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Ok confession: I've been painting on scraps and old cardboard for weeks because I was too scared to touch the good linen. Told myself it was "economic" but really I was just terrified of wasting a $40 surface on a bad idea. So today I went and bought 12 mid-range canvases, stacked them by the easel, and just started throwing charcoal at the first one with zero plan. The first one's already a mess. I love it. That's the thing, when the surface is cheap enough to ruin you actually take risks and then you make the weirdest stuff. I keep having to learn this lesson over and over. 😭 Anyone else hoard their good supplies like it's the last loaf of bread? Because I need to know I'm not alone. I've got entire drawers of nice brushes I'm "saving" for something.

i've had this rubbermaid bin under my work table for like four years. t-shirts he wore that my mom couldn't throw away and neither could i. today i just took the scissors to one of them. a faded green one from a 5k he ran in 2008. felt like i was doing something wrong for the first ten minutes. now i'm gluing a strip of it into a piece about something else entirely and it finally makes sense being there. not as a memorial or whatever. just as a color and a texture that belongs in the thing. anyone else sit on materials forever before you can touch them? or is that just the hoarder gene

There was one print in the box of my brother's things I never touched. Him on a dock somewhere, badly lit, half his face blown out, the corner torn where it got wet at some point. Two years of moving it from folder to folder. I'd take it out, look at it, put it back. Tonight I taped it to the board and cut it in half. Straight through him. I don't fully know why that felt like the right move, and I'm not going to pretend I do. The left side with the dock and the water is going into a wash tomorrow, the right side goes under glass with nothing else on it. Maybe it's a bad idea. It's the first thing in months that didn't feel like busywork. anyway. into the studio at 6 to see if it still holds up in daylight

so I have this folder where I stash every painting I hate. not the ones that failed quietly, the ones that failed LOUDLY. the embarrassing ones. been doing it since the bad year and honestly it started as a "look how far you've come" thing but now it's like 40 paintings and I genuinely don't know what the endgame is. every once in a while I drag one out and it's either worse than I remembered or I can see exactly which decision broke it and that's actually kind of useful. but mostly they just sit there being my own personal museum of failure. the thing is I also can't throw them out. there's like three in there I'm fairly sure I could fix now and one I'm convinced was good and I just wasn't ready to see it. am I a hoarder or is this a legit practice. no wrong answers but there might be. it's taking up a whole shelf.

someone in my building was moving out and left a stack of shipping boxes out back. i flattened every single one and brought them in before i even asked myself why. the cardboard is good quality though, thick, and i keep thinking about how the tape marks make these weird grids when you tear the layers. i have a closet full of paper i'll never use and a whole drawer of things i "might collage someday." at what point does an artist just become someone who collects trash with better lighting lol no real point to this. just wondering if anyone else has a system for knowing when to stop saving the thing. because i clearly don't.

Not a big thing and I know how it sounds. But there is a jar in the corner of the studio, half full, from a batch I bought before the pandemic, and I have moved it from shelf to shelf through two rehangings and one flood. Never opened it in years. Kept it because of some vague idea that I might need it, as if cold wax goes out of production. Today I scraped it into the bin. The studio smells different now, which is strange, because the jar was closed the whole time. What is actually a win: I had a bad week with the big grey one, the one that has been fighting me since March, and clearing that corner somehow made it easier to see what was wrong with the painting. It was too polite. Everything in it was in agreement. I took a palette knife to the left third and it is worse now and better. Naja. That is the work. My wife says I keep everything. She is not wrong, but she keeps the receipts, so.

bought two stretched canvases at the hardware store today, the cheap pre-primed ones. got them home and immediately flipped them over to look at the back, which is the only part I actually care about. staples, the little sag in the weave where it's been leaning against something. so now they go in the corner with the other ones. I have maybe eleven canvases in that corner and I've painted on the front of exactly none of them. the thing is I know why. my brother's denim jacket had the seam worn down to white on one shoulder, and I keep thinking the back of a canvas is the only surface that gets to hold a life without being asked to perform. the front is a stage. the back is just where something sat. so I keep buying them and putting them in the corner. my studio is 9x11 and the corner is becoming a problem. yesterday I moved the shop vac and there was mold on the wall behind the stack, which, fine, that's the wall's fault not mine. not asking for advice exactly. just. if you also keep a pile of blank things you can't use, I'd like to know I'm not alone in it

did a studio cull because i couldn't close a drawer, and found three tubes of cadmium red that had gone solid. like rock solid. squeezed one and it just... cracked. cadmium is like 30 bucks a tube now. i remember paying 12. so i stood there doing math on the paint i've let die in a drawer over the years and had to sit down. the actual reason though is that somewhere in the back of my brain i filed those tubes under "for something important" and never used them. kept reaching for the cheap stuff for studies, saving the good red. saving it for what. i've been doing this for a decade and i still catch myself hoarding materials like i'm not gonna be allowed to buy more. anyway bought new ones the same day. used a fat blob of it on a 4ft canvas the second i got home. felt like throwing away money and also like the correct thing. probably both.

