Sometimes each colour is shaped like a smell.

When a picture still retains its characteristic smell as it is being unwrapped, I remember the circumstances in which I created it. Either it smells of the studio’s humidity, the cold of autumn, or it tastes like the way things dry quickly in summer. I breathe every instance in which I added or removed elements that now make it up.

The layers of acrylic, oil, viscous, lying flat, seems to redeem the process, the work of carrying that picture forward.

When I smell the painting, I believe it was worth taking the trouble to be hesitant, undecided about completing the work; if over time it retains a faint odour of oil paint, I remember the effort it took to begin it.

I often sniff the air in an art exhibition in order to know where the works come from, what they are made of, and I touch them furtively.

Javier Balda