Gemotions

The aroma of linseed oil and turpentine clung to Eleanor's fingertips, even after washing them. She slammed the kitchen cupboard door a little harder than necessary. Another painting, another canvas, another encroachment on her personal space. Her daughter, Lily, had claimed the spare bedroom, the dining table, and now, apparently, her carefully curated collection of art supplies. Eleanor's own painting, abandoned mid-blossom, sat on an easel, gathering dust. A sigh escaped her lips as she noticed the new canvases crowding her own supplies. Each time she went to set up, it was a battle. She needed the supplies, and Lily would get in her way, wanting to "learn". It was beginning to feel like her sanctuary was a minefield.