I spent the morning sorting a box of offcuts I've been keeping since last spring. Anything smaller than a stamp goes into it. Hand-marbled endpapers from a 1901 hymnal I took apart, mostly. Some scraps I have not touched in eleven months and will not touch. I know this. Still could not do it. The box went back on the shelf, slightly tidier, which is not the same as emptied. The whole point of collage is that you take things apart, so the hoarding makes no sense on paper. Then again the scraps are the work. Every piece I have finished came out of a box like that one. I'm not asking for advice. I think I just wanted to write down that I failed at a very small task, in a room by myself, and it took the whole morning.

There is a box on the shelf at the studio, and it is not a working box. Inside are maybe twenty sheets I have decided are too good for anything. A 1940s Swedish school atlas with the maps printed in three faded inks. A letter from 1911 with a handwriting I will never find again. Some marbled endpaper from a book I took apart at work and could not throw away. They have been in there four years. Every so often I take one out, hold it up, decide the piece I am working on is not worthy of it, and put it back. The piece stays unfinished, the paper stays in the box. I know exactly what this is. The moment I cut into the atlas it stops being the atlas and becomes material, and material is something you can ruin. But a box of uncut paper has no failure in it. Anyway. Today I cut a strip off the corner of one of the maps, the plain ocean blue part, and glued it down. It was fine. The strip looked good, actually. The rest of the sheet is still the atlas. I am telling myself this is a reasonable compromise, but I suspect it is just a slower version of the same hoarding. Curious how many people here have a shelf of the good stuff they never touch.

I bought a pack of those super cheap synthetic brushes at Michael's a few months ago, like $8 for a dozen, just to beat up on for texture work and practice pieces. And now I reach for them almost every time over the nice ones my husband got me for Christmas. They're not even good brushes. The ferrule is wobbly and one of them is already shedding. But they're the exact right stiffness for how I actually paint, and I'm not scared to mess them up. That's the thing. The nice ones sit in the jar and I keep talking myself out of using them because what if I ruin them. Meanwhile the $8 ones are doing all the real work. I think I need to just give the good ones to a purpose. Use them on a piece I actually care about and stop treating them like they're museum pieces. Anyone else have brushes they are weirdly protective of and never use? Or am I just hoarding nice art supplies like everybody does.

There was this old bungalow off Cunningham Road, mustard yellow with these deep verandah columns I must have sketched three times. Beautiful proportion, proper classical. Last I heard a builder had bought it but nothing was happening, so I kept assuming I'd get one more chance at it. Went past today for something else entirely and it's just a pit. Not even a construction site yet, just an excavated hole with a hoarding. I stood there like an idiot for ten minutes. I have the sketches. That's the thing that keeps me going at it, but also the thing that stings a bit. Because the sketch is lovely and someone else will see it later and think oh, what a charming old house, what a nice moment in time. They won't feel the actual loss. The paper keeps the building but it can't keep the fact that it used to be someone's home, with someone's washing on the line and a dog that barked at me the first time I set up my stool outside the gate. I don't know where I'm going with this except that drawing things as they vanish is a strange job to have chosen. Some days it feels like the only honest thing I do. Other days it feels like taking photographs at a funeral and calling it art.

I had a small crisis in the studio yesterday that I'm still turning over. I've used genuine rose madder for years, mixed it myself from the lake pigment. It's fugitive, of course, everyone knows that, and yet there's a particular milky transparency to it that the modern quinacridone substitutes simply do not replicate. I've been rationing my last tube like it's contraband. Then I stopped and asked myself what I'm actually doing. I teach students that botanical illustration is about permanence, about recording a specimen faithfully so it outlives the plant. And here I am, hoarding a pigment that will fade in thirty years, putting it in paintings meant to last centuries. It's a bit absurd. Sentiment dressed up as craft. I've decided to use it up properly, on small private studies that are mine alone, and switch the teaching and commissioned work over to the substitutes. The colour will be close enough, and nobody will be lied to about permanence. But I do find I'm oddly reluctant to open that final tube. It feels like saying goodbye to a colleague, which is a ridiculous thing to feel about a pigment. Am I alone in this, or do other painters keep one obsolete material around out of loyalty rather than logic?

Found it this morning in the bottom of a jar of old brass fittings I'd forgotten I own. M6, 40mm, flat head. I'd already ordered four more online, of course. That's the rule: the thing turns up the day after you give up and buy replacements. I spent twenty minutes just holding it. It's a good screw. I think half my practice is this, the archaeology of my own mess. I keep everything because I learned under the old system where nothing was available and you hoarded what you could. Now I have a workshop full of objects waiting to be remembered. Sometimes I feel like the curator of a museum of my own indecision.

