Pratistha Kandel

As the sun meticulously blends into the clouds, tails of subtle golden lights gleam out as brush strokes, giving a tangerine hue to an otherwise painfully blue canvas.

I vividly remember we were all seated in a room that smelled of all sorts of colors, there were sketches hung all over the walls, canvasses displayed with paintings; ravishing ones, hyper realistic portraits, shelves full of crafts and clay works and a certificate that hung next to the door.