It’s interesting to see now how this whole thing was evolving without me foreseeing where it would take me. We usually go about our days immersed in the process, without much thought on how certain things progress or take turns. If we did, and knowing myself, how I can swing from one extreme to another, I could have predicted myself going as raw as this: getting colour on paper by rubbing nature’s elements directly into it.

Before this revelation happened, I had been questioning the art supply industry (and many other production industries) for years. So even without a plan, I was still going somewhere with this internal inquiry.

The first rubbing of rust and dirt was a thoughtless experiment, but it opened up an opportunity for a new way of doing things - a way of living.

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This way of making has outcomes that I treasure, as they are in line with my values and principles:

 • I am not buying from or supporting the art supply industry that produces synthetic materials and ultimately waste. I am reducing my consumption of any art materials to the bare minimum, and I’ve found a way to become more self-sufficient in doing my visual work.

  • The way I gather colour and texture on paper is an important process. It takes me outdoors, looking for colour, and in this way it gets me in touch with the world. There is no one in-between me and the source of material, no one does anything for me, so I know what I’m using and where it comes from. It’s very direct.
It feels quiet and humbling rather than hyped. I don’t get to choose from hundreds of colours and undertones; if I find something that gives me colour, that’s a win, and if I manage to get enough of it in time - seasonally - that’s a win too, though it’s still unpredictable. I can’t plan the texture or rub a wanted hue; I get what I get and I have to accept it. I have to get over the idea of a ‘wanted result’. There’s no control in this, and when I come to terms with that, it’s liberating.

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2021 - now