A note from Oormila: Each of these micros has been paired with a miniature painting I made in mixed-media, on used and dried tea bag silk. These are part of a series of over 150 paintings that I painted on tea bags last year when I weaned myself off coffee and started drinking tea. I wanted to recycle the tea bags and I had the idea for making them into mini-canvases. The paintings in this submission have the same title as the micros they correspond to. They were inspired by the herbs in my garden, and have been made with gouache, acrylics, pens, and distress inks, on tea bag silk pasted on various printed paper.
Behind the bay leaves
There are things no child should ever hear, but the voices percolating through the walls are thunderous. I hide behind the jar of bay leaves, pressing my body into a square on the checkerboard tiles. The words dissolve, and a cloud of eucalyptus floats in. Years later I struggle to remember if it was an odor or an aroma. But I remember me. How I cowered in the corner, how the leaves folded and crackled in the vat, how my silhouette shaded the wall—small, diamond-shaped, charcoal.
The garden’s anesthetic
I sink into the moss in the vegetable patch, letting the earth claim me. Red spinach looms above like an alien army. Scarlet on peat— a clashing combination. This garden is a memory trap, a temporary prison of green. Through the forest of stems, I glimpse a lake of willow’s balm. They say it numbs all pain. I pluck a leaf and work it between my molars, savoring its texture—fuzzy, like needle felt against my tongue. The leaf surrenders its juice in beads of coral. I taste iron and honey together, blood coupled with sweetness. As the analgesic seeps into my veins, sleep comes easy here among the herbs, beneath the watching leaves.
Bulbs of fire
They say I was born angry, gnashing my gums, brandishing a plum fist at the world. A vengeful infant (if there was ever such a thing). They called it Munjanma kopam: wrath carried over from a previous birth, a remnant of unresolved karma.
My nanny would liken me to the bird’s eye chilies in our kitchen patch. Red and bulbous, they glared in defiance at the noonday sun. Kanthari mulaku* spits vermillion into the air, she would say, her voice thick with warning. In my mind, I saw forks of fire, sulfur stinging with the furor of bees, tongues twisting in a river of flames.
I have learned to embrace my existence as a bird’s eye chili. On most days I burn red—the naphthol kind.
* kanthari mulaku- bird’s eye chili
Sweet neem diaries
I don’t yearn for much in my new life—except maybe for the taste of sweet neem sprigs. I finally found a nursery in Turramurra that grew them. The dishes I cook call for generous use of these, but sweet neem has no culinary value here. I am told they are weeds. An invasive species. I was once told that I am a weed. Isn’t it funny how one human can see another as a weed? Persona non grata—a sophisticated phrase for unwelcome things.
Please grow it only in a pot, the nursery gardener says. Do not plant it in the ground where it might proliferate unchecked. It is a weed. A weed: something to be confined, contained, controlled. I nod. I am a woman of my word—at home I plant the sapling in the brightest pot I own. Perhaps the sweet neem heard what was said of it. Perhaps it longs to step down from the pot, and find its way into the earth. Perhaps it felt the weight of its label. Nevertheless, we will thrive—the sweet neem and I. We will unfurl new leaves. We will find the sun. We will be kind and fragrant, even though we are weeds.
Time in lavender
I once told him that I would love to go to Tuscany someday. He would watch me in the studio, painting wide-arched trompe l’oeils of a land I had never seen. When we got married, he wanted to take me there on our honeymoon. But frugality runs deep in my blood—a cautious glint in my corpuscles. So, we chose a seaside town instead, twenty miles west of our city.
Two decades later, we are on a farm in Wanaka. Lavender gauze drapes the horizon. We could be driving through one of my murals, I say, pointing to the cypresses shivering beneath the Southern Alps. Time folds in on itself. The lilac blooms blur my vision until I can no longer distinguish where the flower farm ends and my old murals begin. Each purple bloom marks another grain of time, and I float, suspended in their falling.
—About the Author—
Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad is a widely published Indian-Australian artist, poet, and improv pianist. Her work has been published on covers and within the pages of several literary journals and anthologies including The Stonecoast Review, Amsterdam Quarterly, Two Thirds North, and Pithead Chapel. She lives and works in Sydney, on traditional Gameragal land. Find her @oormilaprahlad and www.instagram.com/oormila_paintings
*Check out more from Oormila HERE!
*Check out more from our AP Lit Trip HERE!
