Thirty-Seven Colors
I got back into the studio and just sat there for a minute — not painting, not really looking at anything specific, just sitting. It wasn't because the room was a mess. It wasn't. It was more that some part of me hadn't been used in a while, and I could feel it, the way you can feel a muscle gone soft. I didn't want to push it. If I pushed it, I was going to hurt it more. So I let myself go slow instead of forcing anything.
What that looked like in practice: I organized colors. That's it. That was the whole first day, maybe the first two. I opened every drawer on one specific supply and started sorting, and somewhere in there I lost count and started over, and landed on thirty-seven. Thirty-seven colors. In oil sticks. When for years — years — I taught others how to make a million colors from six.
I want to say I had some big realization about that number, but honestly it was more that I noticed it, and then noticed my own reaction to noticing it, which was to immediately want to explain myself. Thirty-seven sounds like a lot. It sounds like a lot when I say it out loud right now. But when I actually sat with why — it's because when I reach for a color in the middle of something, I want it to be the right one. The exact one. Not something I mix on the spot and hope gets close enough. I want the ease of reaching for the thing I already know I want and having it be sitting right there, ready.
Going through it, I also found duplicates. A lot of them. Same color, bought twice, three times, because I forgot I had it, or wasn't sure. That's the part where the old voice wants to jump in — who needs that many, that's excessive, that's wasteful. I heard it. I just didn't listen to it this time.
Because honestly, who cares. I use the damn colors. I love the damn colors. I'm tired of apologizing for how much I have, or how I work, or whether any of it fits some smaller, tidier version of what I'm supposed to need. I'm tired of trying to fit into a box. This abundance — thirty-seven colors, duplicates and all — is what's actually enabling whatever this next phase turns into. I don't know exactly what that is yet. I just know I'm not going to feel guilty finding out.
So the plan for now, the first few days back, is just this: organize, swatch, sit with the colors, let that open up whatever wants to come next. No pressure on any of it to be a painting yet.
The swatch cards I'm making are ugly right now — hand-labeled, taped down a little crooked, already smudged in a couple spots. Doesn't matter. They're not for anyone else. They're just so I know what I'm actually holding before I ask my hand to do anything with it.
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Thirty-seven colors. I'll tell you what they turn into.
— Shelby
