Pressing My Nose Right Into Freshly Cut Grass

I get to press my nose right into the freshly cut grass of my new painting but, what with pandemic-induced physical distancing, you don't get to hang out in my dining area and do the same.

So, as in multiple other situations these days, instead of inviting you to open the screen door at my home and walk right in, I invite you to a screen:

detail,
The Smell of Freshly Cut Grass Itching at My Nose

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Dear Diary

Random 'pages'
from a visual diary
depicting the history
of a single painting
that expresses
my inner life
across several months
during a time
of intense
personal and global
not knowing …

4/19/20

5/8/20

detail, 5/21/20

detail, 5/26/20

detail, 6/4/20

The Smell of Freshly Cut Grass Itching at My Nose
24 x 48"; acrylic, charcoal, pencil, oil pastel, and collage on canvas
abstract landscape
2020

On My Nightstand, on My Easel (20)

 On my nightstand

If my nose were cut off 

I would have no memories. 

When I have lain awake all night 

and my eyes are finally closing 

I’ll get a whiff of something far off, 

from another year, 

another county ...

Sometimes there are only smells: 

the smell of chickens; 

the smell of Miss Finch’s stale breath 

and the hard candies by her bed, 

peppermint, 

all stuck together with the heat of her house; 

the smell of Matt’s math books 

where you crack the bindings, they’re so new; 

the smell of May in the kitchen 

frying the onions.

Jane Hamilton, The Book of Ruth

On my wall!

The Smell of Freshly Cut Grass Itching at My Nose
24 x 48"; acrylic, charcoal, pencil, oil pastel, and collage on canvas
abstract landscape
2020