Winter is on its way, and it’s the perfect time to air out our sheets—and maybe our expectations, too. What’s the connection? More than you’d think.
Many encounters with art materials begin with choosing a surface—the platform we work on. We often default to the idea of a piece of paper, a blank sheet, or a stretched canvas on a wooden frame. But that’s just one option.
It might seem strange to dwell on this. Why does it matter? Isn’t the surface just a practical base for the work? Not really.
The surface is a material in its own right, and it has a strong impact on what’s created—both in terms of how materials behave on it, and in a deeper emotional sense.
The Physical Layer Just like in cooking, design, or chemistry, some materials “get along,” and others don’t. Some surfaces welcome wet materials—they absorb, stabilize, and hold them. Others repel the same materials, leaving colors to slide across without leaving a mark. Some surfaces are strong enough to bear heavy or wet elements. Others are too thin or fragile and may buckle under pressure. These things are often learned by trial and error, or just intuitively sensed.
The Emotional Layer At a deeper level, we encounter the question: “What am I working on?” And with that comes another: “What do I expect from myself as I sit down with this material?”
Starting something new often brings tension. Even professional artists feel it. Really, anyone who’s had to start a writing assignment or prepare a presentation knows the feeling. Sitting in front of a blank page (literal or metaphorical) can be intimidating. There’s even a name for it: Blank Page Anxiety—the sense of a gap between what we want to express and where we are now.
This is especially true in art therapy, where clients often feel hesitant to create freely, especially early in the process, before a relationship of trust has formed. Imagine sitting with someone you don’t know well and being asked to make something with your hands. In creative processes—especially in therapeutic settings—there are very few rules. There is no “right way” to do it. No one’s grading your work. No one is judging your artistic ability. But we each bring our own inner rules—our expectations, our self-criticism, our doubts. Instead of sinking under the weight of those expectations, or freezing in front of a blank page (which doesn’t have to be blank at all), we can shift our focus to the surface we choose—let it support us, guide us, or even inspire us.
Anything Can Be a Surface Here’s a thought that encourages me: Anything can be a surface. That means: anything can change. Anything can be seen differently, repurposed, elevated, or made beautiful—if we choose to look at it from a new perspective.
Here are a few examples to ground that idea:
- Paper
You don’t need fancy drawing pads or “proper” art paper.
We’re surrounded by paper—mail, receipts, failed prints, packaging, wrappers, notes. Look at them. Use them.
Start small if big feels intimidating. Piece smaller papers together into a collage and draw on top of that.
Try drawing on scraps and hiding them in unexpected places—under someone’s pillow, in a lunchbox, on the fridge.
There’s something deeply lovely about finding a real note, one you can touch and keep.
Today’s kids often learn to type before they ever see a paper airplane or a note passed in class.
Surprise them! (Surprise the adults you love, too.) Imperfect little drawings and kind words go a
Pre-used paper is also a great way to overcome the fear of a blank page. Someone’s already left a mark—now you just decide how to respond. The pressure’s off.
Sometimes, the original purpose of the paper adds meaning to the artwork.
For example, a portrait of someone you love will feel very different if it’s drawn on blank paper—or on a chocolate wrapper they adore.
Unusual surfaces can add surprising emotional layers to your work. - Cardboard I love brown cardboard. It’s strong, stable, cheap, and everywhere. It can hold weight, wet paints, and even sculpted materials like clay or plaster. It’s especially satisfying to use light colors on cardboard—they pop beautifully. We’re surrounded by high-quality cardboard, especially in electronics packaging or IKEA boxes. Don’t miss the thick inserts—they’re often made from “honeycomb cardboard” which is perfect for building and creating. In therapy, brown cardboard plays an important role. It’s a grounding surface—especially helpful for clients who worry their work is too fragile or fear their emotions are too heavy to be held.
These fears show up in the materials, but they often reflect something deeper—our inner fears about life’s burdens and our ability to carry them.
- Clothes and Shoes Here’s a less conventional idea: Clothes (and shoes!) can also be a surface. As a tall person who rarely finds clothes in my size that also feel fun or expressive, I often find myself wishing for brighter colors, subtle humor, or clever patterns. So, I make small changes—nothing drastic. Sometimes I draw tiny dots or lines. Sometimes I sew on a button or patch. Sometimes I take something flawed—a tear, a stain—and turn it into a creative feature. Don’t want to start with your own clothes? Try experimenting with your kids’ clothes. It’s liberating. There’s something joyful about walking around in something you had a hand in making—something one-of-a-kind. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t even have to match. Make one shoe different from the other. Add something only on one sleeve. Let it be playful. Or go even further: take an old garment and see it as raw material. Give it a reset. Let it become something entirely new.
So, What Now? I think the point is clear: Everything around us is a potential surface—plates, boxes, walls, books, furniture. All of them can receive change, can hold meaning. And beyond the fun and creativity this brings, it also invites something ecological: It encourages us to reuse, repurpose, and rediscover what already exists—both materials and meaning. So now that we’ve aired out our assumptions about surfaces, and we realize the whole world is one big platform waiting to be explored… All that’s left is to let go of expectations. Not just lower them—but really set them aside. Approach the material with curiosity, play, and the freedom to not know what will happen.
It’s often easier to begin on a “non-precious” surface—something found, used, or on its way to the trash. It takes the pressure off. And who knows? You might surprise yourself. You may end up with something delightful—something you want to keep, look at, or feel proud of. Or maybe not. Maybe you’ll want to throw it out the second you’re done. And that’s okay, too. Because remember—we said: no expectations.
