Painting, lately, has left me feeling poetic. Though I suppose a better, proper term might be I get philosophic. I get to thinking about the essence of all things on this planet. I don’t honestly know why. It doesn’t happen with everything I paint but with most everything. Be it from painting a scene of wildflowers blooming in a field with a gorgeous black horse standing there, its mane brushed through by the wind. I think these flowers are made of little bits of this and that, this horse is made of muscle which is made of smaller things and smaller yet things.
The short version of this philosopher’s mindset is that we’re all the same in the end. It’s just in the way those tiny, invisible things are knitted together that makes us different from the next person over. In the case of us, gifted ones, it’s a matter that there just was a special thread used to knit us together, to make sure we didn’t come falling apart at the seams at the first gust of wind that might try to take us away, sweep us off our feet.
I don’t often bring this up to Quentin though, then again, with this ‘ghost rooster’ thing that happened just a few days ago it might not hurt to bring up this idea I have that all things are the same at the smallest of levels, it’s just as things grow bigger by pairing up with more of those tiny little things that make us who we are, we become different. I just don’t think he would appreciate being compared to humans in any way. He doesn’t hate them, he just doesn’t like them much and he tries to avoid spending too much time in their presence, he’s essentially afraid they’ll think he smells different or looks different and that they’ll find out he’s not like them.
Not a single soul in this world, despite those teeny tiny things, our essence really, is the same. Not even a father and son who might look so much alike when the son is old enough. They’re not the same. They’re different. The twins, Agni and Mira, they’re identical, short of the colour of their hair, their eyes and their gift. Still, for someone who might have no sense of colour, who might see in greys or all blues or reds or hell brown. They’d be identical but in the very long run, they’re not. They are but not.
I get lost in this world of thinking that we’re all, at the root of things, the same but as we grow and become who we really are, the differences are all startling. This isn’t really a discussion that be easily had with anyone. I don’t see myself approaching someone and going, ‘hey, did you ever notice, we’re all the same, deep down inside but we’re all different in the end?’ I can only imagine the looks I might get.
When thinking about our essences though, it can mean so much. It’s not just at the root of things, when I go into that antique shop, it’s hard to keep myself from visiting the little herb shop right next to it. When I first stepped in I was taken aback, I hadn’t expected such an almost attack on my nose. The scent wasn’t bad, it was just so expected. Then again I didn’t know what I was getting into, stepping into that kind of shop.
I like to have different scents mingle in my room, usually I buy them in the bottles of oils, let a few drops hit this or that and it’s heavenly really. This is another kind of essence though. The essence (in a literal sense) of flowers and herbs, crushed to dust in some case, set in oil for preservation in other, put to candles, into potpourri.
It is such a wide term, it encompasses so much. A lot of people use the term in ways that seem unlikely though but I can’t blame them. The whole world is out to use every word it has in every way possible. That’s just how things are.
Lately, I’ve been putting little drops of scented oils into my paints. Mostly my blues and my greens. Though depending on what I’m painting, the other colours have gotten tiny little drops too. My latest painting, a waterfall, some evergreens, a couple of deer, when you approach it and you close your eyes, it’s like you’re stepping into a forest. I know the scents won’t hold forever but they hold for a good enough while. The first time I did this it was an accident but it was such a success once I was done that I tried it again. I even offer it on my commissions, people go crazy for it.
Of course when I’m done painting and everything is dry, I seal it up to keep the scents in until the piece is where it should be. There the client can unwrap it and appreciate the mix and match of scents they picked. A lot of folks are skeptical about that kind of thing since you can’t really make sure that the scent you pick is really what you imagine it is but I’d like to think that I’ve explained well enough what they’re like and what encompasses them.
Areli and Lavi both seem a bit confused by the scents that flow about my studio so they tend to keep away from it. I suppose it’s not a bad thing, that way I don’t get any surprise as I did before I started working with the oils. Woke up, went to my studio to finish up a piece for a customer, I had myself several paw tracks across the piece. Thankfully (thank god really, if there was any!) the customer actually loved it. It’s not so much that they hate the scents, but they come by the door, have a sniff and just go on their way.
I still have oils like that in my room but they’re not as fragrant as the ones I use with the paint and they still come in now and again to lounge on my bed ever peacefully. Quentin seems to appreciate them too. Then again I’m only half sure of that, he hasn’t really commented on them in any way yet so I don’t know if that’s a positive or negative. He tends to react rather quickly to things he doesn’t like so I think this is a bit of a positive thing.
If it ever comes to the fact that he doesn’t like it, I’ll just keep the oils to my work room and that’ll be that. I can live without them. I had before I ever moved in here with him and it won’t kill me to not have them in my room anywhere. Still, I think it’s a nice sort of thing, it’s a quiet little reminder of the outdoor while we’re inside, it’s nice and light. I guess if I could I’d live my whole life outside, so long as it wasn’t freezing cold and I had food every day.
I don’t want to be homeless, being homeless is a terrible sort of thing and I’ve lived too many years that way. I just appreciate nature and its purely untouched essence. It’s wonderful, beautiful. I just wish the other idiots living on this planet weren’t going out of their way to destroy it all because to them, technology is more important than nature. That breaks my heart.