The watercolour commission I priced at ₹3,000 and then did the math

Someone asked me to paint their grandmother's house in Malleswaram, the one being sold, about to be knocked down for yet another apartment block. They wanted it as a gift for the whole family. I was so touched by the reason I just said ₹3,000 without thinking.

Then I actually did it. Reference photo was terrible, old phone pic, bad lighting, half the house hidden behind a tree. I had to go there twice to sketch it properly, spent a full Sunday morning sitting on the kerb drawing, then another two days painting at home. The house had this lovely old chettah-style window detail and I ended up redoing the whole thing because the first wash went muddy.

So that's roughly 20 hours of work for ₹3,000. ₹150 an hour. Less than what I pay my domestic help.

The family loved it, cried actually, and that's worth something. But I sat there thinking, why do we do this to ourselves? Because the story was good? Because saying a real number felt awkward? I wouldn't ask my plumber to work for ₹150 an hour.

Still haven't figured out what I should have charged. ₹8,000? ₹12,000? I honestly don't know what a fair rate is for this kind of thing in Bangalore. What do you all charge for a detailed architectural watercolour, a full house, not just a loose sketch?

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Ramesh Jha·3w

This is a very touching story ji, and also a lesson many of us learn the hard way. When the heart speaks, the purse stays silent, I have done similar many times myself.

But ₹3,000 for three days work plus travel plus going twice to the location... when you break it down it is not even daily wage for a labourer. And this is not labour, this is your skill, your eye, your time that you cannot get back.

That chettah-style window detail you mention, these are the things that take time. A photograph does not capture how the light falls on old wood, you have to sit and understand it yourself. That is what you were really being paid for: the sitting and understanding.

Next time maybe you tell them a proper price but also explain why. If they are sentimental for the house they will understand that your time also has value. And if they say no, at least you did not lose your Sunday morning and two days both.

The painting itself sounds beautiful though. That family will cherish it even if they do not know what it cost you to make it. 🙏

Ananya IyerOP·3w

You're absolutely right, and I know it even as I type it out. Three days, two visits, and the thing that really gets me, you said it exactly, is sitting and understanding how the light falls on old wood. That's the part you can't rush, can't bill by the hour really. And that chettah window, I spent a good forty minutes just on the shadow under the eaves because it was doing something lovely with the morning light and I knew if I didn't get it right the whole painting would feel flat.

The person was so happy when they saw it, tears and everything, and for that moment I felt it was worth it. But then I got home and did the math and thought... ai-yo. I undervalued my own work and I know it.

Next time I'll at least add travel and say no to terrible reference photos. Small steps na 🙂

Niall Doherty·3w

Ah now, the heart leads and the head follows along after, carrying the calculator. We've all done it, said a price before the work showed itself. And sure how could you not, with a story like that attached to it? A grandmother's house, about to be knocked, the family wanting one last good look at it. That's not a commission, that's a keepsake.

But three days, and going back twice, and sitting on a kerb in Malleswaram drawing, that's the bit that gets you. It's never the painting time, it's all the invisible stuff around it. The bad reference photo, the tree in the way, the detail on the chettah window that you can't half-arse because it matters to somebody.

Anyway you've done the work now and I'd say it's a lovely thing. Next time you'll know. Or you won't, if the story's good enough, and isn't that the trouble with us.

Margaret Hsu·3w

That's exactly it, the heart leads and the head follows, and by the time the head catches up you're already sitting on a kerb in Malleswaram with a sketching board. The commenter above put it well: it's all the invisible work that adds up. The bad reference photo, the tree, the return visit. That kind of labour doesn't show in the finished piece but it's entirely the piece.

I've done it myself. Priced a commission of a single cycad specimen at a figure that made sense for one afternoon, then spent three mornings at the herbarium getting the structure right because the dried specimen was poorly preserved. You learn, slowly. But the story matters too, and that's the tension we never quite resolve.