An essay written as part of the development for The Jogja Show 2025 (working title) with Yeo Tze Yang
Over the last 30 years I’ve had many palettes. Obviously. Some were pieces of plywood lying around in the studio. Other times it could be folded old newspapers. This is back when I was doing freelance work. Making props for TV commercials, theatre sets and this and that. So, there were always leftover materials in the studio. A palette was one of those important “equipment” in my studio that I routinely threw away.
In my student days I used styrofoam or plastic food containers. First cleaned of course. It worked quite well because it’s lightweight and comes with a lid. After a painting session the palette can be closed to prevent dust or whatnot to settle on the wet paint. Which is a plus because my art school’s painting studio is a shared space. So, things can get chaotic and dusty. With people and things coming and going most of the time.
A rather dandy lecturer once told me, after strutting over to my little corner in the studio…
1994
Malaysian Institute of Art,
Fine Arts Department Studio 2,
around 2 p.m
Mr.Tan Tong : Boy...you don’t have a palette! (While pointing his walking stick (or was it a cane?) at my cardboard palette)

Image from shireenlee.blogspot.com
I would like to think he wasn’t referring to the makeshift surface I used as a palette. But instead he’s talking about proper color management or philosophy. Because you know, his statement must be about something more profound. After all he was trained at École des Beaux-Arts, Paris. Oh la la.
I regret not asking you what you mean Mr.Tan. Rest in peace, sir.
Then there were also pieces of cardboard from cardboard boxes. Easy to cut, or rip to size, and can easily be held as I paint. Which means it’s easier to check the accuracy of a color mixture against the canvas. Not that I do that often. It’s like a mobile palette of old. Like those you see in some self-portraits of artists where they have one hand holding a brush and the other cradling a palette and a bunch of brushes. A popular composition. Depicting a moment of drama. The artist is about to paint! I’m thinking of a Velasquez, Rembrandt and a Van Gogh.

Image from mcgawgraphics.com
Technically, a palette is just a surface to temporarily hold and mix paint. Usually flat and rectangular, but doesn’t have to be. It’s a staging area for the main event that is painting. A green room in theatre lingo.
My painting usually requires a few sittings (actually, standing and pacing about) sessions. Over a period of days or weeks before it’s done. But oil paint starts drying the moment they are squeezed from the tube. Or oxidised, if you want a technical term. The little amount I squeezed usually dries up completely in about 3 days. When enough dried paint builds up on the palette I simply replace the palette. Or else these dried paints may break and become “palette debris”. And these specks of dried paint may then get mixed with fresher ones. And unintentionally end up on my canvas.

Scrapings of dried oil paint from my palette (2017)
Palette Debris
You see, oil paint dries by oxidation, from outside in. After a day or two a dried “skin” will form over a lump of paint. And if one were to puncture this semi-drying lump to access the paint beneath, pieces of the broken skin might get mixed onto the brush and be applied onto the canvas. I call these specks palette debris. They are usually only obvious when a painter paints thinly. They look like little flecks and lumps on a canvas. It’s apparently a no, no according to those with discerning taste. But I don’t feel one way or another about palette debris. On some images it's a distraction, on others they give the painting surface some character. I’ve taken it as a representation of my studio space. A completely squared and flat canvas doesn’t feel right.
You see, oil paint dries by oxidation, from outside in. After a day or two a dried “skin” will form over a lump of paint. And if one were to puncture this semi-drying lump to access the paint beneath, pieces of the broken skin might get mixed onto the brush and be applied onto the canvas. I call these specks palette debris. They are usually only obvious when a painter paints thinly. They look like little flecks and lumps on a canvas. It’s apparently a no, no according to those with discerning taste. But I don’t feel one way or another about palette debris. On some images it's a distraction, on others they give the painting surface some character. I’ve taken it as a representation of my studio space. A completely squared and flat canvas doesn’t feel right.

