Painting shoes - old Birkenstock clogs which used to be my partner's dads

Initially the tool begins as a clean object. Untouched. Given to me by friends. Throughout the development of my work, each paint drop landed on the object or used to wipe away a layer, begins to take on a life of its own. I can see multiple layers of colour palettes that I have used throughout the past 4 years. The object then becomes a living memory of the work that I have created. In itself, it is a work of art. No longer mine but having its own wee story to tell.

The plastic stencils arose from initial experimentation with acrylic pumice medium. They were applied to substrates via different brushes, but quickly discovered this was difficult to apply. When I was shown how to use stencils it was a classic duh moment. I tried different materials and application techniques until I perfected it. Now it’s 6 years later.

My Wilko two-inch paintbrush has become a tool I use pretty much every time I am in the studio. I find that the brush leaves these beautiful streaks whenever I try to prime a surface. Each painting or object I made was one of a kind because the more I used the brush, the more white paint would accumulate on the handle and base of the brush, and in between the bristles.

White paint tube

Every paint brush is a repository of memory. Every brush stroke is recorded in the slow degradation of their bristles. Some brushes I have had since the very beginning, some don’t make it long at all. My brushes become a part of the work in these small ways. Each painting retaining the residue of each brushstroke. Each paintbrush building up layers of paint around their handles — a color index of each work they’ve had a part in making.

The tools I use dictate what painting I make, and I am often led by the state of my tools/what I have around me, rather than getting exactly with right tool to make the image I want. The tools therefore become an integral part in the making of my work.

My old painting shoes. Since replaced with an identical pair.

My tools and I have some sort of love-hate relationship. I love them and they hate me. I completely abuse them until they’re unusable. Any attachment I could feel towards them has to be surpressed as I am aware that the tools will eventually perish. I am only attached to the tools that have survived me, as they are made of more sturdy materials; such as my ceramic palette, or my painting pants.

I thought it would be fairly easy to pick one tool that I could not live without and is my favorite, but it quickly turned out that I am quite attached to all of them, so picking my rolls of tape over my box of sandpaper scraps or scissors, or my trusted X-Acto knife felt like I was cheating on the others.

Because of how messy I am around the studio; I end up throwing tools and materials on the floor and stepping on them or forgetting about them for a while - they end up developing their own shapes and textures because of this. I try to be aware of the effects of happy accidents in my work without overthinking it. To avoid that I have to let everything in my studio breathe, so when I leave and come back the next day I can reassess and find bits of material that I might’ve thrown or kicked, forgotten about or overlooked. Charlie Russell

For me, makeup brushes and sponges feel like an extension of the body. They start as artificial, mass-produced objects, but through use, these tools interact with sensitive parts of the body. So they're highly effective at delivering smooth, even pigment. Over time, as my makeup brushes wear down, I recycle them into my art practice, giving them new life beyond their intended function.

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