Linseed Oil

The smell of oil paint on my hands is like reconnecting to myself… to my soul.

I have been back in the studio after my vacation and picked up where I left off. I had four pieces waiting for me and a few notes/sketches scribbled down next to them to guide me back to where I was headed.

The painting didn’t go that great, I may have even created more work, but I took it in stride, remaining calm, knowing that this is part of the process of painting (Not always the case). 

Anyway, it was time to quit; I washed my brushes in terpentine and then olive oil soap, then washed my hands. Then, for some reason, I smelled my hands, I guess to make sure they were clean and to not get oil paint all over on the way home or perhaps I was looking for reconnection on some level. The old familar smell of linseed oil on my skin filled my senses. It is a round, deep smell that sinks into the skin and has the ability to transport me. Maybe not so much transport me, but rather to ground me into the depths of my self.

In that inhalation, I innately knew what I was doing, why I was doing it and what I’ve always known about me and paint.