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Went to the art store for a bottle of matte medium and came out with a tube of phthalo turquoise because it was 40% off and I have zero self control. I don't even paint water. I paint fields and parking lots and the occasional pear. It's been sitting on my table for a week and I keep picking it up. There's something about a full tube you haven't touched yet. Anyway I squeezed out a little dot of it last night and now I'm fighting the urge to put it in everything, which is exactly how you end up with a green landscape, which I don't want. Does anyone else buy a color and then spend weeks trying to figure out where it goes, instead of admitting it was just pretty at the register

i did the thing where you make an edition because a friend said "prints are passive income." 40 giclee prints of a piece i actually like, cost me $180 plus shipping tubes, and i've sold three. two of those were to people i know. here's the part that bugs me. the original sold fast, $450, to a woman who wanted it for a hallway she's repainting. the print, same image, $45, sat. i think it's because a print is honest about being a copy and nobody wants to hang a copy of a painting, even a good one. or maybe my print is just bad, that's also possible. anyway there's a stack of 37 in my closet and one of them is under the lamp with the cracked base to stop it wobbling. i'm not mad about it exactly. it's more that i can't tell if i failed at marketing or failed at having the right product. those feel like different failures and i don't know which one i'm looking at. curious if anyone here has made an edition that actually moved, and what was different about it.

OMG you guys I actually did it. That big commission for the hotel lobby? The one I've been talking about for weeks that was making me so anxious I could barely sleep? It's boxed up and gone to the shipper. I almost cried when I handed it over, not gonna lie, it felt like saying goodbye to a piece of myself after staring at it for so long, but it's done. It's such a relief, I can finally breathe and maybe even paint something just for me again. I think this calls for pizza tonight haha. So happy it's out of my hands and on its way!

was moving a canvas through the studio yesterday and muttered "sorry, it's not finished" to literally no one. just me and a blank wall. caught myself and had to laugh cause that's the whole disease, right, pre-apologizing for work nobody asked about. i do it at shows too, "this one's a bit weird" before someone's even looked at it, like i'm softening the blow for myself. trying to log how many times a day i do it. told a friend the piece was "rough" yesterday and they were like... it's a goddamn painting, it's not a rough draft, you're not on deadline for the american novel.

I've been painting seriously again for about six years now, and I still keep ending up with the same brand of paint I started with. I've tried the fancy ones at workshops, bought a couple tubes of stuff that cost $12 each, and I always go back to the $4 tubes from Michaels. Maybe it's just what I learned on and I'm used to the consistency. Or maybe I'm telling myself it doesn't matter to justify being cheap, ha. But honestly I got a tube of something nice at a workshop last spring and it dried out weird and I was annoyed. So I'm back to my usual. Anyone else stuck on a brand they probably should have outgrown by now?

I have this folder on my phone called "later" and it's got about 400 photos of old Bangalore houses, balconies, gate details, peeling paint on compound walls. I scroll through it constantly but I won't paint from most of them. There's no logic to it. Some of them are gorgeous, the light is doing exactly what I love. But I've decided they're not ready, and I don't know what "ready" even means. It's been two years of this folder growing. The houses themselves aren't waiting around for me. Three of the ones I shot in that folder got demolished before I ever touched them properly. I have the photos but it's not the same as drawing them while they were standing. My husband says just paint them, you're hoarding them like a miser. He's right, of course he's right. Walked past another gap this morning where the old bungalow on the corner of my street used to be. I keep getting outsketched by the wrecking ball, honestly. So today I'm going to open the folder, pick one actual house, and paint it. Even if it's terrible. Especially if it's terrible, maybe.

There's this moment in a watercolor where everything is still possible, the paper is wet, the pigment is doing its own thing, you haven't screwed anything up yet. It's like a little high honestly. And then you have to actually make decisions and commit and that's where I start second-guessing everything 🙃 I caught myself today intentionally rewetting a page three times before I even put paint down. Just... stalling. Because the potential feels safer than the painting. Anyone else do that thing where the idea of the painting is almost better than the painting itself? Or is that just me being weird about commitment lol

I spent nearly two weeks not painting. Not because I was busy, which I was, but because I kept telling myself I'd only start once I went to the art store and got proper cold-pressed paper. The good stuff. Something deserving of the sketch I had in my head. Finally today I was in front of the stationery shelf in a random supermarket near my mother's place, of all places, and they had these thin spiral-bound sketchbooks. Rough cartridge, ghost of a grain. The kind schoolkids use for drawing class. Ninety rupees or something. Bought it out of spite, basically. And I sat on my balcony this evening and painted the water tank on the neighbour's roof, just the tank and the wires and the late light hitting the wall behind it. Nothing ambitious. It took me forty minutes and the paper buckled a little where I overworked the wash, and the whole thing has that cheap-paper fuzz that I used to hate when I was in architecture school. I'm honestly a bit in love with it. That fuzz has a texture you can't get on the fancy stuff. Funny how the good paper became another excuse to not work. I'm going to give myself permission to ruin a few more of these cheap books before I even think about touching my nice blocks again.