On the set of “I Don’t Want To Sleep Alone (2006, Tsai Ming Liang)”
The late Chriz Ngooi, a friend and my art department colleague testing a custom made raft in an abandoned and flooded building.
“The art department, at that time, wasn’t the most specialised department. Basically anything that doesn’t clearly fall under other departments becomes the responsibility of the art department. I once had to prepare a few rats. The gnarly street types, not the cute ones you see in pet stores. In the course of making a movie I’m usually surprised when I don’t encounter requests that were unexpected.
On the set of “At The End Of Daybreak”(2009, Ho Yuhang)
A bedroom set with multiple pieces of furniture.
Also, I usually have to acquire on behalf of the production company, some furniture to “dress the set”. Often old wooden ones. Around that time, maybe 2003-2007, the filmmakers I worked for were somehow always telling stories that involve the working-class protagonist going back to his or her hometown.
Therefore a need for rustic interiors with wooden furniture. In any case, I usually have to deal with furniture after the shooting wrapped. Particularly the ugly or plain ones that nobody wanted. So, one of these ugly ducklings was chopped up and fashioned into a DIY Artist Taboret.

Artist’s Taboret
An artist's taboret is a tall, narrow stand that can be used to store supplies, display art, or hold a lamp, plant, ashtray, or beverage. In the Arts and Crafts Movement, taborets can also be used as side tables, book stands, or end tables.
Image from madisonartshop.com
I now use a piece of clear glass instead of plywood or cardboard. Initially a series of smaller, regular 3mm. Currently a larger tempered 6mm one. So, instead of the palette being discarded, dried or semi-wet paints are scrapped. The palette became permanent. And I acquired a new therapeutic ritual.
Scrapping my palette at the end of my painting session.
Initially I would scrape the palette every few months or so. Which can be a tougher job than it sounds. Dried oil paint sticks surprisingly well on glass. So, I started scrapping after every completed painting. Which made things easier. Now I clean my palette at the end of every work day. It’s like a ritual. A gesture that signals a change in mindset from work to lepak (loiter, rest). Which is important because my studio is also the place I live. So, the divide between work and living is not clear. I suspect this ambiguity played a part in the fatigue I felt in the last few years.

My current home studio
Image from Google Map
In 2017 I moved to my current studio. And lived by myself for the first time. This is when I got my current palette which measures 56cm x 86cm. Custom cut to fit the top of a new stainless steel trolley I bought. It’s the biggest one I have had so far. Compared to earlier in my practice, the scale between my canvas and palette has flipped. Now my palette is usually bigger than my canvases. This simple upgrade in size has some interesting effects.

Size comparison between my paintings (left) and my palette (right)
I bought a trolley instead of making one because I have slowly lost interest in carpentry over the years. I’m not sure why. Perhaps my woodworking skills have plateaued. And it would require more time, effort, better tools and space to reach a level where it’s a fun activity again. Also, nowadays I reserve my time mostly to make paintings and videos. Now, I usually only do woodwork to make stretchers and as a mild form of exercise.
A portion of my palette is occupied by 2 brush cleaners and 2 small containers for painting medium. The rest is for paint. I suspect, having more than enough place to spread paint around might have led to a better sensitivity in tones or shifts in color. At the very least this created a headspace to see and work on color gradients and tones in my painting. Over time, it’s also easier to manage paint and make a cleaner color mixture.
A larger palette also encourages or allows me to use larger brushes. Which are good for working quickly. In simplifying shapes and blending tones. This helps me to paint, how should I say this? Paint air. The negative spaces. The vibe and tone of the image. And most importantly, not get fixated on details.
Once upon a time, details were something I love to paint. I’m trying to move away from that. Not that it’s bad, in fact I think most of my collectors prefer that type of painting from me. But I’m just bored. Having a sense that I’m constantly moving, in whatever direction, is important to me. Comforting even.
Having said that, after 7 years I’m still adjusting to having so much more space. Old habits die hard. Sometimes, while taking a short break, I would notice I’ve only utilised a small quarter of my palette. Perhaps I’m a small palette painter with an oversized palette. But to be fair, my colors are expanding all the time. And I’m slowly getting better at organising my paint. Mr.Tan Tong would be proud.

Notes on Palette (Apr 2024)
