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dug out my art school portfolio today while looking for something else. the one I was so proud of right before I dropped out. it's worse than I remembered and I remembered it being pretty bad. the kicker is there's one painting in there I'd happily hang in my studio now. and I didn't even like it at the time, it was the one I almost didn't include. so either my taste was backwards or I've just gotten worse at knowing what's good. both probably. kept the painting, tossed the rest. felt like a small betrayal of my past self but she was wrong about a lot of things.

ok so i took my little travel kit down to the park today, first time painting outdoors in years, i've been such a coward about it honestly. and i forgot, i mean i FULLY forgot how brutal plein air is?? like you're fighting the light changing every ten minutes, wind keeps flipping your paper, bugs land in your wet paint, and some kid's mom is standing behind you going "oh how nice" while you're internally screaming because your shadows are already wrong. BUT. i got something. one little study where the light actually worked and i caught the way the jacaranda was dropping purple all over the bench. and i felt like myself again? the version of me that used to sit on the sidewalk outside the studio building and paint whatever. it's messy and the proportions are off but i don't even care. anyway if you've been scared to paint outside just go do it it's terrible and wonderful 👍

A friend from art school asked me to make a small piece for her mother's 70th. Something with botanical prints, her mother loves old herbals. I said yes because we used to share a studio and I wanted to do something nice. I didn't think about the hours. I just thought about the materials, which were almost nothing, found 19th century seed catalog pages I already had, some museum board. So 500 SEK felt fair for a friend, maybe even generous. Then I actually tracked the time. Tearing and arranging is slow. Letting things sit and come back to them. I ended up at about 14 hours from start to finish. That's roughly 35 SEK an hour. About 3 euros. Less than a coffee in this city. I'm not angry about it. She's a friend and I'm glad I made it. But I realised I have absolutely no instinct for what my time is worth. I undershoot every time. I think because the materials are cheap I assume the whole thing should be cheap. But the materials are cheap because I spent years learning where to find them and how to use them. That's not nothing.

So I've been full-time for eight months now which means I've been doing all the "okay so I guess I have to market myself" stuff that nobody prepares you for in art school lol. And the thing that actually worked, the thing that got me my first real gallery relationship, was the most humiliating process ever. I spent a weekend sending 40 cold emails. Like, proper ones, with images and links and a real bio. And I got one reply. ONE. And honestly for like two days I was so embarrassed I almost didn't open it because I assumed it was a no too. But it was a yes. A small gallery in a city I'd never been to, but they liked my work and wanted to talk. That one yes turned into a group show, which turned into two commission requests from people who saw the show, which turned into enough money to pay rent for three months without panic-ordering takeout. Anyway I'm not saying cold emailing is the secret sauce, mostly it's just brutal lol. But I think sometimes we hear about the one reply and not the 39 silences. So here's my question I guess: what's the thing you tried that felt stupid or embarrassing or like it wasn't working, and then it kind of... did?

A friend from art school, someone whose work I genuinely like, sold a paper piece at a fair in Stockholm for 12,000 SEK. Same size as what I do, similar material, similar time investment. I charge 3,500 for mine. We're at the same stage, we came out of the same program. I know I'm not being ripped off, I set my prices, nobody forced me. But the gap is hard to sit with. Makes me wonder if I'm undervaluing the work or if they're just better at selling. Probably both. I raised my small pieces by 500 SEK this month and it felt like a test I was going to fail.

okay so I've been full-time for about eight months now and I keep telling myself I need to start reaching out to galleries properly, like not just liking their posts and hoping they notice me lol. but every time I sit down to write an email I freeze up. like what do you even say?? "here's my work, please look at it??" feels insane. I sent exactly ONE cold email back in art school and the gallerist replied with just "no thanks" and I think about it every day honestly. so who here has actually done the cold email thing and gotten a yes? what did you say? or are we all just waiting to get noticed like it's a period drama 💀 give me the real stats here

My old desk lamp finally gave up today. One of those architect-style ones with the spring arm, bought secondhand when I was still in art school. I've replaced the bulb maybe four times, the shade is dented, the spring has a visible kink in it. But I knew exactly where to position it to get the light to fall on the paper the way I wanted. Now I'm standing in the studio with the overheads on and everything feels wrong, which is ridiculous because it's just a lamp. I went online to look for the same model and found it immediately. Haven't ordered it yet. I think what bothers me is the idea of a new one that doesn't have the dents and the history. That's not rational. Anyway. Currently working under the ceiling light like a person in a waiting room.

Was cleaning up, moving some work around, and I pulled out this portrait I did in like October. Full charcoal, big piece, face of a woman I don't even know, reference from a photo I took at a bus stop last year because she had this look I couldn't name. Just something in her eyes. Took me three weeks, hated it by the end, shoved it face-first against the wall. Pulled it out today and it's ... good. Like actually good. I forgot I could do that. I've been wrestling with everything new I'm making and I needed to see that I've done it before and I'll do it again. Went and cried for a minute in the corner with a paint rag. Then texted the photo to my old art teacher from high school who told me I'd never make it. Petty? Absolutely. Worth it? You bet.

One of my bigger pieces, a marriage scene with the fish and the mango tree, went to a buyer in Delhi for ₹7,000. That sounds respectable until you sit and count the days. Preparation of the paper, grinding the colours, the fine line work, then the filling. I worked maybe four hours each day for nine days. That is thirty-six hours. Seven thousand divided by thirty-six comes to about ₹194 an hour. And that is before the cost of the handmade paper and the natural pigments, which are not cheap since the good sources became difficult. My mother used to say we must never sell a painting for less than the soul it carries. But the soul does not pay for the grandson's school books. I have been keeping this art alive my whole life and still I cannot name a fair price for it. When a cooperative takes a cut and the buyer haggles, I am left asking myself if my grandmother's line work is worth less than a plumber's visit. I raised my price to ₹8,500 this month. I am scared to go higher because the buyers are not many. But I have decided the art will not answer to the shame of being cheap any longer. If it sells, good. If not, the painting stays with me in the house where it was made, and that is also something.

Y'all, I don't even know how to sit still right now. Back in 1963 my grandmother made a crazy quilt, all those scraps, every shape you can think of, hand-stitched with that tiny perfect stitch she had. She used pieces from my mama's old school dresses, my uncle's Sunday shirt, a flour sack from a brand that don't even exist anymore. I grew up under that quilt. Slept under it when I was sick. Knew every patch like I knew every face at the dinner table. She passed in '89 and I kept it in a cedar chest for years 'cause I couldn't bear to have it wear out. Well, my granddaughter talked me into entering it in a show up in Atlanta. I sent it off with a prayer and tried not to think about it. Called me yesterday. It won. First place in the heritage category. I sat on the floor in the kitchen and cried. That's not like me. But I tell you what, my grandmother never got to see anybody call her work art. She just made beauty from what she had because that's what women did. And here's a room full of people sixty years later saying "yes ma'am, this matters." I know it's just a show. But it ain't just a show to me. Somebody finally saw her. That's all I wanted.