Ok so I finally sat down with my spreadsheet (spreadsheet is a strong word, it's a notebook with a column drawn in it) and figured out my actual hourly on the small gouaches I sell at markets. The 5x7s are 85. People love them, they sell, I feel good handing them over. I'm making about 11 an hour on them. Eleven. Less than the café job I quit. The part that killed me isn't even the painting, it's that I was counting "painting time" as the whole thing. Not the sourcing, not the taping, not the three failed versions of the same little sky that go in the bin, not the backing boards and the glassine sleeves. And definitely not the hour I spend at the market being charming to strangers, which I'm apparently doing for free. I don't want to stop making them. They're how people first find me and honestly the small ones are where I actually learn things. But 85 for something that takes me a full day when you add it all up is starting to feel like a habit I can't afford. I'm scared to go to 130 because my regulars are students and they're the ones who buy. Anyway. If anyone has done this jump on the small stuff and lived to tell it, I'd love to hear how you said it out loud without sounding like you're scolding people.

i just dug through every drawer in this studio and discovered i own three tubes of burnt umber, all different brands, none of them more than half used. and not a single tube of black paint. not even a dried up one. i must have thrown the last one out at some point and just never replaced it. which is fine, i don't really use black straight out of the tube anyway. but it made me stop and think about what i reach for without noticing. burnt umber is basically my default for everything, shadows, underpainting, mixing down a color that's too bright. it's the first thing i squeeze out. and i didn't even know i was doing it until i saw three of them lined up like a little monument to autopilot. what's the thing you have five of without meaning to

Small win but it's been sitting with me. A friend of a friend who saw my sketches at a coffee shop asked me to paint her grandmother's house before it gets demolished. She's from the same area I grew up in, so I knew exactly what those houses look like from inside even with the paint peeling and wires everywhere. I quoted her a price, I always underquote, working on that, and she transferred the full amount the same evening without me even asking for an advance. Half the time I chase people for months after they say they'll buy. This lady just paid and said take your time, no rush. I delivered it yesterday and she cried. Like actually held the painting and cried because I'd gotten the jasmine creeper on the compound wall right, and the little verandah step where she used to sit with her grandmother. She said I should charge more. I'm not going to, but I'm framing that in my head for the next time I'm scared to name a price. Painting houses that are about to fall down, and people still want them kept alive somewhere. That's the whole thing na. Made my week.

There's this tiny chai shop near Shanti Nagar double road, been there for maybe forty years, tucked between a jewellery showroom and a building that's already been sold for redevelopment. I've been meaning to paint it for months but kept putting it off, too many people, too much traffic, too self-conscious to sit there with my sketchbook. Finally went this morning at 6am. Sat on a plastic stool, ordered chai I didn't even finish, and painted for two hours while the guy who runs the shop kept peering over my shoulder and saying "akka, colour kammi" meaning I wasn't using enough colour. He wasn't wrong. Came home and finished it on the table. And I don't know, I just sat there looking at it and felt something I don't feel often, like it actually came out the way I wanted. The light, the shadows from the awning, the old board with the faded name. Took a photo, sent it to my husband, and he said "that's the one" without me even asking. I never know how to take compliments on my work. But I think I'll frame this one. For myself.

Every time I sit down to a fresh sheet, handmade paper, the one I like from the Srikrishna batch we got last year, I tell myself I will do something new this time. A different composition. Maybe the wedding scene I have been thinking about since my niece's marriage last month. But my hand, it goes to the dhaan. The paddy stalks. That old motif curving from the corner, the grains full and heavy, dropping toward the bottom edge. My mother used to say it is not decoration, it is a prayer, for the land, for the stomach, for the season coming right. I put it in even when the painting is about Durga or the fish or the tree of life. Sometimes I hide it small behind a border so only the person who looks carefully will see it. My grandmother told me once: if you paint the dhaan enough times, the goddess will recognise your hand and bless your harvest. I was a boy then, I thought she meant the rice harvest. Now I understand she meant the harvest of your life itself, what you have grown, what you will feed others with. So today again, starting a new piece for an exhibition in Patna next month. And there it is. The paddy stalks already. I did not even decide. They just came. 🙏

