After dark last night I stood in the garden having gathered in the clothes off the line, I held my newly washed sarong against my face. It felt soft and smelt of sea air and that fragrance that only washing dried outside can hold.

It made me think about painting. Just about everything makes me think about painting. How do we convey those senses. Sound, smell, touch.

Some of my work is born together with its title. Some of my work never gets a title beyond a geographic pointer or similar.

One work that was born with its title embedded was The Fragrance of Hair at Storytime. That moment with a small child, washed and ready for bed, sitting snuggled in your lap, top of head in kissing distance as you read.

Strangely as I prepared to write this today, the post arrived with a donation request from Child Cancer Foundation. It had the usual updates and cheerful photos of brave small children. No hair. Smiles and courage, but no hair. For a time anyway, until it grows back.

It’s the child that is fragrant. Top of head kissably fragrant.