Why I Paint With a Palette Knife (and What It Lets Me Express)

If you’ve ever looked closely at one of my paintings, you might notice that the surface is full of texture, thick paint, ridges, and layers that catch the light differently depending on where you stand. That texture is no accident. It’s the result of my favourite (and sometimes mischievous) tool: the palette knife.

But I didn’t start out using one. In fact, I taught myself, and not with anything fancy.

A butter knife and a wild idea

When I first picked up a palette knife, I had no idea what I was doing. In fact, it wasn’t even a palette knife. It was a butter knife from my kitchen drawer.

At the time, I was painting small landscapes with tiny brushes, carefully blending colours and fussing over details. I loved painting, but something about it felt tight, a bit too controlled. One day, I saw another artist creating these incredible textures with what looked like… a metal spatula. I didn’t have one, so I raided the kitchen. I figured, “How hard can it be?” (Spoiler: very hard.)

The first attempts were an absolute mess. Paint went everywhere. I had no control over the lines or the shapes. Everything I’d learned about layering and blending seemed useless. I remember thinking, “This is a disaster.”

But then something clicked.

The joy of letting go

Somewhere between frustration and curiosity, I realised I’d been approaching painting like a perfectionist. The palette knife didn’t allow that. It forced me to loosen up, to stop fussing over edges and instead focus on movement, texture, and energy.

Suddenly, the paint itself started to come alive. Instead of smoothing everything out, I let the knife leave thick ridges, scraped edges, and little peaks of colour. It felt raw and expressive, more like the landscapes I was trying to capture.

A kind artist friend eventually lent me a real palette knife, and that changed everything. It was flexible and responsive, nothing like a butter knife. I could load it with thick paint for bold swipes, or drag the edge lightly to draw fine grasses or horizon lines. That discovery opened a whole new world in my painting.

Texture that tells a story

Texture is one of the things that draws people to my work. When you see a painting in person, you can feel the landscape through the surface, the roughness of rocks, the sweep of wind, and the movement of the ocean. The palette knife lets me create that physicality.

I often use the side of the knife to scrape through wet paint and reveal the layers beneath. It’s like uncovering traces of light or depth that were hiding all along. At other times, I apply thick paint and let it sit proudly on the surface, unapologetic and full of life.

The funny thing is, the best marks often come from the knives I’ve used (and abused) for years. The ones with dried paint stuck to the edges create the most interesting textures. You could say they have their own history embedded in them.

Balancing chaos and control

These days, I use a whole range of palette knives, long, short, angled, pointy, each with its own personality. I switch between them and brushes as I work, letting instinct guide me. The brush helps me soften or blend when I need to, but the knife brings back that energy and spontaneity.

It’s not a tidy process. You can’t really “fix” something made with a knife. Once that thick line of paint is down, it’s down. But that’s part of the magic. It forces you to commit to trust yourself and the moment. Painting this way feels more like a conversation than a plan.

Sometimes it all comes together beautifully; other times, it’s a glorious mess. But either way, it feels honest. The surface of each painting holds those decisions, those brave (or reckless) marks, and that’s what gives it life.

Why it suits my landscapes

Tasmania’s landscapes are never still. The wind moves, the light shifts, the tide comes in. A palette knife feels right for that kind of subject. It lets me capture the rhythm and texture of nature, the way land and sea are constantly changing.

I’m not trying to paint a photograph. I’m trying to paint the feeling of being there: the salty air, the crunch of sand, the distant sound of waves. The knife helps me translate that into something you can both see and almost feel with your eyes.

The fun of it all

Painting with a palette knife is just fun. There’s a playful side to it, like spreading icing on a cake or sculpting with colour. You can’t take yourself too seriously when you’re flinging thick paint around.

It’s bold, messy, unpredictable, and full of surprises, much like nature itself.

There’s a joy in letting the paint do what it wants and trusting that it will come together. That sense of play is something I never want to lose.

So yes, I still own plenty of brushes. But the palette knife is where the adventure happens.

Thanks for reading

If you’ve enjoyed this little glimpse into my process, I’d love you to keep following along. You can:

• Join my mailing list for studio updates, new work, and exhibition news.

• Follow me on Instagram @hannahblackmoreartist to see my paintings and the palette knives in action.

Painting with a palette knife reminds me daily that art isn’t about control; it’s about curiosity. And sometimes, all it takes to find your voice is a butter knife and a bit of courage.