The state HHAP grant arrives as the city continues to fall short on affordable housing targets and faces fallout from its January rejection of a $20.1 million Homekey+ award.
Welcome back, fellow creatives. Last week we got all wrapped up in napkins by turning them into amateur origami, imagining impossible materials, and maybe even confronting the evident overabundance buried in glove boxes and kitchen drawers. Perhaps you answered the question of whether napkins should be placed over your lap or tucked into your shirt at dinner. If you turned something disposable into something worth holding onto, even for a few minutes, you’re sustaining a creative outlet in your busy life, well done!
This week, we’re opening ourselves up creatively with a nudge that has a little more heft: a used paint can. Half full, fully forgotten. When you shake them, they can sometimes sounds like your belly if you try to run after downing a half days worth of water in one sitting. Sometimes they feel empty even though you swear there was some paint left when you finished the spare room remodel. When they are completely dried out, they feel empty; the surface inside hardens into a strange topography of color mixed with a sprinkling of entropy.
You probably have a few around…I definitely do. Right now they are organized in a neat, upright pile in a corner of my backyard, like colorful time capsules and peeling labels: “Eggshell Beige, 2017,” “Kitchen Cobalt” “Don’t Open This One.” I keep mine after art or home improvement projects, partly because they still feel useful, partly because I’m never quite sure what to do with them. There are recycling programs, but they come with rules, limited access, labeling standards. Just enough friction to make procrastination feel like a reasonable solution.
As an assemblage artist, my favorite materials are discarded objects and illegally dumped trash piles. Last year, near the Painted Hills where the Interstate 10 meets Highway 62 heading into Joshua Tree, I came across dozens of identical white discarded paint cans dumped into the desert just steps from the shoulder.
In my studies of hundreds of these sites, this is often the last, and hidden, step in a home remodeling project. I did what any reasonable artist might do—I built a pyramid out of them! A monument to neglect. Or reuse. Or just curiosity about what viewer’s reactions would be.
When I came back six months later, they were gone. It felt like I had conjured some kind of cleanup genie that whisked the mess away and (hopefully) delivered it somewhere more appropriate. It left me wondering: was the art the pile itself, or the act of paying attention to it long enough for it to disappear?
Used paint cans live in that same in-between space of “perhaps.” Not quite trash, not quite treasure, making them perfect for a few minutes of creative exploration. Here are five ways to make play from what remains:
1. Dry Skin: Open the can and study the surface of the dried paint. Cracks, ridges, bubbles, strange color shifts. Treat it like an aerial map or an alien terrain. Sketch it, photograph it, or write a field report from this newly discovered world.
2. Desert Rattler: Using a stir stick, screwdriver, or your knuckles, tap the can, the lid, the rim. Each part has a different tone—hollow, dull, metallic, sharp. Build a rhythm. Add a second can if you’re feeling ambitious. Record your composition or perform it live for an unsuspecting neighbor
3. Fumigate: Carefully catch a faint whiff (don’t huff it—this is art, not a health hazard). Paint has a way of carrying memory—fresh starts, long weekends, unfinished projects. Write a short memory triggered by the smell. Or invent one.
4. Transfer Station: If the paint is still usable (or even semi-usable), use a stick, brush, or found object to apply it to something unexpected: cardboard, scrap wood, a rock, or your own body. Focus on the texture. Thick, clumpy, smooth, resistant. Let the imperfections lead the way. This isn’t about painting something, it’s about painting with what’s left.
5. Carry On: Pick up the can. Hold it. Carry it around for a minute or two. Notice how your body adjusts; the grip, the balance, the subtle compensation for weight. Now exaggerate that movement. Turn it into a slow-motion performance. A dance about carrying unfinished things. About holding onto what we don’t quite know how to let go of.
Used paint cans are rarely empty. They hold paint, yes—but also time, effort, hesitation, and change. This week isn’t about finishing the job. It’s about noticing what’s left behind and letting that be enough to begin again.
So, whether you turn yours into art, music, memory—or finally drop it off at the right recycling center—take a few minutes first to see it differently.
This column was written with the help of ChatGPT, used as a creative collaborator to paint a better picture of the world as I see it.
