We were lucky to catch up with Tina Wall recently and have shared our conversation below.
Alright, Tina thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. Learning the craft is often a unique journey from every creative – we’d love to hear about your journey and if knowing what you know now, you would have done anything differently to speed up the learning process.
Learning what I do now has been a lifelong, winding journey. I’ve always been drawn to creative people and admired their work from the sidelines, believing I lacked the vision to be one of them. I enjoyed crafting and had an eye for color, but didn’t see myself as an artist—though I now firmly believe that crafting is a form of art.
In junior high and high school in the late ’90s and early 2000s, I devoured literature and fell in love with zines. I dated artists, threw myself into books, and slowly began to appreciate the value of creative expression. It wasn’t until college that I received real encouragement—thanks to a supportive composition professor who believed in my writing. Still, life pulled me in another direction. I left Tulsa for Austin, and spent over a decade in the video game and tech industries, where I channeled creativity into spreadsheets that felt, in their way, like works of art.
Then COVID hit. My colleagues and I, working as contractors at a major social media company, were organizing to unionize. Our efforts were ultimately shut down, but the experience brought us closer as people. During lockdown, we bonded over Animal Crossing, shared dreams of a better world, and in May 2021, planned a cautious, vaccinated trip together. At a cabin near Uvalde, TX, one friend introduced us to fluid acrylic painting. I fell in love with it—spending the weekend blissed out on pot brownies and discovering a form of creativity that felt magical and immediate.
That experience unlocked something in me. I spent the rest of that year and all of 2022 immersed in painting techniques. When I moved back to Tulsa in late 2022, I rented a studio. While unpacking, I found some blank earrings I had bought for another project and realized I could repurpose dried paint skins—what’s left behind after pouring—into wearable art. That became a new medium: earrings, necklaces, bookmarks, all made from what would otherwise be discarded.
Around the same time, I found myself surrounded by writers and editors again. I didn’t say it out loud, but a few different people told me I should start a zine. So I did—one for the queer community, by the queer community, with a focus on Tulsa. That was last summer. Since then, I’ve written an autobiographical essay that will be published soon, and I’m working on a poetry collection of my own.
If I could have sped up my learning, I might have tried to create earlier. But truthfully, I wasn’t emotionally ready. I lacked the confidence and grounding I have now. I had to grow into the person who could create meaningfully and sustainably. So I don’t regret the timing.
The most essential skills? Curiosity. Openness. A willingness to fail and to try again. And maybe above all, the belief—finally—that I belonged in creative spaces too.
As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?
Hi, I’m Tina Wall, a multidisciplinary creative based in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I work primarily with fluid acrylics and waste paint, turning what would otherwise be discarded material into vibrant, one-of-a-kind jewelry, bookmarks, and mixed-media art pieces. I’m also a writer, zine-maker, and the founder of a queer-centered zine project that uplifts voices from our community—with an emphasis on local stories, art, and expression.
My creative practice started organically and late—during the pandemic lockdowns, like so many of us, I was reevaluating what mattered. A friend introduced me to fluid acrylic painting on a group trip, and it was love at first pour. What began as a weekend experiment turned into a passion, and that passion evolved into a business. I now run a small studio practice where I produce both functional art (like wearable pieces and bookmarks made from excess paint skins) and original visual artwork, as well as written creative work and collaborative zines.
My brand is rooted in sustainability, accessibility, and queer joy. I strive to use materials others might overlook, and I’m proud to create art that is both affordable and deeply personal. I want people to know that art doesn’t have to be precious to be meaningful—it can be messy, improvised, and still beautiful. Whether I’m designing earrings, curating community writing, or exploring new forms of storytelling, everything I create is about transformation: of materials, of narratives, and of self.
What sets my work apart is this sense of layering—literal and metaphorical. My jewelry isn’t just pretty; it’s built from the leftover paint of a bigger story. My zines aren’t just collections of words—they’re collaborative love letters to a community. I’m proud of the ways I’ve learned to let creativity lead, and of the people who’ve come into my life through this work.
If you’re looking for art with heart, that’s rooted in care, curiosity, and queerness—you’re in the right place. I hope what I make helps people feel seen, or at the very least, brings a little color into their day.
For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative?
For me, the most rewarding part of being a creative is the sense of connection—both with myself and with others—but also the practice of letting go. Working with fluid acrylics taught me that. You have to surrender some control; the paint has a mind of its own. You can guide it, tilt the canvas, choose your colors—but if you try to overwork it, the colors blend too much and get muddy. The beauty comes from letting the layers exist on their own, from trusting the process and knowing when to stop.
That’s been a huge lesson for me—not just in art, but in life. So much of creativity, especially in the mediums I work in, is about embracing unpredictability and imperfection. And the magic happens when you give up control and just let the piece become what it wants to be.
Sharing that work—whether it’s a painting, a piece of jewelry made from leftover paint skins, or a zine filled with community voices—and having it resonate with others, that’s the other side of the reward. When someone connects with something I’ve made, when they feel seen, or inspired, or just find joy in it—that’s the best feeling in the world. It reminds me why I keep creating.
What can society do to ensure an environment that’s helpful to artists and creatives?
To truly support artists and a thriving creative ecosystem, society has to confront the reality that capitalism is fundamentally hostile to creative expression. Art requires time, space, and emotional bandwidth—none of which are sustainably available when people are burned out, underpaid, or constantly scrambling to meet basic needs. The current system doesn’t support art—it extracts from it. It demands that artists brand themselves, monetize their passions, and compete for visibility in order to be deemed “legitimate.”
In Tulsa specifically, we see this tension play out in how the arts are funded. Too often, creative projects survive not because of community support, but because a billionaire or their foundation decided it was a good PR move. That kind of funding model isn’t sustainable—it’s gatekept, conditional, and ultimately about reinforcing power structures, not dismantling them. Art shouldn’t have to rely on the benevolence of the ultra-wealthy to exist. That’s not support—that’s control.
If we’re serious about cultivating a real creative ecosystem, we need to shift the foundation entirely. Start with universal basic income, affordable housing, free healthcare, and accessible education. Fund public art and community-led projects without strings attached. Trust working-class creatives to tell their own stories and support them materially, not just symbolically. Stop treating art as a luxury or a product—it’s a human right, and it’s how culture survives.
A thriving creative community isn’t built through gala events or donor walls. It’s built through mutual aid, grassroots infrastructure, and the belief that everyone deserves time to dream, experiment, and create—whether or not it ever turns a profit.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/chempink/
- Other: https://bsky.app/profile/chemicalpink.bsky.social
Image Credits
Tina Wall
Jes McCutchen