Oh well. White is white—so what’s the big deal, right?

Not quite. Semi-glazing titanium white is something else entirely.

With this one in the studio, building atmospheric perspective becomes noticeably easier.

Not long ago, I spoke with a technologist from one of Poland’s main →titanium white manufacturers — part of the Azoty Group. I asked whether it was possible to get →titanium white pigment ground as finely as physically possible — finer even than what’s used in toothpaste, paints, toys, or food.

The answer was clear: no. Not for individuals. They only sell the standard version.

That’s when I realized I wouldn’t be able to make this kind of glazing white on my own — not with the tools I have. What I needed was something ultra-fine. And that means buying it ready-made.

It’s not cheap. But the difference is visible from the very first brushstroke.

Fortunately, this semi-glazing titanium white goes a long way, and I don’t use much of it anyway.

I tested substitutes. Some were too chalky. Others dried flat or lost all transparency on canvas. Mussini’s Lasur-Weiß stood out right away — it behaved more like a veil of light than a layer of paint. The first time I laid it over a warm underpainting, I knew I’d found the one.

Sometimes it makes sense to pay for pigments that simply can’t be made in a small studio.

I still prepare most of my colors from scratch — grinding minerals I’ve collected from caves, riverbeds, or quarries. There’s satisfaction in that. But some things demand industrial precision, far beyond what I can get with a glass muller and patience.

We come across titanium white more often than we realize.

It’s in toothpaste.
In cookie glaze.
In chewing gum.

On pills. In sunscreen.
In plant-based milk, to make it look „cleaner.”

It’s in paper, wall paint, and plastic packaging.
In printer ink. Sometimes even in tattoo pigment.

It’s added to icing, marshmallows, baking powder.
Not to make things taste better—just to make them look whiter.

In some countries, it’s still allowed as food additive E171.
In others, it’s banned or restricted due to particle size concerns.

It’s one of the most commonly used white substances in the world.
Not because it’s rare. But because it’s cheap, stable, and intensely white.

But that version of white has little to do with what I’m looking for in painting.
It’s made for shelf life and surface effect—not for how it behaves in oil or under light.

That’s a different story.

Titanium white has a relatively short history in painting.
It was introduced in the early 20th century—around 1916—making it one of the youngest whites on the palette. Before that, painters relied on lead white or zinc.

What’s surprising is how fast it spread beyond art.
By the 1920s, it was already used in household paint, fabrics, and even in early cinema screens for better light reflection.

During World War II, titanium white replaced lead-based paints in military gear and airplane coatings—not for safety, but because it was lighter and more durable.

Today, it’s used in road markings and the reflective stripes on life jackets.
It helps car license plates stay visible at night.
NASA used it in the coating of certain spacecraft elements, thanks to its stability and reflectivity.

It’s a white that’s gone far beyond the studio—quietly present in places where precision, contrast, and visibility matter most.

For painting, I need something very specific: consistent, ultra-fine, and made to sit transparently between brushstrokes, not coat a cereal box.

We often forget how much is literally within reach.

There are pigments in the soil, in old rocks, by the sea, along the paths we walk.

Sometimes all it takes is a single scoop of earth. Other times, just a careful look.

These pigments are just waiting to be sifted, ground, and mixed with →oil.

And suddenly — there’s paint.