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Someone asked me to paint their grandmother's house in Malleswaram, the one being sold, about to be knocked down for yet another apartment block. They wanted it as a gift for the whole family. I was so touched by the reason I just said ₹3,000 without thinking. Then I actually did it. Reference photo was terrible, old phone pic, bad lighting, half the house hidden behind a tree. I had to go there twice to sketch it properly, spent a full Sunday morning sitting on the kerb drawing, then another two days painting at home. The house had this lovely old chettah-style window detail and I ended up redoing the whole thing because the first wash went muddy. So that's roughly 20 hours of work for ₹3,000. ₹150 an hour. Less than what I pay my domestic help. The family loved it, cried actually, and that's worth something. But I sat there thinking, why do we do this to ourselves? Because the story was good? Because saying a real number felt awkward? I wouldn't ask my plumber to work for ₹150 an hour. Still haven't figured out what I should have charged. ₹8,000? ₹12,000? I honestly don't know what a fair rate is for this kind of thing in Bangalore. What do you all charge for a detailed architectural watercolour, a full house, not just a loose sketch?

So I finally worked up the nerve to paint my grandmother's childhood home, the one she grew up in, in a little town near Mangalore. She's told me about it so many times. The jackfruit tree in the back, the veranda where her mother used to grind spices, the red oxide floors. I've never seen it myself, it got sold decades ago, but I pieced it together from her stories and old photos my aunt had. Finished it last week and showed her yesterday. And she just looked at it for a long time and said "which house is this?" I explained, and she went quiet. Then she said "no, that's not how it was at all" and started describing it again, the windows were different, the roof was lower, the jackfruit tree was on the other side actually. I sat there with my painting that was completely wrong and felt like such an idiot. But then later she called me and said to come over this weekend, she wants to sit with me and draw it properly together. She said "I'll tell you where every brick goes, you put it down." I don't know if the painting will be better the second time, but I think this is actually a win. Just not the kind you frame right away.

She came to my home, sat on the mat, looked at my mother's old painting of Laxmi on the wall and said, "Ramesh ji, can you make her face a little more... you know, like contemporary? Like Deepika or someone." I said, Mata Laxmi? Like Deepika Padukone? She said yes, why not, we have to keep up with the times. I told her I have been painting Laxmi since I was a boy. In Mithila, the goddess has a certain face. The lotus, the elephants, the gold coins falling from her hand, the proportions of these also are fixed by tradition. You cannot just give her a film star nose and call it Madhubani. She said okay but can you at least make the eyes bigger and more modern. I took the order anyway because my daughter's school fees were due. I painted it the way it should be. She came to collect it and said it looks very traditional only. Took it but I could see she was not happy. My wife said, next time, make her wear sunglasses also.

Was buying a new pad of pastel paper at the art shop and then stopped for groceries on the way home. The cashier saw the paper sticking out of my bag and goes "oh, painting by numbers? my grandma does those." I just said no and smiled. But I've been thinking about it all evening. Why do people see someone with art supplies and immediately assume it's a hobby, a kit, something where you just follow instructions? Like the idea that someone might be actually trying to make something from scratch, badly or not, just doesn't occur to them. And I know it's not a big deal. It's a random comment from a stranger. But it's the thousandth time something like this has happened and I'm tired of feeling like I have to justify that what I do isn't just... coloring inside someone else's lines. Anyway. Put down a portrait tonight that I hated and scraped off with a razor. At least that was my own bad decision, start to finish.

so i finally got into a group show at a legit gallery last spring. was so excited i didn't think it through. they asked what my prices were and i just told them my normal studio prices. forgot the gallery takes 50%. so i sold a painting for $400 that the buyer paid $800 for and i took home $200. less than the cost of materials and the frame. did the math on the drive home and literally pulled over. the gallery was happy though. great exposure lmao

I was buying a new palette at this little art supply shop downtown, one I've been going to for years, and this guy maybe 60s just watching me pick out colors finally goes "you know, with watercolor, you have to work light to dark." Like I had wandered in off the street and picked up a brush for the first time that morning. And I laughed it off because I'm bad at confrontation but then I spent the whole walk home fuming at myself for not saying anything. I've been painting daily for like a decade. I have a BFA. I taught a workshop last month. But sure, random man at the art store, please explain the most basic principle of my entire medium to me like I'm five. Honestly the thing that gets me is I KNOW he wouldn't have done that to a guy holding an oil palette. Watercolor is "dainty" or "hobbyist" or whatever until you try to actually control it and realize it's the most unforgiving medium there is. One wrong wash and you're done. But okay. Work light to dark. Got it. Thank you so much.

