- nessart16
- Mar 22
- 3 min read
For as long as I can remember, I have felt an weird and inherent need for symmetry & balance. Whether it’s the subtle requirement for a tap on my left shoulder when someone taps my right, or the instinct to dip both hands into a pool of water simultaneously, I have come to realize that my body craves this balance. If I stretch my right ankle, my left follows suit, as if each half of me insists on mirroring the other.
This drive for equilibrium is not just physical for me - it mirrors my perception of the world, where symmetry often symbolizes order and calm amidst the chaos - something I find myself in the middle of quite often. Yet, I have come to slowly understand that this yearning for balance is as much a part of me as my quirks. It makes me wonder how I view the world and whether this preference for symmetry shapes my interpretation of beauty in the external world.
But perhaps this quest for symmetry, a beautifully unpolished and unexpected act in itself - is a reminder that true “perfection” often hides in the imperfections, quirks and randomness of life.
Welcome to The Oddities in March, the third blog post in my 2025 Calendar Blog Series. Over the rest of this year, I’ll be taking you behind the scenes of each month’s illustration, sharing stories, memories, and reflections that continue to shape my creative journey.
For 2025, I created a collection that bridges my childhood art with my current skill level - I’ve revisited some of my old oil pastel drawings and watercolour paintings, recreated them digitally, and added reflective thoughts, messages, and affirmations that connect what they meant to me then with what they mean to me now. Each month is crafted with care, representing both the season and a personal story.
And a quick plug: my 2025 calendar collection is available at a lovely discounted price till I run out! From tabletop and wall calendars to mini calendars, calendar cards, wallpapers, and bookmarks, there’s something for everyone in my shop.
Reflecting on my childhood, I remember there being a time when I was utterly fascinated by root vegetables - carrots, radishes, turnips - each one with its own unique shape and character. In little ness' eyes, everything that grew underground was part of one big, mysterious family because they all lived in the same hidden world beneath the earth. I was captivated by their incredible variety of forms and colours. Even the dirt, peeling skins, and tiny scars didn't take away from their charm; instead, they made these vegetables feel even more magical and full of wonder. Honest confession, I enjoyed my time looking at and admiring them than actually eating them.
This early curiosity about the imperfect and the unexpected has reemerged in my art and even my daily life today. My recent discovery of the need for internal symmetry and the quest to find balance in an often chaotic external world have reminded me of this wonder I felt as a child.
The imperfect beauty of a dirt-covered radish, with its tiny tear on the skin, now serves as a metaphor for the beauty in all our idiosyncrasies.
The March illustration is one that employs delicate washes of light watercolour and subtle outlines. I recall creating this piece during a drawing class, where the assignment was to choose from a reference book filled with images of vegetables, fruits, animals, and toys. While the reference image of a radish lacked any visible “flaws”, I was compelled to include a tiny tear on its skin. To me, that imperfection was a celebration of the radish’s true character - much like the way life’s little quirks add depth to our experiences.
Ultimately, “The Oddities in March” is a reminder to embrace the odd, the imperfect, and the unexpected in our lives. In a world that often values symmetry and perfection, I invite you to celebrate the quirks that set you apart. Whether it’s the unique characteristics of your body or the distinct traits of those around you, there is magic in the unpolished and the imperfect.
Be proud of your “oddities.” Let them remind you that beauty often lies not in flawless symmetry, but in the very things that make us unique, raw, and undeniably human.
Stay tuned for April's story, and if you haven’t yet, check out my
2025 calendar collection to bring these illustrations into your home!
- nessart16
- Feb 14
- 3 min read
Updated: Mar 22
Welcome to The Pond in February, the second blog post in my 2025 Calendar Blog Series.
Over the coming year, I’ll be taking you behind the scenes of each month’s illustration, sharing stories, memories, and reflections that continue to shape my creative journey.
For 2025, I created a collection that bridges my childhood art with my current skill level - I’ve revisited some of my old oil pastel drawings and watercolour paintings, recreated them digitally, and added reflective thoughts, messages, and affirmations that connect what they meant to me then with what they mean to me now. Each month is crafted with care, representing both the season and a personal story.
And a quick plug: my 2025 calendar collection is now available at a lovely discounted price till I run out! From tabletop and wall calendars to mini calendars, calendar cards, wallpapers, and bookmarks, there’s something for everyone in my shop.
A Journey of Change and Growth
For most of my life, I believed that only the big, bold moments truly mattered. I often worried about not moving forward enough - not physically, but in life overall - and assumed every moment needed to be grand. This belief was challenged during one of the most pivotal moments of my childhood when my father took a job in a different city and we moved to Bangalore.
That move was monumental. I loved our new life; coming home to something familiar in an unfamiliar city was comforting. Yet I soon noticed that our pace had shifted. Gone were the slow days of weekend trips, family gatherings, and the gentle rhythms of a close-knit extended family. Life felt faster and more urgent, leaving me often feeling like I was chasing time.
At the same time, I struggled to adjust. I wasn’t fluent in English, and among peers who seemed confident and self-assured, I felt small and uncertain. I questioned whether my life should be defined only by grand gestures, and if the quieter days were somehow wasted. Even today, I continue to wrestle with these doubts. I’m still learning to appreciate the value of small moments - like the gentle warmth of sunlight on my face or a day of quiet reflection. These subtle experiences, much like water lilies anchored by unseen roots, nurture my growth even when the currents of life feel overwhelming. I’m still teaching myself to trust in uncertainty.