The woman was very polite on the phone. She said they are doing a show of folk artists from different states in November, and they liked my work, and could I send twenty pieces. I said I will send six. She was quiet for a moment. Then she said twenty is better for the wall, the space is big. So I told her the truth. A painting of the size she is asking, with the fine line work, takes me eighteen to twenty days if the monsoon is not troubling the drying. Twenty pieces means five or six other hands. And whose hands will those be? My neighbours' daughters, who I teach. Fine. They are good. But then it is not my work on her wall, it is my name on their work, and that is a different thing which I am not comfortable with. She said other artists manage it. Yes, I said. That is true. They also manage a signature. Now I am wondering if I have done a foolish thing. November is a good month for selling. The money would have been useful, the roof of the back room is leaking since last year. But I have seen what happens when one name becomes a small factory. The buyers never know, and after some years the young ones who did the actual painting are not even known in their own district. Six pieces I can do with my own hand. I told her she can hang them with more space between, and if the wall looks empty she can put a small write-up about the tradition. She is thinking.

I started timing my evening sessions and now I won't paint unless I've got at least a full 20 minutes, no exceptions. Sounds obvious but for years I'd sit down with like 12 minutes before I had to get the kids' lunches ready or whatever, and I'd just fight the whole time trying to warm up and make it count. Total waste. Now if I can't do 20 I don't even uncap the tubes, I just go to bed earlier and try again tomorrow. The difference in what comes out of those short focused blocks vs the frantic squeezed ones is night and day. Eleven year old asked what my superpower was and I said knowing when NOT to paint. She was not impressed.

got a response from a gallery i submitted to in 2022 the other day. "we've reviewed your work and would love to..." girl it's been two years. i have a whole different body of work. i'm a different person. i don't even like those paintings anymore lol what's the longest you've waited for a gallery to get back to you? and did you still take the meeting or were you petty about it like i was

ok so today at the market a guy stood over my shoulder while I was demoing a piece and goes "you know, if you just let the darks go darker, it would really pop." and I turned around and he had his phone in his hand, mid-swipe, not even looking at the painting when he said it. just walking by, glancing down at his feed, giving me unsolicited composition advice like he'd actually SEEN the thing. and the worst part is he wasn't even wrong!! the darks could go darker!! but I was doing a wet-on-wet wash and if I push pigment in wrong it's dingy forever and you can't undo that. so I just said "uh huh" and went back to it and he wandered off looking satisfied like he'd DONE something. why is it always the people who don't paint who think the fix is so obvious. like yes, sir, more pigment, why didn't the years of training occur to me. the difference between a dark that's alive and a dark that's just MUD is the whole game and you can't explain that to someone mid-swipe on their phone. I'm half tempted to start carrying a little sign that says "watercolor doesn't work that way" and just point at it. anyway if anyone else gets this please tell me so I feel less insane

I have a proper setup in the basement, a whole table and a lamp and everything, and I've abandoned it. Because the dining room gets this west light between about 4:30 and 5:15 and it hits the white bowl I've been working on in a way the basement lamp just doesn't. So now there's a canvas and a jar of water on the good tablecloth and I'm doing this weird shuffle every evening where I paint for 15 minutes then move everything before dinner. My 8 year old asked me why the bowl has "two suns" on it. It does. I put two highlights on it because that's what the light was doing. I don't know if it's right or if I've just gotten attached to it. Anyway. Does anyone else chase a window around the house like this? I feel like I'm 14 again painting on my bedroom floor, except now I own real brushes and I still can't manage a studio.

I went to this gallery in a different city last year, showed them my portfolio, old Bangalore houses, chai stalls, morning light in a certain neighbourhood. And the gallerist looks at me and goes, "This is lovely, but can you make it look more Indian?" I didn't even know what to say. I paint what I see every day. What does "more Indian" even mean? She wanted bright Bollywood colours and lotuses or something, I think. Anyway I didn't take it further obviously. But it stuck with me, that assumption that your work needs to perform some idea of where you're from, rather than just being honest about what you actually see and paint. Anyone else ever been asked to "look more" like something? Or the opposite, told you're too X and should tone it down? What's the weirdest feedback a gallerist has given you about your identity or subject matter?

Went and looked at a space I was excited about, first meeting, and the guy says my work is "interesting but could use some polish." Told me my figures were "too raw" and asked if I'd consider softening things up for the clientele. I laughed at him. Literally laughed out loud. I do not paint things soft. That's the whole point of me. Walked out and never looked back. Still glad I did, but man it stings when you know they saw your work and just wanted a different person's work with your name on it. What's the worst note or comment a gallery or rep ever gave you? The one that made you question whether they even saw the same paintings you made?