How i Found Objects that Became My Favorite Art Supplies
Posted: July 18, 2010
It started with a crushed soda can.
I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. I had just stepped outside for
some air during a frustrating afternoon in the studio. My sketchbook was filled
with half-starts. Nothing was working. But then I saw it—flattened, rusted,
gleaming strangely in the sun. I picked it up and brought it back to my desk.
I didn’t know what I’d do with it at the time, but I knew it felt more
interesting than any of the expensive art supplies I’d been using all day.
That was the beginning of what became a strange little ritual for me—collecting
what the world left behind and turning it into something new.
The Shift From “Perfect” Materials to Personal Ones
I used to be the kind of artist who thought quality work came from quality
tools—premium brushes, imported pigments, archival surfaces. And don’t get me
wrong, those things have their place. But I slowly realized that they also
created pressure. When I sat down with a $20 watercolor sheet, I felt like the
work had to be worthy of it.
But when I work with an old book page, or a piece of cardboard from the grocery
store, that pressure goes away. There’s no expectation. There’s only
exploration.
And that’s when the real art starts.
The Beauty of Texture and Imperfection
Found objects come with history—creases, dirt, fingerprints, fading ink, torn
edges. They’re already imperfect. Which means you don’t have to worry about
“ruining” them. You just work with what’s there.
Sometimes I let the texture guide the piece. A bent wire becomes a tree branch.
A broken mirror shard becomes part of a fragmented face. Scratched metal adds
texture to an otherwise flat composition.
It feels more like collaborating with the material, not commanding it.
Hunting Without a Map
Part of the joy is the hunt. I don’t always set out to look for objects. Often,
they find me. A washer on the sidewalk. A scrap of old wallpaper in a dumpster.
A ticket stub on the subway floor.
I've even turned junk mail into layered collage pieces—cutting out text,
blocking it with paint, letting the shapes tell me where to go next. Some
pieces sit on my desk for weeks before I know what to do with them. Others fit
instantly, like they were waiting.
It’s spontaneous. And it’s fun. Like treasure hunting without knowing what the
treasure is.
Art That Costs Nothing Can Still Mean Everything
One thing I love most about working with found objects is the accessibility.
Anyone can do it. You don’t need a fancy studio or an online shopping cart full
of supplies. You just need curiosity, glue, and time.
Some of my favorite pieces—ones that have been shown in small galleries or
gifted to friends—were made with zero dollars spent. It’s humbling. And
freeing.
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People Connect With the Story
There’s also something deeply human about using everyday materials. Viewers
don’t just see “art.” They see a story.
“This looks like the tea tin my grandmother had.”
“That’s a playing card from a game I used to love.”
“Wait, is that…a keyboard key?”
When your materials come from the world around you, your work becomes instantly
familiar and surprising at the same time. It invites curiosity. It sparks
memory.
It reminds people that art doesn’t always live in museums—it can live on a lamp
base or a shoe sole.
A Few of My Favorite Found Materials
(For anyone curious about starting)
Ticket stubs and receipts (great for layering or printing over) > Santino:
Rusty washers and screws (texture + symbolism)
Broken jewelry (adds a bit of sparkle or history)
Used envelopes (especially with handwriting)
Old magazines or book pages
Packaging and labels
Glass or ceramic shards (carefully, of course)
Fabric scraps from worn clothes or thrift stores
Everything has potential if you look at it with curiosity instead of judgment.
It’s Not Just About Art. It’s About Mindset.
Using found objects has changed more than my technique—it’s changed my
perspective.
I’ve started to see value where I used to see waste. I look at the world with
more attention. I walk slower. I notice corners and cracks. I’ve learned that
creativity isn’t about waiting for inspiration—it’s about showing up and
working with what you have.
And sometimes, what you have is a crushed soda can.
Final Thoughts from the Floor of My Studio
Right now, there’s a pile of strange little things next to my chair: a burnt
matchstick, a feather, a label from an olive jar, and a postcard someone
dropped on the sidewalk last week. I don’t know what they’ll become. Maybe
nothing. Maybe something incredible.
That’s the joy of it.
So the next time you’re out walking, look down. Pick something up. Keep it. Let
it sit on your desk until it speaks. Because sometimes, the best art doesn’t come
from the store—it comes from the street.