Making room for something new

Receiving a box of new art supplies sounds like a wonderful thing. All those colours, textures and possibilities, waiting to be explored.

And it is wonderful. But I’ve learned that even a generous gift can come with a little pressure. There’s the feeling that I should use it, understand it and make something worthwhile with it. Sometimes, the possibilities arrive before I have room for them.

Lately, I’ve been returning to materials I once put away. Travel has changed what I need from my art supplies, and curiosity has changed how I feel about them. It’s been a welcome shift, although trying new things has brought challenges I didn’t quite anticipate.

The supplies I wasn’t ready for

In February 2021, I became a brand ambassador for DeSerres through a program that continued for roughly two more years. As part of that paid partnership, they sent me a generous assortment of materials to try: soft pastels, oil pastels, coloured pencils, gold leaf and various acrylic mediums. My role included making videos of myself using them.

Looking back, I wonder whether someone there was encouraging me to expand my creative vocabulary.

At the time, though, I was very firmly an acrylic painter. I loved my materials and the rhythm of working with them. Introducing unfamiliar supplies, learning how to use them and filming the experience interrupted that rhythm more than I expected.

There’s a difference between experimenting when curiosity strikes and experimenting because something is due. I could appreciate the opportunity while also finding it difficult to step away from the paintings I wanted to make.

I fulfilled my contract, but when DeSerres decided not to continue the program, I felt some relief. I was grateful for the experience and the generous supplies, while also ready to return to my own pace of painting. Many of those materials were packed away once the videos were finished.

They stayed there for quite a while.

Now, I’m opening those boxes with a different kind of curiosity. I can explore at my own pace, without a video deadline. The supplies haven’t changed, but my readiness has.

A studio that fits in a suitcase

Travel has given me a practical reason to try something different.

When I’m away for longer stretches, I want to keep making art. I want the pleasure of moving colour around, building layers and seeing a painting take shape. I also need supplies that fit into a suitcase.

Paper is an obvious alternative to canvas. It takes up much less room, and I can bring several sheets or a sketchbook without filling my luggage. But choosing what to use on that paper has been surprisingly difficult.

I’ve spent a lot of time worrying over packing lists. Will I have the colours I want? Will these materials feel enough like painting? Am I bringing too much—or leaving behind the very thing I’ll wish I had?

I’ve loved working with gouache, and more recently, Caran d’Ache Neocolor II water-soluble crayons. I’m gradually finding ways to carry some of the pleasure of my studio practice with me.

Other experiments have taught me about limitations. When I travelled to Italy last winter, I brought oil and pigment sticks. I couldn’t wait to try them. What I hadn’t fully anticipated was how long my work would take to dry.

A piece that’s still tacky presents a problem when it’s time to pack and move on.

I still enjoy those materials, but I’m learning that something can be lovely to work with and difficult to travel with. Each trip helps me understand what I actually need, rather than everything I might possibly want.

New work, new practical questions

Making the artwork is only part of the process.

I like to share my paintings online, where people can spend time with them and, perhaps, find something they would like to live with. Working on paper has introduced a whole new set of questions about how to do that.

For display on a wall, the work generally needs a frame. I have frames that fit some standard paper sizes, but changing the artwork inside them repeatedly for photographs is more fiddly than I expected.

There are clips to open and close, mats to position and paper that wants to tilt or slide down. I worry about wearing out the fastenings. When I use tape to keep a piece in place, I worry about damaging the back of the paper when I remove it.

Then there’s the glass.

I need everything to sit securely inside the frame, but the glass catches the light and creates reflections. Just when I think I have the photograph arranged, I notice something reflected across the artwork.

These are small frustrations, but they add up. A smaller painting may take up less space, yet presenting it can require just as much care.

I’m learning that changing formats means developing a new routine around the work, too. The painting, the handling, the photographs and the website all need a little reconsideration.

When the response feels quieter

There’s also a less practical, more personal side to experimenting.

Many people have followed me for years because they enjoy my abstract acrylic paintings. They know the colours, surfaces and gestures that have become familiar in my work.

When I share something different—perhaps oil pastel on a 12 × 9-inch sheet of watercolour paper—the response sometimes feels quieter.

I can’t know exactly why. People have their own preferences, and a single post only tells me so much. Still, I notice the difference, especially when I’m already feeling uncertain about something new.

I try to make art for myself, but I also enjoy being part of an artistic community. I value the comments, questions and small conversations that happen when I share what I’m doing. When there are fewer of them, I feel their absence.

An experiment can feel a little lonely when I send it out into the world and hear less back.

That’s something I’m learning to sit with. A quieter reception doesn’t tell me everything about a piece, or about where it might lead. Sometimes I need more time with a new material. Sometimes people need more time with a new direction.

I want to give that process a chance.

Finding my own pace

Perhaps the most useful thing I’m discovering is that I don’t have to explore every possibility at once.

A box of supplies can be generous and exciting, while also feeling like another demand on my attention. A new medium can open doors and create practical difficulties. Sharing something unfamiliar can feel hopeful and vulnerable at the same time.

There’s room for all of those feelings.

These days, I’m enjoying the chance to follow my curiosity more slowly. I can pick up a material because I want to see what it does. I can make a small piece, learn from it and decide whether to keep going.

Some supplies may become part of my everyday practice. Others may return to a drawer until another moment comes along.

For now, I’m pleased to be opening the boxes again. There’s something lovely about finding a possibility that has been waiting patiently—and realizing I’m finally ready to spend time with it.

Have you ever returned to something you once put aside and found that it suited you in a whole new way?