Let’s talk about texture—specifically, how I’ve been exploring texture with found materials in my studio. This is something I’ve been diving into a lot lately, and it’s opened up this whole new dimension in my work. Texture can take something flat and static and turn it into something you can almost feel just by looking at it. And when you’re working with found materials, the possibilities are endless.
So, let me start with how this all began. I think it was one of those rainy days when I was feeling stuck—you know the kind. I wasn’t inspired by anything in my usual routine, so I started rummaging around the studio, looking for something, anything, to spark an idea. I found this old piece of burlap I’d used as a drop cloth ages ago. It was torn, stained, and honestly, kind of gross. But as I was holding it, I noticed how the light hit the rough texture, how the frayed edges curled just so. It didn’t look like a mistake anymore; it looked like an opportunity.
That burlap became the starting point. I stretched it over a wooden panel, layered paint over it, and then started scraping, pulling, and tearing bits away. The paint would catch on the rough surface in unpredictable ways, creating these ridges and valleys I could never have planned. That unpredictability is what I love most about working with found materials. You’re not just imposing your ideas onto them—you’re collaborating. They have their own quirks and character, and the best results come when you lean into that.
From there, I started bringing more materials into the studio. One of my favorites has been corrugated cardboard. Seriously, it’s amazing. I’ll peel away the top layer to reveal the ridges underneath, then use it as a stamp or stencil. Pressing it into wet paint creates these beautiful, repetitive textures, but it’s never perfect. There’s always a bit of roughness or variation, and that’s what makes it feel alive.
Another material I’ve been obsessed with is wire mesh. I found a roll of it at a hardware store, and at first, I wasn’t sure how to use it. But once I started experimenting, I couldn’t stop. I’ll press it into clay or modeling paste to create patterns, or I’ll wrap it around objects and paint over it to get these layered, almost sculptural effects. It’s a little messy—okay, it’s very messy—but the results are worth it.
Natural materials have also been a big part of this journey. I’ll pick up twigs, leaves, and even bits of bark when I’m out walking. Twigs are fantastic for mark-making—they’re unpredictable, and the marks they leave can feel so organic. Bark, especially, is like a texture goldmine. Pressing it into wet paint or clay leaves these intricate, almost fossil-like impressions that add so much depth to a piece. It’s like bringing a little piece of the outside world into the studio.
And then there are the things you’d never expect. Bubble wrap, for instance—yes, bubble wrap! If you’ve never dipped bubble wrap in paint and pressed it onto a canvas, you’re missing out. It creates this playful, almost pixelated texture that can be bold or subtle, depending on how much paint you use. Or take an old comb—I’ve dragged combs through paint to create striations that look like waves or wind patterns. There’s something so satisfying about taking an ordinary object and discovering its artistic potential.
One thing I’ve learned is that the key to exploring texture is not being afraid to ruin things. Some of my best discoveries have come from accidents—spilling paint, tearing something too much, or layering materials that didn’t seem like they’d work together. There’s this moment of, “Oh no, I’ve messed it up,” followed by, “Wait, this is actually interesting.” It’s a reminder that sometimes, imperfection is the goal. Perfect is boring. Texture is about embracing the raw, the unfinished, the unexpected.
Another thing I’ve noticed is how much texture can change the mood of a piece. Smooth surfaces feel calm, controlled, even serene. But add some roughness, some grit, and suddenly the piece has tension, movement, energy. A painting with a smooth sky and a textured ground feels grounded, while one with texture throughout feels chaotic—in a good way. Texture isn’t just visual; it’s emotional. It pulls you in and makes you want to reach out and touch the work, to connect with it on a deeper level.
Lately, I’ve been experimenting with layering textures, combining found materials to see how they interact. For example, I’ll use a base layer of cardboard for its structure, then add fabric on top for softness, and finish with natural elements like pressed leaves or twigs. Each material brings its own personality to the piece, and layering them creates a dialogue. It’s like they’re telling a story together, one that’s richer and more complex than any single material could achieve on its own.
What I love most about this process is that it makes me see the world differently. I’ll walk into a thrift store or a hardware shop and suddenly everything is a potential texture. An old sweater, a stack of tiles, even a kitchen sponge—I can’t help but think, “How could I use this?” It’s like my brain is always on the hunt for the next material to bring into the studio.
So, if you’re an artist—or even if you’re just looking for a creative spark—I really encourage you to try this. Look around you. Pick up something you’d normally throw away or walk past, and see what happens when you bring it into your process. Texture has this way of surprising you, of showing you something you didn’t know was possible. And once you start noticing it, you’ll see texture everywhere. It’s an incredible way to stay inspired and connected to the world around you.