—Image Descriptions for Tea Bag Minis—
Behind the bay leaves
A delicately aged tea bag serves as a miniature canvas for a lush botanical painting, set against a woven fabric background. The tea bag has been dyed with warm, earthy hues, creating a gradient blend of deep plum, soft mauve, and golden brown. Hand-painted botanical elements emerge from the lower half, featuring large, curved leaves in vibrant green shades, with dark outlines enhancing their shape. Interspersed among the broad leaves are delicate sprigs of small, round seed-like buds, painted in a soft mint green, with fine black ink details that add depth. Thin, wispy stems extend upward, weaving through the scene like trailing vines, reinforcing the organic, flowing energy of the composition.
At the top, a red tea tag labeled “raspberry & strawberry” dangles from a white string, complementing the warm color palette of the artwork. The edges of the tea bag are slightly frayed, adding to its vintage and ephemeral aesthetic.
The Garden’s Anesthetic
A worn and crinkled tea bag is repurposed as an artistic canvas, resting on a textured woven fabric surface. The bag has been stained with soft earthy hues of yellow and beige, giving it an aged parchment-like quality. Delicate, hand-painted botanical artwork adorns the surface, depicting a dense cluster of elongated leaves in shades of deep burgundy, crimson, and dark purple. The leaves are outlined in fine black ink, adding intricate detail and contrast. Thin black stems curve and intertwine, weaving through the composition like wild, organic tendrils. Tiny clusters of dotted embellishments add texture, resembling delicate seeds or pollen drifting through the air.
At the top, a red tea tag labeled “raspberry & strawberry” dangles from a white string, still attached to the tea bag, adding a playful and unexpected contrast to the earthy tones of the artwork. The edges of the tea bag are slightly torn and frayed, emphasizing the fragile, ephemeral nature of the medium. The background fabric is a tightly woven material in a muted, neutral brown tone, providing a subtle but grounding contrast to the delicate artwork.
Bulbs of fire
A richly textured tea bag painting featuring an abundant bouquet of wild plants and flowers bursts with color and movement. The background is a soft, warm blend of ochre, beige, and hints of smoky brown, giving the surface a rustic, timeworn feel. The foreground is an explosion of wild botanical growth, with an array of flora painted in deep greens, warm oranges, and crisp whites. A central cluster of round, bulbous seed pods, painted in fiery red-orange tones, contrasts sharply against the cooler surrounding foliage. These bold shapes are encircled by delicate white blossoms, tiny green buds, and swaying golden grasses, all connected by tangled, expressive black stems.
The tea tag at the top is black, reading “DIPLOMAT Green Tea and Lemon”, a contrast to the more common red tags seen in the series. The combination of earthy textures, bright botanical elements, and gestural inkwork creates a dynamic and organic composition, evoking the wild energy of a late-summer field.
Sweet neem diaries
A subtly intricate tea bag painting, this piece evokes a sense of antique beauty and nostalgia. The background is a soft sepia wash with a faint floral pattern, adding an almost lace-like texture beneath the painted elements. The tea bag has been transformed into a layered botanical composition, with lush green leaves and clusters of tiny blossoms delicately interwoven with fine ink lines. The main plant stems from the lower center, with elongated, pointed leaves in shades of fresh green and yellow-green, accented with subtle highlights. Interspersed among the foliage are delicate white and pale green seed clusters, painted with intricate attention to texture.
The tea tag is bright yellow and branded “Lipton”, adding a pop of color and hinting at the tea’s origins. The painting has a softly aged quality, as though it belongs in a botanist’s old field journal or an herbalist’s notebook, capturing the delicate beauty of a fleeting moment in nature.
Time in Lavender
This image features another repurposed and aged tea bag, painted with a soft, dreamlike botanical illustration. The tea bag’s surface is textured and slightly wrinkled, with an aged, parchment-like appearance in muted beige, cream, and blush pink tones. A delicate bundle of lavender flowers, painted in shades of soft purple and lilac, emerges from the center. The lavender stems are gathered at the base with a thin red twine, tied in a simple knot, giving the arrangement a rustic charm. Each tiny lavender blossom is rendered with fine detail, with darker purple accents adding depth and texture.
The edges of the tea bag are torn and slightly curled, revealing the layers of material beneath. The background consists of the same tightly woven fabric as in the previous image, providing a neutral, textured surface that contrasts with the delicate, ethereal painting. A red tea tag labeled “raspberry & strawberry” dangles from the string at the top, maintaining a whimsical and unexpected element in the composition.
*Thanks to ChatGPT for the charming descriptions–blame the AI if they are off!
Wow. Such Beauty contained in so few words and so tiny canvases. Wow.