Another cat painting. This one has a lot of texture and a slight gilt over the top. I didn't like the black cat option as much as I thought I would, so I think I am going to try one with orange next. Oh - and here is my little inspiration cuddling with the painting in progress:
This is taken from the Boingo Farewell tour shirt, which I'm guessing was originally made by Mark Ryden (?). I have always wanted a tattoo of this particular image, but I am unfortunately extremely pain-averse, so I decided to tattoo my car instead. I printed this on decal paper and stuck it in my rear window where it creates a gorgeous stained glass effect and even refracts the light into pretty patterns when the person behind me is angry and threatening me with their brights. You can print your own and share it with others using the scalable PDF version. Hopefully Danny and crew won't sue. ;)
We all know smells are powerful memory triggers. Even the most miserable childhood becomes a little rosier when reminded of pumpkin pie or homemade bread. But this makes me wonder: why do good smells only remind us of good things?
For example, I love tea. I've been drinking tea in big-gulp quantities for the last three years, all day, every day. And whenever that blueberry smell drifts up as I steep the packet, I sigh and think happily of all my other wonderful days drinking tea... wait a minute! Those weren't wonderful days! Those were long, stressful working days where I was yelled at, ignored, humiliated, insulted, and usually underpaid. So why is it that every time the tea comes out, I only remember the cozy rainy days snuggling at home with my cats?
I started examining a lot of my favorite smells. Pumpkin pie is top of my list, but I can't figure that one out because I remember quite distinctly that every Thanksgiving of my life was a horrible experience full of screaming kids and food shortages and elder siblings attacking my personal idealogies. But nonetheless my pumpkin pie soap makes me think of delicious turkey dinners and being so full I can't button up my pants. Apricot reminds me fondly of the apricot tree I had as a child. Yes, the very tree full of disgusting, wormy apricots which I had to peel and split for my mom's canning, whilst grinding my teeth down as hard as I could to keep from screaming. Boiled eggs make me think of eating dyed eggs on Easter morning, despite the fact that most of the eggs I've eaten were on miserable school mornings when we were out of cereal and it was the only food item left in the house that I could cook. Frying bacon and maple syrup waffles makes me think of a happy Christmas morning breakfast... despite being yelled at every Christmas by my dad for not being grateful enough or polite enough or helpful enough.*
Certain unpleasant smells do bring back unpleasant memories, like the wet, scorched stink of our old fire-damaged books. Or the cleaning product smell of cleaning soot off of walls. Or the nasty perfume of the woman at church who used to insult my clothes when I was a kid.
But it seems pretty consistent that in my head, good smells only tie themselves to good memories. I guess that's a useful thing - I can't count the number of favorite songs and movies I've given up once they were tainted by bad memories. At least I know that a breakup or a snide remark can't ruin my favorite foods.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm...
*All completely justified. I was a wretched little monster of a kid.
