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got a bottle of golden fluid raw umber that's been slowly solidifying in the corner of my shelf for like a year and a half. it's not fully hard yet but it's got that thick yogurt consistency where you shake it and nothing moves. i know the official answer is throw it out but i paid like $12 for this and i can still see pigment in there. part of me wants to cut the bottle open with a knife and use it like a paint cake. part of me knows that's insane. has anyone actually done this or do we all just pretend we toss them and secretly keep a graveyard of half-dead paint bottles under the sink

finally caved and got a tube of golden heavy body instead of my usual liquitex basics and i genuinely didn't think it would make this much difference. the pigment load is absurd. i used half as much and got twice the coverage. feels like i was fighting my materials before and didn't even realize it. problem is now i have 30 tubes of mid paint i don't want to use and a wallet that's about to get a lot lighter lol. this is how they get you.

I had my first open studio thing this weekend, just me, my little apartment studio, some snacks I burned slightly, and like 30 people who actually showed up which still feels insane. And this woman came in, didn't say much, walked around for a while looking at everything. She kept coming back to this one painting I almost didn't hang because I thought it was too quiet, just a corner of my kitchen window with the light hitting the sill at that golden hour angle. I'd painted it like six times trying to catch it right. She came up to me at the end and said it reminded her of her grandmother's kitchen in Poland and she couldn't stop staring at it. And then she bought it. And then she cried a little when she was writing the check, said she hadn't seen her grandmother in eight years. I didn't know what to do with that honestly. I just stood there holding the cash like a complete idiot. My partner had to nudge me to say thank you properly haha. I think I forget sometimes that the paintings leave me and go live in other people's lives and mean things I'll never fully know. That's kind of terrifying and lovely at the same time. Anyway the burned snacks were a hit somehow so I guess I'll keep burning them on purpose.

Came into the studio this morning with a photo on his phone. Golden retriever, nice enough dog. Said he'd been looking for someone who "really gets animals" and my work had "a feeling to it." Then before I could say anything: "But I'm not paying gallery prices. You're in your studio, it's not like it costs you anything to paint." I said the paint costs something. The canvas costs something. The thirty years of learning how to use them cost something, but I left that part out. He said he'd pay 200 euros and I could keep the picture of the dog afterwards for my portfolio. I said no and he acted like I'd insulted his grandmother. Genau. The portfolio argument. As if the privilege of painting his dog was its own reward.

okay so there's this window in my apartment that gets this specific soft afternoon light around 3pm and I've been trying to catch it for like... months now. This month alone I've done 14 studies of it. 14. Same window, same view of the neighbor's slightly sad little balcony, different light every time. My partner thinks I've lost it. Maybe I have. But here's the thing – every single time I think I've figured out how to paint that quality of light, the next day it's different and I realize I was wrong. The color temperature shifts, or there's a haze, or the whole thing goes golden for like twenty minutes before it's gone. Watercolor is SO unforgiving about this because you can't just paint over it, you have to get it right while it's wet or you lose it forever. And I keep losing it. My mom called yesterday and asked if I'd sold any of them yet and I was like Mom I can't sell them they're all failures. She didn't get it. But I think there's something in the repetition, you know? Like each one teaches me something the last one couldn't. I'm not chasing a perfect painting, I'm chasing understanding how light actually works. Anyway I laid them all out on the floor last night to compare and honestly it's kind of beautiful seeing them together even if none of them are The One. Might keep going until I run out of paper or winter comes and the light changes completely. Then I guess I'll start over.

Was out sketching near Ulsoor Lake this morning and the way the light hit those old houses near the market… it was just golden. Made me think about how much of what I try to capture is just about that fleeting light, you know? The same crumbling wall looks entirely different at 8 AM versus 3 PM. It’s a race sometimes, trying to get it down before it shifts. Does anyone else feel that intensely about the light where they are?

Okay, I have to know, what's the strangest thing that happened to you during a gallery visit or meeting? Not the worst, necessarily, just... strange. I once had a gallery owner spend a full fifteen minutes telling me about her golden retriever's dietary restrictions before we even looked at the wall space. I thought maybe she was testing my patience or something. Turns out she just really wanted to talk about her dog. I still don't know if I got the meeting because she liked my work or because I nodded along about grain-free kibble. Your turn. Give me something that made you go "...okay then" in a gallery setting.

Had a commission enquiry this morning that I'm still turning over in my head. An American couple, very nice, very enthusiastic, they wanted me to paint their golden retriever as "a Renaissance saint, you know, like with the gold halo and the little clouds." They'd already picked the frame from a catalogue. I said I don't paint animals, I don't do commissions from photographs, and I don't do pastiche. Which came out blunter than I meant, because I was still on my first coffee. But also, what do you even say to that? They want a decorative object, not a painting. The dog is lovely I'm sure. But I spent ten years learning to see value relationships and edge quality and they want me to put a halo on a retriever. I felt bad after. Not guilty, just tired. The gap between what people think painting is and what it actually is feels wider every year.

Just finished my first ever commission. It was a portrait of a golden retriever for a friend's mom. It took me about three weeks, on and off, because I'm still so slow with acrylics and I kept second-guessing myself. But I finally got the eyes right yesterday and it just clicked. She's coming to pick it up tomorrow and I'm honestly a little nervous but mostly excited. It's not perfect, but it's the best thing I've painted so far. Feels good!