A little tour for you of my dad’s paintbox, with some commentary here and there:
The back, where the hinges are, has some duct tape on it – just two pieces. It must have seemed a bit rickety, so Dad secured it.
The top tray.
A bottle of linseed oil that leaked long ago. It’s now permanently attached to the wood. I tried to loosen it and it’s not budging.
Character.
The bottom tray. He had lots of brushes, some of which are unused, palette knives, big brushes for priming the canvas, I expect, and lots of oil paint.
Winsor and Newton has been going strong for a long time. My oils are made by Winsor and Newton, and so are Dad’s.
I remember Grumbacher paints and brushes. They’re still being sold today.
Dad’s palette and a Grumbacher brush.
Now I remember dad occasionally watching Bob Ross on PBS.
I think the box itself is a work of art. Well used tubes of paint, brushes, solvents, cleaners, paint marks – it’s all lovely to me.
It was airing out on the funky patio all day yesterday. I’m going to do it again today. Hopefully, that musty smell (which isn’t all that bad) will dissipate.
Some of the brushes are new, still in the package, so I might use them. Or I might just leave everything as is in homage to my dad, who found peace through painting, a respite from the demons that sometimes plagued him.
I’m so honored to have it here at the cottage.
Love you, Daddy.
Happy Thursday.