Full disclosure: I didn’t come up with the idea to use an Altoids tin as a painting surface or my palette. I’m not sure how long the practice has been around, but I certainly heard about it and saw examples online before I decided to give it a shot.

In fairness, I’ve tried to put my own spin on it.  Unlike many other artists who’ve employed a similar technique, I do not attach a small canvas inside the lid.  Instead, I apply multiple layers of gesso and modeling paste to it, creating my own painting surface there.  That way, the artwork is truly a part of the tin itself. This also allows me to create a smoother painting surface than canvas, which is kinda crucial when painting tiny details.

What I found (as you might have guessed) is that I enjoy the practice and the process.  It turns out that painting in miniature is a wonderful antidote to some of the frustrations of painting.

It’s quick.

I work on all different scales, but one commonality in all of my paintings – particularly oils – is that they’re time-consuming.  Nearly everything I do requires lots of time, whether it’s in the application of layer after layer, or just the waiting time required to let layers dry. 

I can finish an Altoids tin painting in a day, though, even when applying multiple layers of paint.  This means I get the satisfaction of holding a completed piece in my hands much more often. And, heck yes, I need this psychological reinforcement. 

It also means I get to learn lessons from that complete process. I can look at the finished painting and evaluate my color choices and mixing, my brushwork, and my composition. And then I can take those lessons and apply them to the next piece, hopefully improving just a bit with each iteration.

It forces me to simplify.

Limitations often bring out the best in artists.  The biggest limitation presented in Altoids tin painting is obvious: space.  I have a surface approximately 3.6 inches wide and 2.2 inches high.  Whatever I want to show, whatever I want to say, it must fit in those 7.92 square inches. 

So the Altoids tins force me to make choices about what to include and what to omit.  How much detail can I add to this tree?  How can I capture the force of a wave when it’s only a quarter of an inch high?  There is a tension between capturing the essence of a thing and paring down details to only what can fit on my tiny canvas.

Asking and answering these questions, failing and succeeding as I work out solutions, has expanded my toolbox as an artist.  Often, the Altoids tins become early drafts of larger pieces. 

It fits nicely into my life.

I like to think of myself as an artist, but I’m other things, too: son, uncle, brother, friend, employee, Philadelphia Eagles fan.  Sometimes it’s difficult to create space to be the artist.  In this, I’m not unique; most of us are desperately grasping for time to pursue our passions. 

But I can take an Altoids tin, a little jar of water, and a few small brushes anywhere.  It all fits in a one-quart sandwich bag.  And if I have 15 free minutes before work, or 10 minutes before bed, or I’m watching one of those Netflix movies that doesn’t require my complete attention (you know which movies I mean), I can always paint.

It’s a cool artifact.

I’m biased, of course.  And an art nerd, so take what I say with a grain of salt.  But I love having the palette with the artwork.  The Altoids tin painting is not just an image that resonates with me, but an artifact of the moments spent capturing that image. 

When I look at the palette, I see all of my aborted color choices, as well as the ones that worked.  I remember each decision I made, one layer after another.  I see the potential in each blob of paint, and that potential realized on the painting surface.  It’s a pretty awesome metaphor for all that goes into creating art.

The mints are pretty good, especially the wintergreen ones.

I’ve never bought so many Altoids.  You’re welcome, breath mint-industrial complex.

I haven’t given up on painting larger works since I discovered the joys of Altoids tin painting.  In fact, I’m always working on something larger.  And I can envision pieces like the four-foot paintings I’ll create or the murals I want to attempt.

But I will continue painting in miniature, too.  It’s fun and an appealingly simple way to create.  And it’s an art form unto itself, with lessons and rewards so much larger than a tiny, metal box.