found this solid oak side table at an estate sale yesterday. nothing special, someone's boring coffee table from 1987, couple of water rings, drawer stuck. fifty bucks. i brought it home and spent the afternoon sanding it down and putting the first coat of this deep indigo on it. posted a progress picture and my neighbor (who i barely know) texts me "why would you paint over that wood? you're ruining it." like. it's a mass-produced table from sears. it's not a heirloom. it had a sticker on the bottom. i'm not ruining anything, i'm making it not ugly. and even if it was a nice piece, it's mine? i can do what i want with my own stuff? this weird reverence for raw wood drives me insane. not everything has to stay the color god made it. sometimes things look better with paint on them.

ok so I've been circling this one piece for like three weeks, a view from my kitchen window at dusk, the one I paint over and over, but with all this heavy gray-green raincloud coming in. And I kept ruining it because I was trying to make it look "dramatic" and "serious art" or whatever and it just kept coming out dead and muddy. Then yesterday I was in a mood, like genuinely anxious about money and whether I'm wasting my savings on this full-time thing, and I just grabbed my brush and went at it without thinking. And I let the water take it where it wanted, didn't fight it, didn't try to control every bloom. And it's the most alive thing I've painted in months. The clouds look like they're moving. My partner came home and said "that one feels like you." I think I've been so scared of making bad art that I forgot the good stuff comes from the same place. Anyway it's drying on my table and I keep walking past and going "oh, there you are." Just wanted to tell someone who'd get it 🙂

ok so I've been full time since January and I've sent plenty of invoices by now, no big deal right? But yesterday I invoiced a real client, like, a gallery. For a commission. And I sat there staring at the "send" button for a solid three minutes which is ridiculous because I am a 26 year old woman not a baby deer. I kept thinking what if they see the number and go ??? who does she think she is. Even though we literally agreed on the price beforehand?? My brain is broken. Anyway I sent it and then immediately painted a very bad very aggressive watercolor of a teapot to calm down haha. And my partner came home and I made them read the invoice back to me like I couldn't trust my own eyes. They were very patient about it. I know this is small potatoes compared to what some of y'all are out here doing but it felt huge. Like oh I'm actually doing this. Freelance artist. That's my job now. Terrifying and good.

I took a finished portrait to get framed today and the woman behind the counter looked at it and said, with this sympathetic little head tilt, "oh, pastel. that's a shame, it's such a fragile medium, isn't it. not really archival." And then she showed me their "serious" framing options for oil paintings. I stood there holding my piece like a fool. It's a portrait of my friend's daughter, I worked on it three weeks, I got the light on her cheek right for the first time in maybe ever. And this woman just... dismissed it with one sentence. I didn't say anything smart back. I just said "oh" and let her frame it in something basic and left. And now I'm home and I'm so annoyed at myself for not saying anything. But also, what do you even say? It's not the first time someone's implied pastel is for hobbyists or children or people who don't want to commit to "real" paint. I keep thinking about that word. Fragile. Like my work is inherently less because of the dust on my fingers. Like the softness of it means it's weaker. Anyway. I'm going to keep using pastels because I love them. But I wish I'd said something. 😅

Went home for Diwali last week. Everything fine till my mother's eldest brother sits down next to me and says "Ananya, it's been nearly two years now, no? The painting thing was a nice break but when are you going back to proper work?" I tried to explain that I wake up at 5:30 every morning, that I've sold 40 paintings this year, that I teach two weekend workshops that are always full. He just nodded and said "accha, but architecture is a stable profession na." And the worst part is I still felt defensive. Two years in and I still feel like I have to justify myself to people who've never once had to justify their 9-to-7. My husband says I should just say "I'll think about it" and change the subject. But I can't. I get into the argument every single time. And then I lie awake at night wondering if they're right and I'm being foolish. Anyway. Back to painting tomorrow morning at 5:30. Because what else am I supposed to do.

I was at a local craft fair last weekend, had a small table with some of my landscape paintings. Nothing fancy, just trying to sell a few and maybe get some commission interest. This woman comes up with her daughter, spends a good minute looking at this painting I did of a marsh at sunset, it's one I was actually proud of, the light came out right for once. She says "oh that's lovely" and I'm thinking oh cool. Then she turns to her daughter and goes "see, you could do that, couldn't you sweetie? with your little watercolor set?" I just smiled and said "she should definitely keep painting" because what else are you gonna say. But man. That one stung more than it should have. I spent like 12 hours on that painting. My 11 year old asked me why I looked grumpy when we got home and I didn't even know how to explain it without sounding ridiculous.

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.

