Linseed oil and turpentine. Those are the odors I associate with returning home from school in the afternoon. The whiff of those substances told me without seeing that my mother was engaged in creation. Stepping into the dining room, and ofttimes art studio because of its natural light, I would see her happily intent on her current piece. To her left was a pallet dotted with globs of oil paint and brushes of varying sizes set about on call. She would turn to me smiling, pushing her glasses up from the bottom with her right index finger or sometimes with the tip of her paintbrush. It was one of her endearing signature moves.
Linseed Oil and Turpentine
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