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I got a call last week from a woman I didn't know. Said she found my name on a label sewed into an old quilt she bought at a church flea market over in Tuscaloosa. Asked if I wanted it back. I knew exactly which one before she even described it. That blue and yellow improv log cabin I made in '93, right after my youngest left for school. I was so lonesome that year I just sewed and sewed. Sold it for $40 at a craft fair at the county annex, first quilt I ever sold to a stranger. I remember watching the woman walk off with it folded over her arm and thinking I might've made a mistake letting it go. Anyway she mailed it to me and I opened the box and there it was. Still sturdy. Still a little crooked in places. I sat and held it in my lap a good long while before I could do anything else. I don't know what I'm gonna do with it now. Might keep it. Might hang it where I can see it. That quilt been out in the world longer than my own children lived in this house. Lord.

Sold a 160 x 200 cm painting last week that I painted in 2019. It had been sitting in storage, first at the gallery, then in my studio, then back at the gallery. Five years. The buyer paid €4,800. The gallery takes 50%, so €2,400 to me. Sounds fine until you add up the materials: the Belgian linen, the oil, the cold wax, the pigments, the panels I had built for the stretcher. That's maybe €350 for a painting that size, depending on how many layers I burned through. Then the storage costs, I pay €180 a month for my studio, plus a separate small unit for older work. That painting took up wall space that could have held newer work. Hard to calculate exactly but it's not nothing. So €2,400 minus €350 materials, minus let's say €150 in storage over five years, minus transport to the gallery twice, minus the opening night I stood around drinking bad wine and making conversation. Per hour of actual labour? I don't even want to know. And this is a good outcome. The painting sold. Many don't. I'm not complaining exactly. I knew what I signed up for. But when students ask me about making a living as an artist I don't know what to tell them anymore. The math has never been worse and the rent has never been higher.

finally worked up the nerve to push my prices up in february. small jump, nothing crazy, a handbuilt mug went from €28 to €34, a medium sculptural piece from €80 to €96. i made a whole spreadsheet about it. felt very professional. then march and april happened and i sold literally nothing through my online shop. not one piece. i started checking my own site like an idiot, refreshing, "is the add to cart button broken??" no, just nobody wanted it at the new number. i almost caved and dropped them back down last week but my friend who's been doing this longer told me to wait. she said the first silence after a raise is just the market recalibrating, or something. sounded like bullshit at the time. may i've sold three pieces. not a landslide. but the weird thing is the people buying now don't haggle. nobody. before, every single sale came with a "any discount for buying two?" or a "could you do €25?" and i'd fold immediately. now they just... pay it. and i'm making more on three sales than i used to make on six. still feels fragile. like the second i relax the silence comes back. but i think she might have been right.

A friend from art school, someone whose work I genuinely like, sold a paper piece at a fair in Stockholm for 12,000 SEK. Same size as what I do, similar material, similar time investment. I charge 3,500 for mine. We're at the same stage, we came out of the same program. I know I'm not being ripped off, I set my prices, nobody forced me. But the gap is hard to sit with. Makes me wonder if I'm undervaluing the work or if they're just better at selling. Probably both. I raised my small pieces by 500 SEK this month and it felt like a test I was going to fail.

finally sat down and actually did the math on the series I wrapped in february. 4 months of painting almost daily, probably 300+ hours total between making the work, photographing it, writing statements, the whole grind. sold one painting out of 12 for $900. after materials and the stupidly expensive frames I wanted for the show... $642 net. that's $2.14 an hour. i looked at the number for way too long and then went and did a logo for a startup i hate for $500 in like 3 hours and felt genuinely ill about which one was the better use of my time. idk what the point is other than i keep doing this to myself and i'm gonna do it again which is either stubbornness or a brain problem lol

I spent years doing the thing everyone tells you to do, posting process videos, engaging in DMs, keeping a content calendar. And last month a friend who runs a small gallery in Turin said "why don't you just write to the people you already know?" So I wrote a very plain email. No newsletter platform, no template. Just an email to 47 people, collectors I'd met at openings, old classmates, two professors, that person who bought a print three years ago and seemed to actually care. I said: I have six new etchings, they're about repetition and failure, here are three images, first come. I sold five prints in two days. Five prints to people I already knew. I spent maybe an hour on the email. I had spent three months on Instagram for the same result, maybe less. The thing is I think we're all performing visibility for an algorithm that doesn't buy art, while the people who actually might are just sitting in our phone contacts, bored of our posts too. I'm not saying burn the platform down. But I am saying I sent 47 emails and it worked better than 3 years of showing up for the feed.

