Mary Kellogg what year it all started, she might tell you 2013–or maybe 2014. What she knows for sure is this: someone mentioned there wouldn’t be a Vanishing Landscape Award that year because no one could identify a scene that qualified. Mary disagreed, suggesting three vanishing landscapes on Tilghman–the barns at Gray Goose Farm, the Crow Brothers’ oyster planting boat, and Harrison Seafood. All three have since disappeared, except for one remaining barn.

That’s when Mary picked up the phone and called the Avalon Foundation. She didn’t know who to talk to, so she asked for Executive Director Al Bond and introduced herself. She told him the Tilghman Watermen’s Museum, which she and her husband, Hall, had founded in 2008, could help make the award happen—and that Tilghman had plenty of vanishing landscapes to choose from. If that was the holdup, they’d find a way. He said yes.

It was the start of a relationship that has lasted decades.

The following year, it was Al’s turn to call. Artists were arriving early for the festival and looking for places to paint. Would the Museum be willing to host a pre-competition paint-out on Tilghman Island?

Mary and Hall said yes, without quite realizing what they were signing up for. They had maybe three weeks to pull it together. They opened the Museum early for sunrise painters, kept water and snacks on hand, and made sure the air conditioning was running when the heat rolled in. They didn’t even have easels—just folding chairs to prop up the paintings. “We were unprepared,” Mary said. “But it went off. The artists liked it. So we did it again.”

And again and again for several years. The artists kept coming, and the Kelloggs kept showing up. Then, about three years ago, Tilghman became an official part of the competition.

Which is just fine for the Kelloggs, as they love getting into the whole spirit of the event. Hall said one of the most amazing things is watching the painters start the day with a blank canvas and seeing what they’ve created by dinner. To Mary, there is the surprise in having artists bring to life and see things she’s long since stopped noticing.

She remembers one artist painting a huge stack of old baskets behind a crab house–baskets that were falling apart and about to be burned. He asked Mary to make sure no one moved them before he could return to finish the piece. The crabbers were confused but agreed. “That’s what I mean, an artist will stop and paint a pile of broken crab baskets or something held together with duct tape. And it turns out beautiful.”

That kind of eye—for overlooked beauty—is something Mary and Hall have long tried to support. The Artist’s Choice Award, handed out year after year, wasn’t funded by the Museum’s budget, but by friends, neighbors, and community members who believed in the same thing: giving artists the space and resources to do what they do best. That part, Mary emphasized, was important to her. And it speaks to how she and Hall operate—quietly, without seeking recognition, and with a clear sense of purpose.

Though they’ve since stepped back from running the museum, they’re still involved—and always ready to help make things happen. “We said we’d retire,” Hall said. “But we’re not going anywhere.”

They’re also continuing to be part of the Plein Air Easton community, “It’s been wonderful,” Mary said. “I’ve loved working with the staff. They make it easy. They make it fun. And it’s been amazing to watch the artists grow.” Hall added, “We’re just happy to help however we can.”

That’s part of what makes their nomination to the Hall of Fame feel so fitting—and so surprising to them. They never looked for credit. They never needed a spotlight. They just showed up, year after year, doing what needed to be done.

When the phone rang this year—with Al Bond on the other end—it wasn’t to organize an event or brainstorm a new idea. It was to let them know they’d been chosen for the Hall of Fame. Mary said she was stunned. “I was honored. I still get shaky thinking about it,” she said.

Hall put it simply: “We’re low-key people. This isn’t something we ever expected.”

And maybe that’s what makes the recognition feel just right. The artists have changed. The festival has grown. But the heart of it—neighbors making space, opening doors, and putting water on ice for whoever shows up with a canvas and a brush—that part hasn’t changed at all.

Thanks to people like Mary and Hall Kellogg, it never will.