Watercolor Retreat FAQ — Everything I Get Asked About Painting Trips

Reach out to the instructor directly if you’re wondering! I’ve found the teachers I’ve worked with to be highly accommodating of all skill levels. They’ll tell you honestly whether the retreat is the right fit and what to expect from the group.

That said, some watercolor experience helps. Not because retreats are exclusive, but because you’ll get more out of it if you’re not learning basic water control at the same time you’re trying to capture medieval stone at golden hour. If you’ve taken a class or two, and you have a foundation, you’re in good shape.

I didn’t fully understand the difference until I’d been on both — and I have quickly realized the value of each.

A workshop is built around instruction. You’re there to be taught. The day is structured around demos, exercises, feedback. You leave with new skills and a notebook full of techniques.

A retreat is built around space. Space to paint, but also space to think, to experience, to walk around a medieval village and take it all in. Instruction happens — demos, individual feedback — but the design is more attuned to letting creativity flow than to tutelage.

The moment this clicked for me: we were painting a vineyard in southern France — hills rolling out in every direction, rows of grape vines, ancient stone cottages. Renee and the group painted one scene, and it was beautiful — but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the view in the other direction. I stayed with the group but turned around, and painted that. Nobody cared. There was no pressure to focus on what the group was working on.

That permission — to follow your eye instead of the demo — is the difference. A retreat encourages your own inner voice. I so enjoy every workshop as I learn so much, but the retreats have left me with my cup full of inspiration. To this day, that vineyard painting is one of my favorites.

If you’ve taken workshops and feel like you have the technical foundations, but your work doesn’t feel like yours yet — a retreat is what I’d point you toward.

You can read the full story of what that week actually looked like in my Perigord retreat recap.

Each retreat or workshop is going to have its own rhythm. I’ve found most to begin by around 9 AM, and as a morning person, that means I’ve usually been up and about already. I love starting my mornings with some quiet studio time, catching up on any unfinished pieces, before meeting up with the group for breakfast and whatever our plans might be for the day.

If you find the schedule not to your liking, talk to your organizers! I can’t recommend this enough. I’ve found everyone to be so supportive and accommodating. I can recall on my trip to Spain, I decided to skip an afternoon outing to a Salvador Dalí museum. It sounded fascinating, but I so wanted to spend an afternoon painting on the beach with a glass of wine — so that’s just what I did!

Yes. The vast majority of people do.

I was VERY nervous before my first art trip — that was France 2023 with Judy Salleh / French Escapades. I’d been taking online classes with Judy for 2 years, so I felt like I knew her — but I was about to travel across the world on my own to join a bunch of strangers in an unknown place. I’d never really traveled before; just a few tourist spots as a kid, San Diego, Orlando. International solo travel was not something I had a track record with.

Then I celebrated my birthday a couple of days into the trip. I remember feeling nervous to even mention it — and suddenly, everyone was so kind and generous (not that they weren’t before! It was just sweet that they wanted to make my day special). I was so grateful for the kind wishes.

A painting retreat self-selects for a genuinely wonderful group. Everyone there chose to spend a week of their vacation budget painting in a foreign country with strangers. That’s a specific kind of person — curious, open, more interested in making something than lying on a beach. You are going to like these people.

Going with a friend is also great. But don’t let going alone be the reason you don’t go.

In every workshop/retreat I’ve been to, I am always surrounded by better painters. That’s an incredible thing.

I love seeing how everyone has a unique voice in their art — the choices they make, the things they’re drawn to, the way the same scene looks completely different coming off ten different palettes. I borrow little tidbits from everyone. The experienced painters aren’t sitting in judgment; they’re too busy wrestling with their own painting problems, which never actually go away, no matter how skilled you get.

Being the least experienced person in the room isn’t a threat. It’s a gift. You have the most to absorb, and you’re surrounded by people who are happy to share.

For a week-long retreat, my trips usually run around $6k, all said and done. That covers the retreat fee (lodging, meals, ground transport, instruction), flights from the East Coast, and the city days I add on before and after.

For me, this is a valuable investment. Planning a trip is work, having to keep a schedule and scope out food/locations can be a lot; knowing I can pay a flat fee to have all logistics handled for me is a relief! This way, I can show up and just focus on the art.

Book early if you can. The most popular artists tend to book up right away — spots at well-regarded retreats can fill six to twelve months out.

Don’t wait until you feel “ready.” The retreat will happen whether you’re on it or not, and if it sells out, you’re waiting another year. Find the retreat, book it, figure out the logistics after.

As of right now (June 2026), I’m already booking retreats into 2028 — and my calendar for 2027 is full!

Pause before you wire anything — and then do the research to build trust.

I was comfortable sending payment for French Escapades because I felt like I knew Judy — I’d been in her online classes for two years. But the Perigord payment gave me pause. I remember thinking: here I am about to wire a good chunk of money to someone I’ve exchanged two emails with. Do I trust this?

