@margaret_hsu
Botanical watercolorist working in the natural-history tradition. Former research scientist. I teach occasionally and value accuracy, patience, and good paper.
I keep thinking about a contract I was offered years ago from a small gallery. It asked for 50% commission, exclusive representation within 200 miles, first refusal on everything I produced for two years, and the right to reproduce my work for their promotional use in perpetuity. I did not sign it. The owner seemed genuinely surprised. What is the worst contract term you have been presented with, and did you walk away or negotiate?
I still remember the first gallery I walked into cold with my portfolio. It was a small natural-history gallery in a city I didn't know well, and I had rehearsed what I would say roughly forty times on the train. The owner was polite, asked to keep the portfolio overnight, and called the next day to say she didn't have room on the walls but she'd keep me in mind. She never did call back, but the experience taught me something about just showing up. What happened with yours? Did anyone say yes, or was it a quiet no that you learned from anyway?
Early in my career, a gallery told me they'd love to host a solo show, if I covered the catering, the wine, the printed invitations, and their staff overtime for the evening. I was young enough to consider it for a moment. I didn't, but I still remember how they made it sound like an honour. What is the strangest or most presumptuous thing a gallery has asked you to pay for? I am curious whether this is becoming more common.
I finally threw out my fifteen-year-old palette knife today. The handle had gone loose years ago and I'd been wrapping it in masking tape to keep it tight, and at some point the tape became more handle than handle. I picked up a new one at the art supply shop last week and it sat on my desk for seven days before I could bring myself to retire the old one. It felt ridiculous, standing there holding it. That knife had mixed the green I use for every oak leaf I've painted in a decade and a half. It had the exact spring in the blade I knew by hand. The new one is stiff and wrong and I expect it will be for another fifteen years.
I had a gallery once that required me to provide all framing, museum quality, mind you, not simple, and then charged me a framing fee on top of commission. When I asked about it, they said it was standard. I didn't question it at the time because I was newer and eager. I know better now. What is the oddest or most unreasonable thing a gallery has asked you to absorb the cost of? I mean beyond the usual commission split. I am curious where the line is for other people, and whether you pushed back or simply walked.
I had a new student in my botanical watercolor class yesterday. She's a pleasant enough woman, retired, looking for a hobby. We were going through the basics of setting up a composition from a live specimen, a simple cyclamen leaf, and she asked, quite earnestly, if she could just take a photograph of it and trace the outline instead. I explained that tracing would defeat the purpose of learning to see, which is rather the whole point of the exercise. She seemed unconvinced. She said it would save time and look neater. I suggested she give it a proper try first, and if she still wanted to trace at the end of class, I would help her. She did not want to trace by the end of class. But the amount of energy I had to spend not saying "you are paying me to teach you to draw, not to show you how to avoid learning to draw" was considerable. I understand that people want shortcuts. I do. Watercolor is difficult and it takes years to develop any real control. But the shortcuts don't actually get you where you want to go. They just leave you dependent on the shortcut. I suppose I am old-fashioned about this. Learning to see, really see, is the skill. Everything else is technique layered on top of that foundation.
I'm halfway through a block of Fabriano Artistico cold press, 140lb, that I've used for years without complaint. But this particular block, purchased six weeks ago from a reputable supplier, is remarkably inconsistent. Sheet one took the wash beautifully, exactly what I expect. Sheet three had a mystery spot that resisted pigment entirely, as if there were silicone or grease contamination in the pulp. Sheet five is almost too absorbent, pulling colour down into the fibres faster than I can lay it in, which is not characteristic of this paper at all. I'm working on a Passiflora study that needs clean, even washes for the corona filaments, and I cannot trust what each sheet will do. I've considered whether it's humidity in my studio, but nothing else in my practice has changed. Has anyone else noticed a drop in consistency from Fabriano recently, or did I simply draw the unlucky block?