I opened a tube of cadmium red light from a batch I bought in 1998, half dried, and the pigment still knocks the new tube sideways. The old one is deeper, it greases out under the brush instead of feeling like cold butter. I have three tubes left and I ration them like a fool. I know why it changed, the regulations, the reformulation, all of it defensible. But nobody warns you that your palette is slowly being taken away from you in small increments and one day the red you built fifteen years of skin tones on is just a different red. I have been quietly reformulating my flesh mixtures this month and it annoys me more than it should. The old atelier taught me to know my materials like my own hands. Nobody taught me what to do when the materials change under me. Anyway. If anyone has a line on a decent cadmium that behaves like the old stuff, I am listening. Otherwise I will be here, hoarding.

About four kilos of the stuff, in a canvas bag under the trestle. It came out of a hotel on Egnatia that got gutted years ago, I talked the foreman into letting me take the floor tiles before the skip arrived. Half of it is a green nobody would choose, that 1970s hospital green, and the pieces are too big and irregular to set nicely without recutting every one. I have used maybe a dozen of them in eight years. Every so often I tip the bag out on the floor and look at it for twenty minutes and put it back. My friend Eleni says throw it, and she is right in the practical sense, but the green is not a colour you can buy. It is a bad green and it is the only place in the world it exists now. Started a piece last week where I finally cut into a proper chunk of it. The dust smelled like a wet wall. Two days later it is still the wrong colour in the composition, but cutting it felt good, so it stays for now. Anyone else hoarding a material they know they will probably never finish using?

I keep a bucket under the work table for the pieces too small to hold with fingers. Anything under about a centimetre goes in, and every few months I tip it into the bin because it's just dust and shards and I can't use it. Except this time I needed a specific blue. The dark one, the one I bought in Ravenna eight years ago and can no longer get, because the man who made that batch died and nobody has his recipe. I needed maybe forty grams of it. And I stood there looking at an empty bucket. So now the bucket is staying. All of it. I will be that person with jars of coloured grit on the shelf, and my friend Eleni will make a face at it, and she can make the face. Anyone else hoarding something in the studio they know they can't really use?

Okay so the tape. Not a fresh roll, the same four strips I've been reusing since like March, stuck to the edge of my glass palette so they don't lose their tack. My partner watched me peel one off this morning, press it back down, and just said "we have a whole drawer of that." We do. I know we do. The thing is these four strips have the exact right amount of stick left. New tape rips the paper when I lift it, old tape gives up halfway through a big wet wash and the whole sheet buckles and I have to sit there watching it curl like it's personally disappointed in me. So I keep them. They've got paint on them now, a reddish smear from that cadmium I use way too much of, and one corner is folded over from the day I was rushing to get the light on the window before it moved. I don't think this is a cute habit, I think it's probably a small problem and I'm telling on myself. But every time I go to grab a fresh strip I do the little satisfaction check first, tap the paper, and the used ones always win. Anyone else hoarding a supply that's technically garbage because the replacement behaves wrong? I need to know I'm not the only one with a tape problem, or honestly, I need someone to tell me to just use the new roll.

Studio floor is currently a museum of other people's junk. Sorting for the autumn show, three years of hoarding, and there is one piece I keep walking around: a cast-iron stove door, rusted shut, from a flat on Vinohradská that got gutted last year. It's the best object in the room and I won't put it in. Reason is stupid. It's too good on its own. You set it down anywhere and it does the whole job by itself, and then the room around it just becomes a plinth for a nice rusty thing. Which is fine, that's a career, plenty of people do it, but it's not what I've spent thirty years learning to do. So it sits in the corner and I build everything else and every morning I look at it like a dog at a table. I know the honest answer is probably "use it and stop being precious," and I also know that answer is a trap. Sometimes the object that carries the piece is the one that kills it. Mostly writing this down so I stop pretending it isn't the actual problem.

ok so I have this porcelain palette, the big rectangle one, and I got it when I went full time in March as a "you're a real artist now" gift to myself. told myself I'd clean it every single session. it is now December-ish and there is a layer of dried paint in there that has its own topography. like I can see the ghost of every painting I've made this year in the mixing wells. there's a specific grey-brown in the corner from that commission that went badly, I know exactly which one. and here's the thing, I KNOW you're supposed to work clean, my old professor would have a stroke, but I've started dipping into the old dried stuff with a wet brush and getting these colors I could never mix on purpose. like accidental neutrals. this dusty mauve that only exists because I was lazy in October. I've used it in three paintings since. my partner keeps offering to scrub it for me as a nice gesture and I keep saying no and I can't fully explain why without sounding insane. anyway I just spent 40 minutes mixing a green for a leaf and got it in two tries off the mud so. posting this instead of admitting anything to my professor. does anyone else hoard their palette like this or am I the only gremlin here