Painter's Reflections

I live in an apartment at the moment with a strict lease about painting and such. All walls are champagne beige. So is the ceiling. So is the carpet.

I covered the walls with pictures. And I covered the carpets with a variety of area rugs. But there's not much I can do with the ceilings. So they're just icky beige.

When I owned my own home, the ceilings were all barely-there pastels that brought life and light into each room. That wasn't easy because we lived in a double-wide modular home and they're notorious for small windows and dark walls.

Paint has been my friend for most of my life. When I was about eight, we moved to a tiny house that only had two bedrooms. I had to share my room with my younger stinky brothers. As a reward, my parents asked me what color I wanted to paint the bedroom.

Turquoise. And not a wimpy airy-fairy turquoise either. It was bold and brilliant. I loved that room.

When my sons were small, I papered the walls in their bedroom with wild jungle animals and painted one wall bright jungle green. They loved their room... cried when we moved to the next apartment.

I've tried all sorts of techniques over the years. Big geometric graphics in contrasting colors. Dainty stencil work on the doorways. Stark white. But I must admit that painting is hard work. And in a way, I'm kinda glad that I can't paint in this apartment. Because goodness knows I would get the itch to change the wall colors. And then before I could say Jack Robinson, I'd be moving furniture around. Nah... it's probably for the best.

anny