I did the math on a recent sale because I was trying to convince myself it was worth it. Large oil and cold wax, 160 x 200 cm, worked on it for about six weeks on and off. Gallery takes 50%, which is standard here. Fine. Then: stretcher bars and canvas, oil, cold wax medium, pigment, about €280 because I don't buy cheap canvas. Transport to Berlin in a hired van because it wouldn't fit in my car, €120. Insurance for the transit. The opening, where I bought drinks for a few people and we all went to dinner after, and I picked up the bill because the gallery director looked at me and I knew I was supposed to. That was about €340. So €4,200 becomes €2,100 after commission. Subtract €740 in costs I can track. That leaves €1,360. Then maybe six weeks of work, but not full-time weeks, so call it 18 days. That's about €75 a day. And I haven't paid tax on the €2,100 yet. I don't know what to do with this information. The painting is sold. The collector is happy. The gallery wants more. And I'm sitting here thinking I should feel good and instead I feel like I ran a small business that lost money on a job. Which I did, if I paid myself minimum wage. The problem is the painting wouldn't exist without those weeks. I can't separate the time from the thing. And the gallery can't sell a painting they never see. And I can't get the painting to Berlin for nothing. So the costs are real and the math is bad and I don't have a solution. Just the numbers.

I carved a granite bench a few years back for a public garden. Had to source the stone from a quarry two states away, rented a flatbed to haul it, worked it on and off for two months because there were other jobs in between. Sold it for $1,200. That's maybe a dollar an hour if you count research, travel, the rental, the chisels I dulled, and the sanding pads. I knew it at the time and I still said yes. I told myself it was a "public installation" and that was worth something. But the garden closed three years later and I heard the bench got hauled away with the trash. I don't know what the right number was. Double maybe. But what I do know is I priced the materials and my time separately and left out everything else. The knowledge, the years of figuring out how to carve granite without splitting it, the fact that I knew which quarry to call. That all went for free. I still do it. Not as bad, but I still leave money on the table somewhere. Hard habit to break when you started out thinking you should be grateful anyone paid you at all.

So I had a watercolor in a group show at this small gallery downtown, nice space, good foot traffic, I was genuinely excited to be in it. It sold opening night, which felt amazing for about ten minutes until I did the math on my take-home. They took 50%. Half. And I get it, they have overhead, they promoted the show, they poured the wine, whatever. But I walked away with $175 on a $350 piece and I spent差不多 two weeks on it. That's like... $12 an hour if I'm being generous to myself. And I had to frame it myself too. I texted my old professor from school and she was like "yeah 50% is standard for emerging artists in that kind of space" which made me feel both better and worse somehow?? Like oh great so this IS the deal, I'm just supposed to accept that half my labor disappears because someone else has a storefront. I don't know. I'm not trying to sound ungrateful, the sale itself was validating. But I keep thinking about how many more hours I'd have to work just to make rent off that kind of split. My partner was like "well now you have a gallery relationship" and I'm like ok cool but the relationship doesn't pay for my gouache tubes lol. Anyway. For those of you who've been doing this longer, do you just build the commission into your pricing from the start? Do you negotiate? Or is 50% just the price of entry and I need to shut up about it?

so. a gallery has had eleven of my pieces since october. sold two that i actually know about. ive emailed four times asking about payment and every answer gets vaguer than the last, "doing our accounts soon" was the most recent one, three weeks ago. im not naming them yet because some stupid part of me still hopes this is incompetence and not the other thing. has anyone ever actually gotten money out of a situation like this or do i just turn up in person

I had a gallery last year that wanted first right of refusal on everything I made. Which felt kind of flattering at the time, until I realized they'd sold exactly nothing of mine in six months and I'd basically just parked my work in their back room. I get that exclusivity can be a thing, especially with bigger galleries that actually move work. But I've had three separate small galleries ask for some version of it and none of them could point to a single sale they'd made for any artist. Am I wrong for thinking you gotta earn that? Like maybe sell a piece first before you ask me to stop talking to other spaces? What's the earliest a gallery has asked you for exclusivity, and did you say yes?

There's this house on Nandi Durga Road, off Bull Temple Road, that I've been sketching on and off since February. One of those old bungalows with the blue-grey Mangalore tile roof and a verandah that curves around the side. Bougainvillea going feral over the compound wall. Every time I went there I told myself I'd finish the painting before someone bought the plot. Well. Sold last week. Demo crew arrives next month probably. I sat across the road this morning with my little stool and finished it anyway. Put the bougainvillea in, put the morning sun exactly where it was hitting the columns. Doesn't matter that it'll be gone. Feels like I'm packing a suitcase for something that's leaving and can't take anything with it. That's half of what I paint these days, isn't it. Anyway, if you're in Bangalore and you know a house like this that hasn't been touched yet, the ones with the old teak windows, the ones nobody's renovated into a cafe, send me the location. I want to get to it before the bulldozer does.