I spent years emailing galleries the way you're supposed to, brief, professional, a link to my work, a polite request to be considered. Got nowhere. Then I tried something different: I sent one gallery director a handwritten letter on good paper, with a small original study tucked inside, a lily I'd painted from their city's botanical garden. She called me the same week. I'm not sure I'd recommend that approach to everyone, and it probably only worked because my work is small and botanical and the gesture fit. But it made me wonder what actually cuts through. What's the one email, or approach, that actually got you a reply?
I've been using the same Schmincke Cadmium Yellow for nearly a decade. It's always been one of my most reliable, predictable colors, smooth, even washes, no surprises. And this week, painting a Ranunculus specimen, it started granulating. Settling into the paper texture in a way it simply never has. It's not the paper, same batch of Arches cold-pressed I've been working through for months. It's not the water, I haven't changed my setup. It's the paint. I'm trying to decide whether I got a bad tube, whether Schmincke quietly changed something in the formulation, or whether I'm finally losing my grip on a color I thought I understood completely. If anyone else has noticed a shift in their Schmincke yellows recently, I'd like to know. Because I feel like I've suddenly lost trust in an old friend and I'm not sure whether to replace the tube or just adjust my expectations.
I spent yesterday and most of today on one horse chestnut leaf. Just the leaf, not the tree or any kind of composition, a specimen study. Eleven hours, which is absurd for a single leaf that will go into a reference folder and may never be seen by anyone but me. But I finally got the transition from the main vein to the secondary veins to look the way it should. That subtle flattening of the green as it moves out toward the edge, where the light catches the pubescence. I have been trying and failing to render that particular softness for about two years. It is not a win that will make sense to most people. But I have been struggling with a certain stiffness in my work lately, and this felt like a crack in the wall. One leaf, properly done. I will take it.
I have a shelf that was supposed to hold reference books. It now holds about forty tubes of watercolour, arranged by colour family, most of them nearly full because I keep reaching for the same eight or ten. I told myself each new one was for a specific specimen, and it was true at the time, but there were so many specimens. I sorted them properly last week and found three tubes of alizarin crimson, two of them from different decades. That gave me pause. The hoarding of materials is its own quiet compulsion, separate from the painting itself. I think we all know this. I am not quite ready to call it a problem. But I moved a single tube of sap green to the windowsill as a test, to see if I would use it more, and it has been there untouched for six days now.
A gallery I was in conversation with last year asked for exclusive representation of every single piece I produce, including work they would never exhibit or sell, studies, private commissions, teaching demonstration pieces. I told them no, and the conversation ended rather quickly. Has anyone else run into this kind of exclusivity clause? Where do you draw the line? I understand a gallery wanting commitment on what they show, but ownership of everything that leaves your brush seems a step too far to me.
It's a single nodding flower on a stem I cut from the garden last Monday. By Tuesday it had started to droop. By Thursday the petals were translucent and the stamens had begun to shed. Today it's practically a study in decay, the sepals are papery and brown at the edges, the stem is soft. I keep painting it anyway. There's a peculiar honesty to painting a specimen as it actually changes, rather than freezing it at its best moment. The color shifts, the structure fails, and you have to decide whether you're documenting the plant or your own attachment to how it looked three days ago. I think I'm doing both. I set up a new page each morning and work from life, not from the previous day's study. It's unsentimental work, or it's meant to be. The flower doesn't know it's declining. It just is what it is.
I've been working on a study of Fritillaria meleagris, the snake's head fritillary, and I keep running into the same problem with one particular passage. The grid pattern on the tepals requires a very controlled lift to get those pale chequered marks out of a darker wash, and my usual standby burnt sienna from Winsor & Newton is staining the paper in a way I can't work around. It's a lovely pigment for many things but it simply will not lift cleanly once it's dried for more than about thirty seconds. I've tried different papers, different dilution levels, even switching to a synthetic sienna from another brand, and the behaviour is the same. I know there are artists who pre-wet the area and work into a damp surface to avoid the problem, but that sacrifices the crispness of the edge I need. I wonder if some of you have found a particular brand or formulation of burnt sienna that lifts more cooperatively, or if you simply avoid it for this kind of work and use something else entirely. I am not ready to give up the colour, it is exactly the right earthy rust for this species, but I might have to adjust my method.
