When I Was a Painter

This weekend I began my mission to lovingly restore some 1950s bedroom furniture acquired from eBay. I imagine the dresser and the bedside table were once beautiful; effortlessly creating adoration and joy in a handsome ladies bedroom. But as days turned into years, and the sun shone through the grimy windows the furniture lost its glamour and became discoloured, old, and eventually unloved. It may have been left in the spare room where the grandkids once slept. Or buried under some records in the garage, where only the spare tires and the sparrows could hear its tales of the past.

So I went on a little trip to my Dad's house, where we sanded away the nasty old paint and the sad tales of desertion. Now it is sat in my living room, dominating my entire living space and polluting my flat with the smell of gloss and brush cleaner. I can only paint in the daylight, as unfortunately it isn't bright enough in my building. And due to the light restrictions that winter enforces on us, this means that I am confined to painting in the morning before work. I quite like it. It means I head to work each day feeling like I have achieved something creative, even if only for half an hour. I will post photos of the transformation when we are closer to its completion. It will be the first piece of furniture I have restored in my 28 years. And has also meant I can now distinguish between various paint types. Not quite enough for a change of career, but a little closer to feeling like I know something useful.

Aside from my adventures with pink gloss, I built this lovely Lego helicopter. It made me smile. A present from Matthew, who always buys me the best things.