Choosing Still Life Objects for Coloured Pencil

By Carol Leather

Most artists don't get stuck because nothing exists to draw. They get stuck because too much does. The kitchen alone has fifty potential still life subjects on its shelves, and that's before you remember the box of shells in the spare room or the rosette collection on the dresser.

Picking a category first, and then narrowing to the specific object, removes most of that paralysis. Coloured pencil happens to suit some categories beautifully, especially anything where layering, subtle tonal shifts and texture do the heavy lifting.

Below are seven starting points, each with a note on what it teaches. Then we'll talk about the kind of still life that actually pulls you back to the easel.

Seven Categories to Start With

Fruit and food

The classic still life subject for a reason. Strong colours, a real range of textures (smooth apple skin, fuzzy peach, glossy grape, dusty plum) and forgiving forms. Every apple is genuinely a different shape, so small inaccuracies just read as "another apple". If you want a complete walkthrough, try the step-by-step fruit project.

Natural objects: shells, stones, feathers, leaves

Free, available wherever you walk, and infinitely varied. Particularly good for practising subtle colour mixing, because natural objects almost never sit on a single hue. Worth collecting a small box of them so you always have a subject to hand on a wet afternoon.

Glass, bottles and reflective objects

The most rewarding subject for coloured pencil specifically. Transparency is built up by layering light colour through to dark, which is exactly the kind of work coloured pencil is built for. Best tackled once you've practised varying pressure on simpler subjects.

Books, letters and stationery

Geometric forms make composition easier than organic shapes, and a personal book or a stack of old letters can carry real meaning. A single open book teaches you about page curve, paper texture, shadow under the spine, and the fine line work of typography.

Flowers and botanical subjects

Complex colours, forgiving forms. Real flowers vary so much that small inaccuracies just read as another flower. Botanical work pulls you into layered greens (much harder than they look) and the way coloured pencil mixes colour through layers rather than on the page.

Fabric, lace and folded cloth

Drapery is foundational. A single tea towel or folded napkin teaches you more about light, shadow and form than most other subjects. Coloured pencil handles fabric well because you can build subtle tonal shifts without disturbing the layers beneath.

Personal keepsakes and childhood toys

The most meaningful, and paradoxically the hardest. You care about getting them right, which raises the stakes. But these are also the subjects that turn a drawing exercise into something you'll actually want to keep.

When Still Life Stopped Feeling Like a Classroom Exercise

To me, still life felt like a classroom exercise. I'd dutifully line up a few waxy apples, stressing over "correct" perspective rather than connecting with what I was actually looking at. The problem was that fruit didn't mean anything to me. The pleasure was in eating it, not drawing it.

That changed the day I set up a still life with seashells and natural objects I'd collected on holidays over the years. Suddenly I wasn't drawing objects. I was drawing memories.

There was the ammonite I bought in a little gift shop in Devon, just before walking down to the base of the glen to find the secret waterfall. As I drew its curves and shadows, I could feel myself slipping back to that moment: the cool air, the sound of water, the small thrill of finding something hidden. Every shell and stone on the page pulled me back to a different place and time.

Start with the things that hold your most treasured memories. In my case…

My Nanna stitched a toy tiger for my second birthday. What's left of the light gold fur has mellowed over the intervening 63 years to caramel. His tail has been sewn back on more times than I can remember. The most recent repair was to his belly, this time with green thread.

My emotional attachment is one thing, but how would I make that obvious in a drawing? It's certainly not about the outline or the shape; there isn't a lot there to go on. The main job here is to portray the texture and variation in colour. How he would feel to the touch.

I can imagine the colours I'd pick up to capture his worn, faded fur: a cream base, layered with brown ochre, raw sienna, a touch of terracotta and, of course, dark sepia for his stripes.

Keeping Rajah company is Harry. He was an extra surprise after I won a luxury trip to London in my twenties. On arriving at the hotel he was sitting on my bed waiting to be loved. Now he sits beside my own bed, where I can admire his thick, dark brown fur, his maroon bow, and that single word, Harrods, on his paw. No worn fur there. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was made yesterday.

Drawing Harry would be a completely different challenge. He'd want careful side lighting to bring out the depth of the fur, catch the sheen of the ribbon, and pick out the detail in those embroidered letters.

Or there's the tiny cardigan in pale blue and white stripes that lies folded carefully in my bedside cabinet. Knitted for me by my daddy before I was born. I can't quite believe I was ever small enough to feel its softness on my skin.

Are my skills with coloured pencil up to that very personal object? Would I want to capture every stitch, or the overall effect? Would it even be obvious to the viewer what it once was, folded like that? Or should I dress one of the other teddies in it instead?

What Your Everyday Objects Say About You

Look around your home. Which objects tell the story of who you are now, not just who you were?

Along with the computers and screens, my bulging camera bag has its own place in my home office. Ready to grab in an instant, long lens already attached, spare batteries and memory cards tucked safely in the pockets. Time has no meaning when there's a chance the bird will reappear.

Photography is a big part of my life, but drawing a closed black bag would bore me to tears. Unzipped, with a hint of the contents spilling out? Maybe. But on reflection it's probably best left where it is, ready for action.

Some objects have an accidentally permanent home. I'm guessing not everyone has a metal marlin sculpture on the mantelpiece, with a yellow and orange rosette hanging from its bill. I hung it there when I came home from the village dog show, never having expected Finn to win. Just weeks earlier he'd been an abandoned, wounded saluki who lunged at every dog he saw.

That riot of colour would make a rich drawing: the textures in the sculpture, the shiny surface, the reflection in the mirror, the stones holding it down so it doesn't wobble, and the contrast with the ribbon. It might look odd to anyone who doesn't know the story. But I could draw it just for me.

Putting Objects Together

Once I've found my objects, the next question is whether they belong in the same drawing. Most often they don't.

I like contrast, and there's certainly that between my two toys, but in my head they seem to fight each other.

I don't like to rush. I'll arrange them one way, live with it for a bit, then change things around. I might mix soft surfaces with hard, textured with smooth, old with new. Then I trust the objects to tell me if they're comfortable with where I've put them.

Where to Go From Here

Before you arrange your own coloured pencil still life, it's worth seeing how a small group of objects can come together as a finished piece. The coloured pencil still life walkthrough uses fruit (forgiving and full of colour) to cover the basic skills. And if you'd like help thinking about how to position the objects you've gathered, my composition basics page covers that ground.

The more interesting question, though, is the one we started with: what do you have around you that holds a story?

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