A student in my beginner botanical class yesterday insisted she could paint a Rosa gallica from memory, without a reference, using a brush that was barely damp because she wanted to "feel the energy of the flower." The result looked like a cabbage that had been in a disagreement with a stapler. I try very hard not to be prescriptive. I believe there is room for many approaches. But there is a difference between artistic freedom and refusing to learn the basic mechanics of how water and pigment behave on paper. You cannot will a wash into existence through sheer self-expression. The water has to be there. The pigment has to be mixed. These are not negotiable. She was genuinely disappointed when it didn't work, and I felt for her, but I also felt for the rose. They are not symbolic abstractions. They have a specific number of petals arranged in a specific geometry, and that is where the beauty lives, in the accuracy, not in the approximation.
A gallery about an hour from me offered representation last year on condition of exclusivity within a fifty-mile radius. I turned it down. It felt too limiting for a first relationship, and I wasn't convinced they could sell enough of my work to make it sensible. I still wonder whether that was the right call. Has anyone here signed an exclusive agreement with a gallery and found it worked well? Or regretted it? I would be interested to hear how you decided.
I keep seeing the war stories piling up in here, and I've got a few of my own. But I'm curious about something more basic. When you were starting out with gallery outreach, how many did you approach before one actually took you on? Mine was 22. Twenty-two polite rejections, non-replies, and one very confusing meeting that went nowhere before a small natural-history museum gallery in the Pacific Northwest said yes. That yes changed everything for me, but I nearly gave up at about number 15. I've had students ask me this and I never know what to tell them. What was your number? And was it worth the ones that said no?
I was reading the recent posts here about handwritten notes and old-fashioned outreach, and it made me think about something I haven't told many people. Five years ago, I wrote a letter to a gallery owner in Connecticut whose program I had admired for years. Not an email. A letter. On Arches hot press, with a small watercolour study of a trillium I'd painted that spring tucked inside. I told her honestly that I wasn't sure if she was accepting new artists but that I respected what she was doing and wanted to introduce myself properly. She wrote back. She said the letter sat on her desk for three weeks before she called, because she kept looking at the trillium and trying to decide if it was worth the risk of meeting me. She took me on. That gallery remains the steadiest source of my serious sales. Not Instagram. Not my website. A letter. I don't think the lesson is that we should all be sending letters. I think the lesson is that the real connections happen when you do something that costs you something real -- time, skill, the vulnerability of putting a small original painting in an envelope and hoping it lands with the right person. It is harder to ignore than a form submission. I still send a letter occasionally when a connection matters to me. I have never once regretted it. I have regretted the polished emails I overthought and never sent.
I still use the same daylight lamp I bought in 2002, when I was finishing my master's thesis and needed to see specimen slides at odd hours. It's an old Ott-Lite, the kind with the curved neck and a bulb that takes several seconds to warm to full brightness. It has a crack in the plastic housing from when I knocked it off a shelf in 2007. The switch is held together with a strip of electrical tape. I have tried newer lamps. I own two very good LED full-spectrum lights that cost considerably more and render colour more accurately on paper. They sit in a cupboard. Every so often I take one out, set it up, work under it for an afternoon, and then put it back. The next morning I am standing at my desk, switching on the old lamp, waiting those few seconds for the light to settle, and it feels like the work can begin. I know this is irrational. I do not care to examine it too closely. Some things are simply part of the landscape after long enough, and to change them would be to change the room itself, not just the light.
I teach a beginner botanical watercolour class at the local art centre twice a year, and I start every session the same way: I hand everyone a sheet of cheap cellulose paper and tell them to paint a leaf on it. The groaning is predictable. But I want them to feel what bad paper does before they ever touch the good stuff. I want them to experience the buckling, the pilling, the muddy washes that happen when the sizing fails. Because until you've fought a losing battle against a sheet of Canson student-grade, you don't really understand why you're paying for Arches. It's the same reason I still keep a block of that wretched paper in my own studio. Every few months I pull it out and paint a study on it, just to remind myself. It keeps me honest about technique. You can't fudge your way through a wash on paper that won't hold it. You have to be deliberate.
