let’s talk about turning everyday objects into art. This is something I’ve been leaning into more and more, and honestly, it’s one of the most fun and freeing parts of my creative process. It’s like giving a second life to the things we usually overlook—objects that might not seem like much at first glance, but when you see them in the right way, they take on a whole new meaning.
It usually starts with curiosity. I’ll be walking around, maybe at home or out in the world, and something will catch my eye. A crumpled piece of paper, a broken branch, the way light filters through an old glass bottle. The trick is to look at it without judgment, without immediately thinking, “What could I do with this?” Instead, I try to just see it—its textures, its shape, its color. It’s almost like letting the object tell me what it wants to become.
For example, I’ve been working a lot with fabric scraps lately. I had this pile of leftover fabric from an old project, and I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. One day, I started layering the scraps onto a canvas, playing with how the edges frayed, how the different colors and patterns clashed or harmonized. Before I knew it, I had this tactile, three-dimensional piece that felt so alive. What I love about using something like fabric is that it’s already got a history—it’s been used, handled, maybe even loved. That history becomes part of the art.
Another favorite of mine is incorporating natural elements. Leaves, stones, driftwood—I’m always picking these things up when I’m outside. And yes, my studio is full of them. The thing about natural objects is they already have this incredible design built in. A single leaf, with all its veins and imperfections, can be a masterpiece on its own. Sometimes I’ll press leaves into wet paint to create textures, or I’ll use stones as weights to anchor installations. Even something as simple as arranging a few twigs in an interesting way can feel like art.
And then there’s the totally mundane stuff—stuff that’s not “pretty” at all. Cardboard, packing materials, old tools. These are the objects that really challenge you to see differently. A while back, I found this beat-up wrench in a junk drawer. It was rusted and bent, but something about its shape was so striking. I ended up sketching it, exaggerating the curves and shadows, and that sketch turned into the basis for a larger painting. The original wrench is now hanging on the wall next to the finished piece, and every time I see it, I think about how it all started.
One thing I’ve learned is that you don’t have to make these objects unrecognizable for them to feel like art. Sometimes it’s about celebrating them exactly as they are. Maybe it’s the way a chipped mug sits on a shelf or the way sunlight hits a stack of books. Art doesn’t have to be grand or complicated; it can be as simple as noticing what’s already there and framing it in a new way.
Of course, this process isn’t always tidy. My studio can look like a disaster zone, with bits of string, scraps of paper, and random objects everywhere. But that mess is part of the magic. It’s like each piece is waiting for its moment to shine, and when it does, there’s this feeling of discovery that’s so satisfying.
And, you know, I think there’s a deeper lesson here. Working with everyday objects has taught me to slow down and appreciate the world around me. It’s so easy to rush through the day and miss the beauty in ordinary things. But when you pause and really look, you start to see that art isn’t something separate from life. It’s woven into everything, even the things we usually take for granted.
So, that’s how I do it. I take these overlooked, everyday objects and let them guide me. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but every time, it feels like an adventure. If you’ve got a drawer of “junk” at home—or a corner full of random stuff you’ve been meaning to sort through—maybe take another look. You never know what kind of art is hiding there, just waiting for you to find it.