I sold a painting last month through my gallery in Paris. 50x65cm, interior scene, took me about six weeks off and on, not full time, I teach, but probably 90 hours of actual brush time. Gallery sold it for €4,800. I get €2,400. So that's €26.66 an hour before materials, before the stretcher, before the二十年 of learning how to make a shadow feel like air. I'm not complaining about the gallery, they have costs, they have a beautiful space in the Marais, they bring clients I can't reach. But I sat there staring at the number and thought, I could clean houses for more. What gets me is we never talk about this when we talk about prices. We say "I sold a piece for X" and it sounds like a victory. But the number that matters is what lands in your hand divided by the hours you actually worked. And if you're honest about it, it's almost always humiliating. I'm not lowering my prices. I'm not raising them either, not yet. I'm just saying it out loud because I think we all pretend the math is better than it is.

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.

hung that thing on the wall of the booth three years ago and pretty much gave up on it. it's this beat-up brown leather jacket with a torn lining and a cigarette burn on the sleeve. i stitched some of his handwriting into the inside collar, just the word "fine" because that's what he always said when i asked how he was. someone bought it today. a guy maybe late 50s who didn't say much. just pointed at it and said "that one." didn't haggle. didn't ask about it. i don't know why that hit me harder than selling a painting. maybe because it's not even really mine to sell. or maybe because i'd forgotten something could just leave.

Bought a block of Carrara from a supplier I've used for years. Looked clean on the pallet. Got it on the bench, started roughing out, and about three hours in a hairline opens up right where I'm working. Not a surface crack. It was inside the damn stone. Now I've got a piece that's either going to be smaller than I planned or I scrap it entirely. Supplier says not their problem, stone is a natural material, inspect before you work. Which is true. But also infuriating. Twenty years ago I would have kept hammering and ruined it. Now I stop and stare at it for ten minutes and then go weld something instead. Progress I guess.

I sat with that all evening after I got home. That quilt took me three weeks, hand-pieced, hand-quilted, every scrap of fabric out of my grandmother's scrap bag and some from my own mama's housedresses I'd been saving. $350 is already low if you figure materials and time. But she patted my hand like I was a sweet old lady doing a little hobby. I didn't say anything to her. I smiled and thanked her and wrapped it up nice. But I been thinking, folks see the quilts and they see me and they think "bless her heart" instead of seeing the work. I been doing this since I was seven years old. That's 56 years. You don't get to call that cute. I raised my prices $50 after that. Felt wrong in my chest but I did it anyway. Anybody else have to fight the urge to apologize for what you're worth?

I've been doing the whole "wake up, post a nice finished piece, tag materials, use hashtags, be consistent" thing for months and it's been working okay but like... okay. Then last week I was in a really bad mood about a painting I'd been fighting with for three days, the wash was drying wrong, everything was lifting when I went back in, and I just filmed myself scraping the whole thing off with a palette knife and going "well, that's going in the bin" and posted it on a whim. No caption strategy. Just pure frustration. That stupid, messy, nothing video has more saves and shares than anything I've posted in the last two months. And it's not even a good video, it's just real. I've had four commissions come through from it, including one from someone who said "I don't know anything about art but I felt that." I keep hearing we're supposed to "provide value" and "educate" and I'm not against that but I think maybe the value is just... letting people see you fail? In real time? Without making it a tidy lesson? I don't know, I'm still trying to figure out if I can be that messy on purpose or if it only works when it's genuine. Anybody else finding that the stuff you almost didn't post is the stuff that works?

A decorator from Atlanta came through here a few months back, bought a big improvisational piece I'd done, maybe 72 by 90, all in these warm ochres and deep blues, took me the better part of a month on and off between everything else. I charged her $1,200. Felt fair at the time. She didn't haggle, wrote the check, had me ship it. My granddaughter showed me the decorator's website last week. That same quilt's listed at $7,200 in a client's home. "Custom artisan textile" or some such. Now I'm not mad about the free market, I understand how that world works. But I look at what I charged her and I think about my grandmother who would've gotten maybe fifty dollars for a quilt she put her whole self into, if anybody bought it at all. And I think about how I'm still pricing myself like I'm selling at the church bazaar. Somebody out there thinks this work is worth seven thousand dollars. Maybe I ought to start believing them.

My parents put their house on the market last week. The one in Malleswaram where I spent 26 years. My room, the jasmine creeper over the gate, the terrace where Amma used to dry mango pickle in summer. Someone's going to tear it down and put up an apartment block, I'm sure of it. I've been putting off painting it for months. Too close, too much pressure, too many feelings. But yesterday I just sat on the floor of my old room with my sketchbook and did it. Watercolour and ink, the way it looked in the late afternoon when the light slants through the neem tree outside. Cried a little while painting. Then laughed at myself for crying. My husband found me like that and just handed me a cup of chai and walked away, the man knows when not to say anything. It's not my best work technically. But it's the most honest thing I've done in a while. I don't know if I'll frame it or stash it away. Just needed to put it down somewhere before it's gone.