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My son helped me put some of my paintings on Amazon last year. Small things, mostly, fish motifs, a few Lakshmi pieces for Diwali time. We thought it would be good, reach people outside Bihar who don't come to the melas. Six months now. What I notice is, if I put a painting with very fine line work, very detailed, the kind that takes me four days, it sits there. No sales. But a simpler piece, one I can finish in a day, with brighter colours and a big bold fish in the centre, that one sells within a week. Same size, same paper, same story behind it. I don't understand this. The detailed one has more of me in it. More tradition. But the simple one is what people want to buy. I am grateful for the sales, do not mistake me. But I wonder if Amazon is showing the simpler paintings to more people because they get clicked on faster. Or maybe people see a very detailed Mithila and they think it will not match their home. I am not complaining ji. Just trying to understand. The folk artists I know in Madhubani, we all sit and wonder about these things. If you sell online also, has this happened to you, what you think is your best work, nobody wants, and something you made in one day, that one moves? 🙏

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.

I have been trying for months to make nice reels about Mithila painting. The process, the natural colours, the meaning of the fish and the peacocks. Good lighting, proper background, all arranged. My son helps me with the editing. And these posts, they get some likes, some comments saying "beautiful art ji," but not much more. Then last week my son took a photo of me at six in the morning while I was mixing pigment. I had not even bathed. Old kurta, hands stained with lampblack. The photo is not good, blurry, bad angle. I told him delete it. He said no, let me post. That blurry photo got three inquiries from young women in Patna and one from Delhi who want to learn. They said it looked "real." One said she could see I was actually doing the work, not performing. So now I am thinking, all the effort I put into making things look nice for Instagram, maybe that is the wrong thing. Maybe the people who want this art are looking for something that is not polished. But this is strange for me because in Mithila painting, we spend hours making every line perfect. The whole point is precision. But online, they want the opposite. I am not sure what to do with this information. Keep posting the blurry morning photos or go back to the proper videos? Both feel wrong in different ways.

In Mithila painting the fish is not just a fish. It is the sign of plenty, of the bride's house, of water that gives life. I have painted it since I was a boy sitting beside my mother. So you would think the eye is easy by now. But this week I made a small piece for a buyer in Delhi, a wedding gift they said, and I painted the fish three times and tore each one. The body, the scales, the fine lines, all fine. The eye. The eye came out dead every time. Too round and it is a doll. Too thin and it is angry. The fish looks like it is not seeing anything. My mother used to say the eye is where the fish remembers the river. I sat with that all evening. Then I stopped trying to make it perfect and I made it the way she used to, a small curve like a comma, almost careless. My hand remembered before my mind did. Why is it that the thing we know best is the thing that betrays us most? I am curious if others here also have one motif, one small part, that has been your enemy since the beginning no matter how many years. Not the big work. The small thing nobody else would even notice.

Myself Ramesh. I paint Mithila art from Bihar, fish and peacocks and gods, same as my mother and her mother before. This is our tradition, many centuries old. Last year a gallery in Delhi, very nice building, very polite lady on phone. She said she is interested but first wants to "verify" if my work is "authentic village Mithila" because she has seen "too many commercial reproductions." She asked me to send photographs of my hands painting, and a letter from someone in my village who can vouch for me. I said ji, I am 56 years old, I have been doing this work since I was a little boy. My mother learned from her mother. You can see the natural pigment, the line work. But she insisted. So I sent. Then she said the fish are not the "right" colour and asked if I can change to what sells in South Delhi. I said no, this is Mithila fish, this is how we do. She stopped replying. Any of you had a gallery ask you to prove your own tradition? Or tell you your own art is not "authentic" enough? What do you even do with that.

One gallery owner in the city, when he saw my Mithila painting, he said to me, very pleased, "Can you do something more modern? Like a nude?" I was too shocked to speak for a moment. This is a sacred art form ji, from our homes, passed from mother to daughter for generations. The fish, the peacocks, the gods, they all have meaning. He was seeing decoration, not tradition. Maybe I am old-fashioned, but I told him kindly this work is not for that purpose. He did not understand, and we parted. But it made me think. What is the most wrong request or comment you have received from a gallery that showed they did not see your art at all? How did you answer them? I am curious because I still wonder sometimes if I should have been more patient with that man, or if I was right to walk away.

A gallery in Delhi once told me, "Can you make these paintings bigger and finish in half the time, we have buyers waiting." I said ji this is Mithila painting, every line takes time, the natural colours need to dry, I cannot rush the fish and the gods like chai. They did not understand. This happened with you also? Someone wanting you to produce faster, change your speed, compromise the work itself? How you handled it?

