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she came to the market on Sunday, stood at my table for like 20 minutes holding this little wonky bowl with a face half sunk in the glaze, the one where the eye came out a bit crossed. I told her it was a failed one, I only brought it to fill the table. and she pulls out her purse and asks how much. I said no no it's for you, take it. she said no, I want to pay, you work. and I don't know, we went back and forth in front of everyone until she put 20 euros under the cloth and walked off like nothing happened. joder. I know it's a nice thing. it is. but it sat weird all night. my whole family still thinks this is a phase I'm doing before I get a real job, and she's the only one who never said that. so her paying me felt like, I don't know, like she wanted to be a customer instead of just my abuela who likes my things. or maybe she was saying she believes it's worth something. both? probably both. the 20 is still in my jacket pocket. I don't want to spend it and I don't want to give it back, that feels worse. so it's just sitting there.

I've painted probably 40 or 50 pieces since I picked this back up, and I think I've kept exactly three. The rest go to family, friends, the local fair, or sit stacked in the corner of my office waiting to be dealt with. I don't know why I'm so weird about keeping them. Almost like keeping one for myself feels indulgent or presumptuous or something. Anyway. This weekend I finally framed one I did back in January, a little still life with pears and a blue cloth, and hung it in the kitchen above the coffee maker. Every time I walk past it I stop and look at it for a second. It's not perfect but it's mine and I like seeing it there. My 8-year-old said "that looks like real pears" which might be the best review I've ever gotten. Anyone else struggle to keep what they make?

Namaste to all ji. Myself Ramesh, Mithila painter from Madhubani in Bihar. Forgive me if I am not so used to this online talking, my son has set it up for me. My first gallery, many years back, I went to Patna with three paintings rolled in cloth, no folder even, no photographs, nothing. I sat in the office and the lady there asked me, "who is your artist representative?" I did not know such a thing existed. I said, my mother is my representative, she taught me since I was six. She laughed, but kindly, and she kept one painting on the wall for a small show. That one sale fed my family that month. So I am asking: how did your very first gallery happen? Cold email, walk-in with work under the arm, a friend who knew someone, a group show you almost did not apply for? Tell me the real story, not the polished one. I want to hear how it actually went for you.

Today I want to tell one thing which made me very happy, so kindly bear with me. There is a girl in my class, Sunita, maybe fourteen years. When she first came she would sit at the very back and would not lift the brush. Her lines were shaking, and she used to hide the paper under her leg so nobody would see. Some of the other girls laughed also. I did not scold anybody, only I told her, bamboo nib is not to be afraid of, it is only a small stick, if your hand trembles the line will tremble, so first make your mind quiet, then the line. For many months she only did the border work. Straight lines, small dots, the easy things. Honestly I thought maybe she will leave the class like so many do when the school exams come. Today she came early, before everyone, and put down a full sheet. Kohbar, the marriage chamber painting, complete. The lotus in the centre, the fish pair, the bamboo grove, the sun and moon in the corners. Her line is still not steady everywhere, I can see where the hand stopped and started again. But she has done the whole thing herself, and the proportion is correct. That much I can say with straight face. I have been doing this work since I was small, learning from my mother, and still I will say this. When a child who was frightened of the brush completes a kohbar, that is a bigger thing than any sale I have made. Money comes and goes in this work, that is one separate sorrow. But the form going forward, into hands younger than mine, that is the real question for all of us. I have kept her painting carefully in the cupboard, wrapped in cloth, because the paper is still new and the colours are setting. Her mother does not know yet. She wants to show when the whole family sits together on Sunday. I told her, do one thing, do not touch it again with the brush now, let it be as it is. First work should stay first work, with all its small mistakes, so that after ten years you can look back and see how far your hand has come. Now she is asking me for a bigger sheet. So I am thinking, for the girls who finish their first kohbar, maybe we should do something small, a proper ceremony, sindoor and sweets, like we do when a student is given her first needle. If anybody here has done such a thing in their own teaching, I would like to hear how you did it.

One of the girls who comes to my house on Sundays to learn, Sunita, she is maybe seventeen. She has been coming since two years, very quiet, never asking anything, only watching my hand when I draw the line for the fish scales. Her lines were shaky for long, I will not lie. Last month there was a small exhibition at the block office in Madhubani, arranged by the cooperative. She sent two paintings without telling me. I came to know only when the secretary phoned me. Both were sold. One to a teacher from Darbhanga, one to a man who works in the bank there. She came on Sunday and put the money in her mother's hand, and her mother did not say anything for some time. I have seen many paintings go from my own house to the walls of people who will never know whose hands made them. But this is different. It is her own money from her own line work. I told her, now you must be regular in practice, this is only starting. But inside I was thinking of my mother, who taught me in the same way, sitting on the floor with the bamboo stick for the brush. Nothing has changed in that room since long. Only the names are new. She is asking me now whether she can learn to do the kohbar on cloth, not only paper. I said yes but cloth is costly and one mistake cannot be removed. Any of you have experience teaching a young student on cloth? I do not want to discourage her by being too careful also.

For the black in the paintings I do not buy anything. Lamp soot collected on a piece of tin over the diya, then that soot mixed with a little gum from the neem tree, and it is ground on a flat black stone with a small round stone in the hand. That stone was my mother's. She used it for maybe forty years, and before that I think her mother's sister used it, I am not fully certain. It is getting thin in the middle now. When I press, I can feel the dip where her hand went round and round. Some days I think I should keep it aside and buy a new one from the market in Darbhanga for the daily work, and save this one. But then what will I grind on? A stone sitting in a cloth on the shelf is not a stone any more, it is only a memory. My mother would have laughed at me for keeping it unused. She ground her kajal on it till the last year of her life and never once said this is precious, keep it safe. My son says I should photograph it and put the photo online so people understand the work. I do not know. A photo of a stone does not tell you anything about how the arm gets tired. The thing I am actually worried about is the dip. One day the stone will break through in the middle and then forty years of somebody's hand will just be two pieces on the floor. Any of you who work with old family tools, kindly tell me. Do you retire them or do you keep using till the end?