Buy Buy Art Supply

Never used pencils, tips still sharp. Pads of paper clean and waiting to be filled with new (and better, of course) work. Creamy pastels, rainbow paints, oh-so-portable markers. These are the lures of the art supply store, with its aisles and aisles of possibility.

It’s not just the beauty of new crayons or full tubes of paint. It’s the promise these things seem to carry, as though they’re whispering to us: we’ll (finally) make your art what you’ve always wanted it to be.

I’m not immune. I loathe shopping, but I love the art supply store. Buying a lot in the beginning of your art journey can be fun (if overwhelming, once home). Over time, if you use the things you buy, you’ll see what you like and what you don’t. You might also experience some remorse over money spent and things that sit unused. All this seems to be fairly normal. If this wasn’t the case, there wouldn’t be so many videos on YouTube with some version of the title, “All the Art Supplies I Regret Buying.”

If you’re still stuck in this cycle of buying a lot, there’s hope.

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As you learn what you love to use, and see what you use up, you might also find you become more selective, and that this selectivity allows you to see what your “style” is. In other words, by gradually giving yourself fewer options, and continuing to practice your art, you might glimpse those gestures and colors and textures that you want to see show up again and again in your work.

Using what you have can actually be a productive constraint, pushing you to access creativity rather than your wallet. Lately, when I use something up, instead of rushing to re-buy, I have gone into the supplies I have sitting around, to see how I might supplement something similar in my process without spending any more money. This both allows me to experiment with something I’ve used less and lets me continue my ethic of winnowing my overall stash.

For example, I love buff titanium watercolor. I tend to use it to lighten other paints and on its own, especially in landscapes and still life. My little tube is almost gone, and I don’t have a replacement. Rather than go spend $11.74, I looked at what I have, to see if I could mix a similar shade myself. This posed both a fun challenge and brought some interest to a process that otherwise would have remained purely transactional: money for supplies.

What I’m really getting at is this: In the beginning, it’s the promise of the new supply; later, it’s the promise of skill and invention. Does this mean you have to go to art school to stop feeling compelled to buy a slew of new supplies each month? Does it mean, to get through the urge, to the inventive “other side,” that you have to draw every day? Or perfect a certain style? No! It means you have to spend time working out what you like, and don’t like, on a surface with some kind of implement. Learning to do something well is not a race. In fact, when I’ve gone about my own practice in a rush, I usually end up frustrated with the experience and disappointed with the result.

Getting to this place of exploration over consumption doesn’t mean you’ll never feel tempted (or the genuine need!) to buy a full tube of paint. It is so fun to try new supplies, to replenish your stash, to give whatever hot new thing everyone is talking about a whirl.

But it’s so important to understand that seeing your work move close to whatever idea it is you have for your practice usually doesn’t come from more stuff. When you start to feel that urge to go spend money, especially if it’s money you don’t actually have, it might help to ask yourself if what you’re trying to buy is time to do your work, or the possibility of leveling up, or recognition for your efforts. If the answer to any of those is yes, then what you actually need to do is rearrange your schedule to allot time for your practice, and I mean that literally. Look at what can be moved or cancelled so that you have time to focus (even if that time is only ten minutes) and then really do focus.

Recently, feeling overwhelmed by the weekend busyness and caring for a sick kid, I went outside with the simple goal to try to mix colors that matched some of the things I saw. This led to a full blown painting, attempted while my kid listened to an audiobook and we pretended to be on an airplane together.

This brings me to my last point: buying brand new art supplies can give you the sense that a perfect process is possible. Just look at those unused paints! So pristine.

New products can give you the idea that your “practice” should be presentable, shareable, and cool. That you shouldn’t have to struggle or fail. But ugly drawings and paintings, as so many people have also said, are part of it. If you’re enjoying making them, who cares? Use what you have, see what happens.

And remember: the promise lies in doing the work, not in what you’re using, who will see it, or whatever happens with it once it’s done.

So, go do that work. <3