I had a booth at a local craft fair Saturday and a woman picked up one of my acrylic landscapes, looked at it for a good minute, and said "oh this is nice, I could probably do this with my daughter's $5 watercolor set." And I just stood there like... okay. So do it then? I'd love to see you mix titanium white into a puddle of Crayola paint and get that kind of coverage on canvas. Please. Film it. I didn't say any of that of course. I smiled and said "you should give it a try, it's really relaxing!" and she moved on. My husband said I was too nice and I probably was but also what's the point. People who think art supplies are all the same are not people you're going to convince in one conversation at a folding table. Still felt like packing up my easel and going home though.

I went back to a street in Malleswaram today. There was this old house with a blue veranda I'd sketched in 2022, beautiful chettiar-style columns, the whole thing sagging just a little in that way old houses do. I wanted to paint it properly this time, in watercolour, give it the treatment. Pulled up to the spot and it's a construction site. Apartment going up, probably 14 floors from the look of the pit. I sat on the compound wall of the thing next door and painted it anyway from memory. Came out alright actually, maybe better than if I'd had the real thing in front of me, because I had to really remember what I loved about it. Weird feeling, documenting things as they disappear. But I'm glad I have that old sketchbook at home. At least someone drew it.

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? 🙏

Some woman at a dinner party last week, after I tell her I paint figurative work, she says "oh but abstract is so much easier, right? You don't have to worry about it looking like anything." I did not say what I wanted to say. I said "no, abstraction is its own discipline" like a polite robot. But what I wanted to say is: try painting a hand that looks like a hand and then come talk to me about what's easy. The disrespect is so casual. As if centuries of craft, of learning to see, of mixing a flesh tone that actually breathes, as if that's just the tedious part you get through before you're allowed to make real art. Anyway I came home and scraped a canvas I'd been working on for weeks. Not because of her. But also a little because of her.

I had a show last November. Sixteen paintings, two months of work, the usual opening-night crowd, wine, awkward conversations, people stepping close to a canvas and then stepping back. Zero sales that night. Not one red dot. I stood by the door and watched people leave and thought, well, that's that. Next morning I had three emails. A critic from a local paper, a blogger I'd never heard of, and someone from a small museum in Chemnitz. All of them had been there. All of them wrote something. The museum person asked for a studio visit. The sales came later, slowly, over months, to people who'd read those pieces and then come to the gallery on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. I'm not saying openings are useless. But the thing I thought was a failure, the empty ledger from that night, turned out to be the most valuable part. The people who write are never the people who buy on the spot. They're the ones who need to sit with it, go home, think, and then tell someone else. I still hate the feeling of an opening where nothing moves. But I've stopped reading it as a signal.

Had a client last month, wanted a watercolour of her childhood home in Malleswaram, the one that got sold and is probably going to become an apartment building soon. She was lovely, genuinely emotional about it. But she wanted a detailed breakup of costs before confirming. Paper, paint, framing, my time. Itemised. I sat down and did it properly. Paper is Arches, 300gsm, cold press, a full sheet costs about ₹1,200 now. Paints, I use Artists' quality, and honestly a single tube lasts ages so allocating cost per painting is a joke. Framing with archival mount and UV glass runs around ₹2,500-3,000 here. And then I put down my time at what I thought was a modest ₹500 an hour. Came to about ₹8,000 for the whole thing. She looked at it and said "that's a lot for a painting." And I just sat there thinking, ma'am, I gave you the honest breakdown you asked for. ₹500 an hour is less than what I made as a junior architect ten years ago. The materials alone plus framing eat up almost half of it. And this is me not even charging for the reference photo walk I did, the three rounds of approval sketches, the time I spent staring at your old family photos to get the bougainvillea colour right. I didn't say any of that. I just smiled and said I could adjust the framing to something simpler. She agreed. The painting came out nice. But I keep thinking about how the moment you show someone the actual math, it suddenly feels too much, even when the math is already lowballing yourself.

A woman from Tokyo found my work through the Mithila Art Institute page, wrote to me on WhatsApp. She wanted a wedding scene, the full thing, the groom's procession, elephants, the bride under her covering, all the detail. I told her 15,000 rupees for that size, which is already low but she was a foreign buyer and I thought maybe she won't pay more. She said yes very quickly. Then she said she will send in US dollars through her friend's account. 250 dollars. I thought okay, 250 dollars, that sounds like a good amount, more than 15,000 I assumed. You know what I did? I did not check. My son usually handles the online payment things but he was out. The money came. I felt happy. Later my son came home and said, Papa, do you know 250 dollars is almost 21,000 rupees? I sat quiet for a long time. She paid me what the work was worth. I undervalued it myself, not even knowing the rate of my own currency. The embarrassment is still with me. Not at her. At myself. I told her 15,000 for a painting that takes three weeks of daily work and she paid me 21,000 anyway because she decided that's what it costs. A stranger in Tokyo had more respect for my labour than I did. Since then I always check the rate before I quote to anyone outside India. But that feeling sits. How many more times have I done this to myself without knowing? 🙏