
Most of us build a kit the wrong way round. We buy the paints we love, then the brushes we like, and only at the last moment hunt for something to carry them in. The result is usually a bag that is too heavy, too deep or too small — discovered halfway up a hillside in a stiff breeze. Turn the process on its head and choose the container first. A portable kit should be something you can carry for a mile without resentment, and open on a damp, windy day without anything rolling off into the heather.
For oils and acrylics, a shallow pochade box with a hinged lid is hard to beat. The lid becomes a palette, the base holds wet panels, and the whole thing balances on your lap or clamps onto a tripod. Look for one weighing under a kilo when empty, and check that the lid holds itself open at a comfortable angle. For watercolour and mixed media, a modest rucksack with a few internal dividers does the job just as well and usually costs less.
The palette is where a kit either earns its keep or becomes a nuisance. A covered palette wins on almost every count: it keeps dust, drizzle and midges out of your paint, and it means you can pack up while everything is still wet and deal with the mess at home. A folding watercolour palette with a lid and a thumb hole is a lovely thing, and the good ones will hold thirty pans while staying no bigger than a paperback.
For oils, a small flat palette with a sealed lid, or a tear-off paper pad inside a plastic wallet, keeps the weight down and the fingers reasonably clean. Resist the urge to carry fifteen colours. A limited set — a warm and cool version of each primary, plus white — mixes nearly everything a landscape asks for, and it keeps your eye on relationships rather than on tubes.
Water is the heaviest thing in any bag, so treat every millilitre as a decision. Two small pots are better than one large one: one for clean water and one for rinsing, so your washes don't turn to mud by the second hour. Collapsible silicone pots weigh almost nothing and squash flat once empty, though a sturdy screw-top jar has the advantage of doubling as your waste carrier.
Fill only what you need at home. You can always top up from a stream or a tap, but you should never tip dirty water into a beck or a hedgerow. Carry it home in a sealed jar and dispose of it sensibly. It is a small habit, and it marks you out as someone who respects the places they paint.
A brush roll or a rigid tube protects your best brushes from being splayed against the inside of a rucksack, and it takes up less room than you might think. Three good brushes — a large wash, a medium round and a small rigger — will cover more ground than a dozen mediocre ones. Add a palette knife, a pencil or two, a putty rubber, a soft eraser, and a sharpener with a shavings catcher so you're not shedding graphite everywhere.
For supports, lightweight wins. Foam board or corrugated plastic is stiff enough for sketching and practically weightless. If you're working in watercolour and want to paint wet, a block or a sketchbook of 300gsm paper will take a soaking without cockling into a relief map. A couple of bulldog clips or lengths of masking tape hold everything steady. Bring kitchen roll torn into squares rather than a whole roll, and a carrier bag for rubbish.
British outdoor painting is largely a study in optimism, so plan for the worst and enjoy the rest. A folded sit mat or a piece of closed-cell foam keeps you off cold, wet ground, and a lightweight folding stool is worth its weight if you intend to stay more than an hour. Wind is the sworn enemy of a pochade on a tripod, so pack a couple of bungee cords or a small stuff sack you can fill with stones once you arrive.
The real purpose of all this is not tidiness for its own sake. It is to remove the small frictions that stop you painting. When you know exactly which pocket holds the rigger and which pot is clean, you can set up with cold hands and a lowering sky and still be mixing colour within five minutes. That matters, because the light you came for rarely waits.
Pack in the same order every time, and make a short written checklist you keep in the lid of your box. Restock it the moment you get home, while you still remember what ran out. Aim for a kit light enough that you never think twice about taking it — on a lunch break, on a walk to the shops, on a sudden afternoon of pale, brilliant cloud. A kit that's always ready is the one that makes you a painter rather than someone who paints occasionally.
Hi, my name is Anthony kuber. I am artist and fashion designer.
I love to travel and writing blogging.
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