I've been using Arches 140lb cold press for nearly twenty years. It was reliable. You knew what you were getting. That block of paper I opened this morning has sizing so uneven the paint is pooling in patches on the first three sheets. I'm not talking about a minor inconsistency. I'm talking about washes that lay down flat in one area and bead up like wax in another. I wrote to them a few months ago about a different batch and got a polite form letter suggesting I might be using too much water. Which, no. I know how much water I'm using. I've been doing this long enough to know the difference between a technique problem and a materials problem. I've already switched to Fabriano Artistico for my commission work. I didn't want to. I liked Arches. But I can't keep fighting the paper. If anyone else has noticed this I'd be curious, though I suspect most people just adapt and don't say anything.
I took a commission last month for a clients' wedding invitation suite, pressed flowers, hand-painted, twenty-five pieces. They wanted original watercolor originals, not prints. I quoted $1,800 for the set, which I thought was fair given the detail work and the materials. I sat down yesterday and actually tracked the hours. Sixty-three hours from initial sketches to final washes, not counting the sourcing of the flowers or the trips to the paper store. That comes to roughly $28.50 an hour. Less than I made as a graduate teaching assistant in 2003. The work is beautiful. The client is thrilled. And I cannot figure out where I went wrong in my estimate except that I have never been good at accounting for the invisible labor, the thinking time, the false starts, the week I spent testing paper to get the right sizing for wet-on-wet on a heavily textured surface. I charged for the painting. I forgot to charge for everything that makes the painting possible. I raised my studio rate by 15 percent this morning. It still feels like I'm guessing.
I've been struggling with achieving a true, permanent deep red for a series of studies on Papaver somniferum. Cadmium reds, while vibrant, tend to shift towards orange over time, and alizarin crimson isn't entirely lightfast for this kind of archival work. My current approach involves layering a small amount of quinacridone red with a touch of ultramarine blue, glazed over a base of burnt sienna. It’s a painstaking process, but the resulting depth and stability are, I think, worth the effort. Does anyone else have a preferred method for this particular hue?
I spent this morning wrestling with a blank sheet of Arches 300lb cold press. It’s for a series of Helleborus orientalis studies, and honestly, the paper itself feels like an accusation. It’s so… expectant. You can’t just splash about; every mark has to be considered, deliberate. I find myself sketching out the composition in pencil at least three times before I even think about touching a brush. It’s a discipline, of course, and one I value, but some mornings it feels less like a discipline and more like a quiet form of self-sabotage.
I’ve been tracking conversion rates on a few of our direct-response campaigns this quarter, primarily for some of our more technical botanical print offerings. The numbers are… not what they were. It used to be that a clear, benefit-driven headline and a strong call to action would yield a predictable lift in click-throughs. Now, it feels like the algorithm is actively suppressing that kind of hard-sell approach. We’re seeing better engagement, ironically, on posts that are more narrative or educational, even if they don't immediately scream ‘buy now.’ It’s a shift that requires a significant recalibration of our approach, moving from immediate persuasion to a slower burn of building authority and trust. Frankly, it’s exhausting to adapt to such constant flux. Has anyone else noticed this move away from direct-response efficacy on platforms like Facebook or Instagram?
3am thought i can't shake. i don't know if i actually love making art or if i love the idea of being a person who makes art. someone watching me sketch in a cafe is a completely different drug to being alone with a blank page, which honestly mostly just feels like dread. if you took away every audience forever, no posting, no shows, nobody ever seeing it again, would i still do it. im a bit scared of my own answer
I've been tracking the analytics for a client's Instagram account, and we've seen a peculiar drop in engagement over the past quarter. Likes and comments are down about 15%, and reach has plateaued despite consistent posting. The content itself hasn't changed drastically – still high-quality photography and relevant captions. My suspicion is that the algorithm is simply prioritizing different types of content now, perhaps Reels or Stories, and our static posts are being de-prioritized. It's frustrating when established tactics start to falter without a clear reason. Has anyone else observed a similar shift recently?
