Originally shared in my weekly newsletter, Insights from the Studio – July 4, 2025.
The studio has been quietly buzzing this week—with materials, experiments, and reflections on play in art practice.
Slightly wobbly cardboard constructions, sparked by William Kentridge sculptures at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. Calico and tissue paper layered with ink. A simple prompt shared in one of my regular Art Discussion groups: bring a new material into your work—something you haven’t used before.
Suddenly we were all knee-deep in exploration.
What struck me in one of the sessions was how quickly we reach for making a picture—even when we think we’re playing. I don’t say this as a criticism. It’s something I’ve noticed in myself too.
The Hidden Pressures That Undermine Play in Art Practice
And there are good reasons for it.
Materials can feel precious, and using them without a clear goal for play in art practice can feel wasteful or indulgent. If we’ve grown up in systems where productivity leads, it can feel like we need an outcome to justify the time. Art time is often limited, so there’s an internal pressure to “make the most of it” by producing something tangible, something finished.
Sometimes there’s a deeper pattern at play. We’ve often been taught—consciously or not—that creativity should arrive fully formed. That if we’re “good at art,” it’ll just happen first time. Unlike musicians who practise scales or dancers who warm up, visual artists can carry the hidden belief that if it isn’t instantly successful, we’ve somehow failed.
So we default to what’s familiar. A picture. A composition. Something recognisable.
But the irony is: play is the practice.
It’s our creative research and development. Where we loosen our grip, test out ideas, and discover what we didn’t know we were looking for.
The word play may carry old connotations of time-wasting or childishness, but in a serious art practice, it’s often the place and the spark where the work begins.
Those moments of not-knowing are a kind of breath. A pause.
And that pause? It’s an important choice. A conscious decision to resist the urge for clarity. A willingness to remain in uncertainty.
Because it’s in that space that the unexpected can emerge.
So, I love that play in art practice isn’t about being frivolous—it’s a doorway. A shift in how we see. A way to let the materials lead before ideas get too tidy.
And often, it’s where all the interesting questions live.
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