Here’s what I did, and what I’d recommend: I took an online class with Renee first. That’s my preferred method for any retreat — take a class with the instructor beforehand, even a short one. You get to know their style, their teaching approach, and it gives you a sense of who they are. Then I looked at her social presence and professional connections. There are household-name artists in the watercolor world, and endorsements from them carry weight. I checked the reviews and learned she’d been working with Périgord for years.

That was enough for me. The green flags were all there.

Red flags that would have given me pause: a lack of reviews, or negative ones. Naturally, some might just be starting out, and I wouldn’t want to dissuade anyone from supporting a newcomer, but building the trust will require more diligence. Do the research. And if something still feels off, trust that.

One thing I’d add to the list: ask the host directly about their cancellation and refund policy before you book. (I’ll be honest — I don’t remember what mine was, which tells you how little it worried me once the rest checked out. But it’s a fair question.)

I prefer to add 2-3 days to the front of my travel plans, to give me time to acclimate. I’ve done the same-day land-and-go, I’ve done the day before. These CAN work, but really any amount of buffer time will allow for hiccups in the travel and will give you a better chance to rest and recover so you can focus on your experience.

Here’s my tried-and-true system: I take a redeye from the East Coast — usually 6–7 hours’ time difference. I can’t sleep on planes; just quick disjointed catnaps interrupted when I fall over onto the person next to me. So I arrive TIRED. I land early-to-mid morning local time, get a GOOD cup of coffee, drop my things at the hotel, and just walk. Every European city I’ve been to has been very walkable — I walk and walk, light sightseeing, really just getting to know the place. By the time I’ve had some food and a second cup, I’ve perked up. Lots of water — the dry plane air really gets me, so I drink a ton during and after. Big lunch for stamina, then a museum or something simple to keep me moving. I don’t nap that first day; I go to bed early. Light dinner, passed out by 8–9 PM.

The first night’s sleep can go either way — restful or restless. Either way, I force myself up and out by 7 AM (brutal; my body thinks it’s 1 AM — it helps to have an exciting morning booking to drag me up). After that, I’m on track. A little tired at the wrong hours, but manageable.

The 2–3 days early is also about rehydration — SUPER important — and slip time. If there are delays, I’d rather lose sightseeing than workshop time.

No, but…. International retreats marketed in English are run in English. The hosts typically speak both languages, and you won’t be navigating complicated logistics on your own anyway.

I do always try to learn the basics to support myself, and to try to connect with the local culture.

I also make gratuitous use of the live translation apps, and have them preloaded on my phone at all times!

Less than you think. I promise — and I say this as someone who tends to overpack.

For my Perigord retreat, I packed: 3 pairs of sandals, 2 pairs of shoes, and a pair of heels. Multiple dresses, sweaters, shirts for days. All the hair tools, all the makeup, all the skincare. On the art side: my usual travel brushes, PLUS a full brush roll with my full-size brushes (which were the exact same ones as my travel set, so — why), FOUR palettes — a small Schmincke tin, a square Schmincke tin, an Art Toolkit folio with a different color set, and my Mijello studio palette. Two sketchbooks: a small A5 Koval and a bigger B5 Etchr. Because the Etchr had been sitting on the shelf for a couple of years, I worried it had gone off. Two pads of full-size paper. My suitcase was FULL.

I hardly touched any of it.

This is where I honed in on what I actually NEED versus what I think I need: the simplest setup is the one I’ll be most comfortable using. Extra stuff just drains the mental energy to manage it, and it’s a slog to carry around. This applies to supplies AND clothes, by the way.

Bring the paints you already know, the palette you use every day, and a small selection of brushes you already know. One sketchbook. Sun protection, layers, and walking shoes that can handle cobblestones.

I’ve written a full breakdown of my pared-down travel kit in this post about my travel sketch kit. Start there before you start packing.

In my experience, retreat organizers will send out supply lists before the trip. These will include the recommended materials that one should bring, and if the organizers are providing materials, I expect that to be communicated by this point.

As much as I love exploring new supplies (I swear, it’s a whole separate hobby!), I try to stick to what I know and am really comfortable with when I travel. There’s already so much new to take in: new scenes with different techniques, new climate (which has a big impact on watercolor), schedules to stick to. Even if the workshop is supplying materials, I would prefer to bring my own; it’s one less thing to have to figure out live.

Tube paints are technically gels/liquids, so will need special care with transport. Note that my travel experience is only with watercolor — I know there are added challenges with oil paints, but I can’t speak to those confidently.

My watercolor paints are dried in pans. I squeeze them into the pans 2–3 days ahead so they have time to set, sometimes topping them off at the latest the night before a flight. It’s critical to give your paints enough time to set, as otherwise, they can run and spill over! Certain kinds of honey-based paints, like M. Graham, may need to stay home as they never really set.

Pack your kit in an accessible part of your bag so if they want to look, you’re not unpacking everything.