Reflections and Lessons
This ongoing journey of transformation finds its way into my art every day. So much of my work is inspired by these lessons I’m still learning. With every creation, I hope to convey the message of finding joy in life’s smaller, often overlooked moments. My art is a letter to myself - a reminder to relish gentle stillness and appreciate that not every action requires an audience.
The original for this month’s illustration is a watercolour painting featuring delicate lilies and lily pads - a piece I created when I was first learning watercolours. At that time, I was experimenting with watercolour washes, and many of my early paintings were simply a series of washes capturing nature’s fleeting beauty. In the digital recreation of this drawing, I aimed to preserve the original's evocative feeling, characterized by significant negative space. To maintain this essence in the digital version, I've scattered the lilies, placing the calendar design elements in the spaces between them.
When I reflect on my childhood, I see a parallel in the water lilies. Despite the unsettling ripples, unpredictable currents and that little girl’s profound feeling of disorientation - the unseen roots held me steady, reminding me that every uncertain moment contributes to the art of being.
Today, I continue to embrace both the grand milestones and the quiet, reflective moments, even as I struggle with doubt and uncertainty. Every experience, big or small, shapes who I am becoming. Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope this story inspires you to celebrate both dramatic milestones and the subtle moments in your own life just as much.
Stay tuned for the next installment in this little series - look forward to March’s post, where I’ll share another chapter of personal growth and creative exploration.
- nessart16
- Jan 7
- 3 min read
Welcome to the first instalment of my 2025 calendar blog series! Over the year, I’ll be taking you behind the scenes of each month’s illustration, sharing the stories, memories, and reflections that inspired them. This is The Canvas in January.
If you’re new here, let me quickly introduce the concept behind this calendar. For 2025, I created a collection that bridges my childhood art with my current skill level. I’ve taken some of my old oil pastel drawings, recreated them digitally, and added a few reflective thoughts, messages, affirmations to tie them back to what they meant to me then - and especially what they mean to me now. Each month is crafted with care, representing both the time of year I thought would be fitting, and a personal story, and this blog will give you a deeper glimpse into those moments :)
Oh, and before we dive in, a quick plug: the Growing in 2025 calendar collection is available now! I’ve got tabletop calendars, wall calendars, mini calendars, calendar cards, wallpapers, bookmarks - there’s something for everyone. You can check them out on my shop!
As a child, oil pastels were my favourite art medium. Most of my earliest drawings were made with them - smudging, layering, and experimenting with colour to create many worlds that felt entirely my own.
At the time, around the age of 10/13, I was attending art classes at a nearby home studio - one of my neighbours was an artist who had converted one room in her home into an art space. While most of our lessons focused on oil pastels, my teacher had begun introducing me to watercolours - a medium that was new and exciting to me. She often let me explore on my own once I’d finished the day’s assigned lesson. The original artwork for January’s calendar was no exception. It featured a canvas and a flower, painted in a style that’s hard to decipher now, but held so much significance for me then.
Her home was filled with easels and blank canvases, waiting to be transformed. I remember sitting there, observing from a distance, too shy to get up and examine them closely. I made mental notes about the “stand” (which I later learned was called an easel) and the canvases propped up on it. I don’t remember exactly what I referenced for this particular drawing - whether it was something she’d made or something I imagined - but I do remember the excitement of creating it. The flowers I drew weren’t any specific type, just something I thought an artist might paint. Because that’s what I wanted to be: an artist. I believed that being an artist meant having easels, endless canvases, and the freedom to paint whatever I wanted.
Looking back, I realize how much that belief shaped me, for better and worse. Seeing those canvases gave me direction - a sense of what I aspired to be. But it also planted the idea in my head that I needed certain tools or circumstances to truly be an artist. I told myself, “I’ll be a good artist when I have an easel. Or when I have many canvases. Or when I can paint all day.” It just became a series of
“when”s: When I have this, then I’ll be that.
Over time, life has taught me the opposite. Being an artist isn’t about the tools you own or the “setups” you envy. It’s about the act of creating - right now. It’s about showing up with whatever you have and making something out of it.
And that is the heart of January’s message. A blank canvas doesn’t wait for the perfect time. It doesn’t need Mondays, new months, or perfect plans. It is always ready, waiting for you to pick up the brush. The lesson here is that you don’t have to wait for "ideal" circumstances. So start now, start every day.
When I look at January’s illustration, I see the eager little girl who wanted to feel like an artist. She didn’t have all the tools, but had the determination to create anyway. And that’s a reminder I’d like to carry with me today, and through the year too: the world is full of blank canvases, just waiting for us to begin.
I hope this glimpse into January’s illustration inspires you to embrace your own “canvas.” Whether it’s art, a goal, or a dream you’ve been holding back on, don’t wait for the perfect time to start. Just start.
Oh, and a very happy 2025 to you! <3
Stay tuned for February’s story, and if you haven’t yet, check out my
2025 calendar collection to bring these illustrations into your home!