Last year in Madhubani, marriage season was coming and a family from Darbhanga came to me. They wanted a large Mithila piece for the wedding wall, traditional, with the sun and moon, the fish, the bridal procession. I told them ₹8,000 for the whole thing, handmade paper, natural colours from my own stock, ten days' work minimum. They said they would think about it. Next week I heard they went to a younger fellow in the next lane. He does the work too, learned from his aunt, but he charges ₹4,000. He uses poster colour, not geru and rice paste. And the paper is machine-made. But it is half my price, so they went to him. I am not angry at the boy. He is feeding his family. But this is the thing, when your own neighbour will do it for half, the customer does not see the difference between handmade pigment and a tube from the market. They see two paintings that look somewhat same, and they pick the cheap one. My son tells me I should raise my prices even more, because the people who understand the difference will pay. But the people who understand the difference are fewer every year. The ones coming to buy are often new money, wanting a "Mithila painting" to hang on the wall like a thing, not knowing what they are looking at. So I am stuck. ₹8,000 is already not much when you count the grinding of the colours, the preparation of the paper, the days of sitting. But I cannot compete with ₹4,000 and poster colour. And I don't want to compete that way either. How do you hold a price for the real thing when the market does not know what real means anymore?

Myself Ramesh. I have a question for the experienced people here. A gallery in Delhi showed my Mithila paintings last year. Very nice people, good space, they treated me with respect. But the split was 50-50. I agreed because I was happy just to be there, honestly. My family said I should have asked for more. Now I am wondering, what is the normal thing? What percentage you all are giving, or taking? I know folk art is not the same as contemporary, but business is business only. Did I make a mistake, or is 50% just how it is for someone like me starting out? Please tell me straight. I can take it. 🙏

Myself Ramesh. I paint Mithila, as my mother and her mother taught me. Natural colours only, turmeric yellow, indigo blue, vermilion, so on. A gallery in Delhi some years back said they liked my work very much but could I please use "more contemporary palette" they said. I was confused ji. These colours are the tradition. They carry meaning. I cannot change simply because somebody wants something else. I said no. And they moved on. Now I wonder, has any gallery asked you to change something fundamental about your work? The colours, the subject, the size, the medium. And did you do it, or did you hold your ground? I am curious to know. 🙏

One thing I have learned in this Mithila painting journey is that when a gallery takes interest, sometimes they also start advising. "Make it smaller. Less detail. More modern. This border is too much." They think they are helping. Myself, I have refused more than once. Our art is not mine alone to change, it belongs to my mother, my grandmother, our whole community. The fine lines and the natural colours, that is the story. When I hold firm, sometimes they respect it. Sometimes they walk away. But I also have a younger friend in the cooperative who listens too much to such advice and now her work is like nobody's work. She is stuck in the middle. So I ask you, when a gallery wants you to bend your work to fit their wall, how do you decide? Where is the line between being practical and losing yourself? I am curious what others do.

Today my niece came to the house with her friend, wanting to learn the double line work. She is sixteen, quite shy. I gave her the brush and she held it like it was a live bird, so afraid to spoil the paper. I remember that fear. My mother put the brush in my hand when I was not much older than that, and I also sat afraid for a full hour before she said, "The line will forgive you, the paper will not." She meant, do not be so tight, the hand must be loose. But I think about that sentence even now, forty years later. The line will forgive you. Where my teaching is concerned I have started to tell this to every new student. They all look at me like I am speaking in riddles. But they loosen their hands. Mithila painting is a patient art. The peacock does not appear in one stroke, it is many small decisions that you cannot take back. Yet somehow the mistakes also become part of the story. I am still learning this. Maybe that is the whole thing about being a painter, you carry the fear for a long time and then one day you hand the brush to someone else and you see the fear walk across their face. And you pray they loosen their hand sooner than you did. 🙏

Myself Ramesh ji, from Madhubani. I want to ask something from all of you. My first gallery showing, many years back, a big gallery from Delhi took my Mithila paintings. I was so happy, I thought my mother's art is going everywhere now. But when the show finished, they said the paintings did not sell much, and also they had to take their commission and the framing cost, so nothing was left for me. I came home with empty hands and my wife was not saying anything but I could see. I was young and I did not know to ask for anything in writing. I learned after. Tell me, who else had such first experience? The gallery that took your work first time, did they treat you properly or you also had to learn the hard way? I want to know I am not alone in this.

One gallery in Delhi told me they loved my Mithila painting but the buyers there want something more "contemporary", maybe less traditional, fewer deities, bigger and louder colours. They said keep the technique but drop the old stories. I told them politely no. This art is the stories of my people. If I remove the meaning, what is left? Just decoration. I paint fish and peacocks and the gods because my mother painted them and her mother before. That is the whole point. Have you ever had someone ask you to change your work to fit a gallery's idea of what sells? Did you bend a little, or did you hold the line? I am curious how others have handled this.

Let me tell you about my first proper gallery. Not the cooperatives where I sell through my village, those are fine, but a real gallery in Patna that agreed to hang my Mithila paintings beside modern work. The owner, she was a woman from outside Bihar, she did not know our art at all. But she came to my house, sat on the floor, watched me grind the colours, and asked about every fish, every peacock, why this god here and not the other one. She did not talk about selling that day. She just listened. That is when I felt our work was being seen properly. Where was the place that first took your work seriously? Which gallery, and what did they do that made you feel it?

One time a gallery person looked at my Mithila paintings, natural colours, hand-ground, the way my mother and grandmother taught me, and said could I make them brighter? More modern? Like acrylic maybe. I was standing there holding a brush and I did not know what to say ji. I thought about it for many days. In the end I did not change. But I have wondered since if I was foolish. What is the thing a gallery asked you to change about your work, and did you do it or did you walk away? I am asking because I still think about this sometimes.

In Mithila painting the border is not decoration, it is the frame that holds the whole story. We put the fine line work there, the little fish and the lotus petals, because the border is what keeps the main figure from wandering off the paper. I have been filling these borders since I was a child, forty years at least, and yesterday while teaching one of the girls I finally saw something. I always begin the border from the top left corner and work my way around. My mother did the same, and her mother. But yesterday the girl asked me, why you start at the corner, and I could not give her a proper answer. I sat with it and I realised the corner is where the two lines meet and it is the weakest place. The pigment pools there, the line gets thick, and the whole border looks clumsy right where the eye lands first. My grandmother would have known this. She probably started somewhere else on purpose and I never thought to ask her. So now I am trying to begin from the middle of one side and work out to the corners, so the meeting place is not the beginning and not the end but somewhere in between. It is a small change and it feels like betraying my own hand. But the border is coming out cleaner. Has anyone else found a habit they were taught that they only questioned after years? And when you changed it, did the work improve or did it just feel wrong for a long time?

Myself Ramesh, doing Mithila painting since childhood in Madhubani. For many years I thought galleries are only for the big city artists, not for village people like us. But one day a small gallery in Patna, they saw my work at a craft mela and said bring your paintings to us. I was nervous ji, I went with my son carrying maybe ten pieces rolled in cloth. The owner sat with me, asked about the meaning of the fish and the peacocks, offered me tea. He sold two pieces in the first month and I thought I am dreaming. That was maybe fifteen years ago. Now I have worked with many galleries but that first one, I still remember the feeling of being treated like a real artist and not just a craftsman. What about you? Tell me your first gallery story, the one that made you feel seen, or maybe the one that did not.

One of my students, fourteen years old, was painting the fish motif from our Mithila tradition. She does very fine work for her age. Then she stopped and put down the brush and asked me, very politely, "Guru ji, why must the fish always look like fish? Why not make it my own way?" I did not have a quick answer for her. That itself troubled me. I have been doing this since I was a small child sitting beside my mother. Nobody ever asked me that. The fish is the fish because it always has been. It carries meaning. It is auspicious. But she is not wrong to ask. When I was learning, we drew from the memory of our mothers and grandmothers, not from any book. Every hand was a little different. My mother's fish were rounder than my grandmother's. So where does the tradition end and her own hand begin? I told her to finish one fish the traditional way first. Then she may make another one her own way, and we will look at both together and see what remains that is still Mithila. I do not know yet what I will tell her if the second fish is unrecognisable. Some of the old ones would say the tradition is lost then. I myself am not so sure. She is the one who will carry it after I am gone.

When I first started going to galleries with Mithila work, one owner looked at my paintings and asked why I only paint fish and peacocks, did I not have capacity for portraits. I was so taken aback I said nothing. My mother taught me these motifs carry meaning, each one has a story, a purpose. That man saw decoration only. Later I realised this is part of the work now, explaining what our art is. But it is tiring, always. So I ask you all, how do you manage when a gallery person knows nothing about your tradition or your medium? Do you educate them, or do you walk away? And has any gallery person surprised you by learning, truly learning? Share your experience ji.