Painter’s Progress

I STILL HATE PAINTING, but not so much. The guest room is done — not yet dry, but done. The job got less miserable as it went along because I felt closer to the finish line, though painting this small bedroom — it can’t be more than 100 square feet — took me the entire week.

Here’s what I mean:

• Last Sunday, I primed the new sheetrock walls and ceiling.
• On Monday, 2 coats of Ben Moore’s China White on walls and ceiling, except for one short wall.
• Tuesday, 2 coats of Ben Moore’s Rhythm and Blues on the short wall. Pleasant color – it’s growing on me.
• Wednesday, I decided to paint a second, longer wall blue as well (and I’m glad I did – it makes the new window pop, and it’s lovely to catch a glimpse of blue down at the end of the hall). That took two coats, naturally — and rendered the two previous coats of China White on that wall unnecessary, but what can ya do.
• Somewhere mid-week, I put one coat of China White semi-gloss on the window moldings and one set of shutters.
• On Thursday, I decided to paint a rusty red iron bed glossy black: 2 coats plus touch-up. That was the only oil-based paint I used, with disposable sponge brushes.
• Finally, today, having come thus far, I went the distance. I painted the worn tongue in groove wood floor white — Painter’s Select Sand Powder, to be exact. Of course, that took two coats, one in the morning, and one in the afternoon.

In between, there was much spreading of newspaper, painstaking placement of blue painters’ tape (still visible in these pictures), and washing up of brushes and rollers.

But it’s done, hooray! I have a feeling of accomplishment and renewed appreciation for painters — not so much for the level of skill involved, but for the Zen mindset required to get through it.

That final floor-painting, when I could have just washed the scuffed floors for now and thrown down a couple of area rugs, turned out to be the most pleasurable part, probably for being the last. But also because bending down with a roller is easier than reaching up, and the paint went on very smoothly and quickly.

Beyond that, covering that last bit of surface area with fresh paint seemed to exorcise the ghosts of the previous occupants, in that room at least. Since my neighbors told me recently that some of them (a series of short-term renters) had serious mental and hygiene issues, it feels especially good to have them outta there.

As my friend Debre pointed out, “Painting makes the room glow. I think it is as much energetic as it is a new surface finish.”

I so agree. Now for a badly needed manicure.

Regret to Relief in Seconds Flat

HOW QUICKLY REGRET CAN TURN TO RELIEF. When I saw this listing for a c.1900 East Hampton farmhouse with an asking price of 599K and the red words “In Contract,” I immediately felt the pang of having missed out on something wonderful. I added the house to my mental catalogue of real estate regrets (and they are legion – you can’t have lived in Brooklyn in the late 1970s and not regret NOT buying up a slew of brownstones when they were going for $50,000).

Now I’m living in East Hampton and loving the area – and I’m quite pleased with my little 1940s cottage. But I still have a compulsion to keep looking for the sort of house I originally thought I wanted – a 19th century farmhouse with a front porch. This one is very well located, on a quiet one-way street of older homes. It’s perched on a hilly two-thirds of an acre, and the backyard, above, is more like a field, with 16 acres of protected land behind. It feels secluded, yet it’s a stone’s throw from Nick and Toni’s and Della Femina, local restaurants of legend, and all East Hampton has to offer (I’m beginning to sound like a real estate listing myself).

Through-the-window shot, showing wood floors, original windows and doors, and fresh paint

I drove over to Floyd Street this morning after the gym to take a look. As soon as I pulled up in front of the place, my heart was at peace. I wish the people who are in contract all the best, and hope they get their mortgage. But they’ll have their hands full with repairs, from the dilapidated porch to the 1950s era asbestos shingles and God knows what else, lurking in the basement or on the roof. If I had to guess, I’d say it looks as if someone started out with great ambitions – there’s a trendy farmhouse sink in the kitchen and new stainless appliances – but ultimately didn’t have the resources to pull it off.

What all this says to me is that it’s a buyer’s market. 599K (and we can assume the contracted price is lower) would have been unheard of in East Hampton village three years ago. So let’s all keep looking, if only for the fun of it. Can’t be much fun for sellers though.

Springs Cottage 550K

IF I WERE IN THE MARKET for a restored fisherman’s cottage right now, I would check out this listing. It’s near where I live in Springs (East Hampton), N.Y., and right around the bend from a spectacular bay beach, Louse Point.

Both house and garden are bright and tidy. It’s 1,100 sq. ft., with a back porch and finished attic, which can be a third bedroom.

I wish it was on more than 1/4 acre, and had older windows, but you can’t have everything. The asking price is not unreasonable for these parts.

The detached garage has been converted to a ‘loom room,’ below.

I Hate Painting

I’M THINKING RUSTOLEUM. I have a wrought iron bench on the front deck and an old metal bedstead for the guest room, both in need of some bright paint.

That’s not my bench, above. It’s from Gardenhouse, a site that specializes in reclaiming vintage outdoor furniture and accessories, and I find it way more inspiring to contemplate a project like that than what I’ve been doing for the past two days: painting the guest room.

I’d forgotten how much I hate painting walls (and ceilings – they’re the worst). Yesterday I primed, all the while trying to think who I could call to come finish the job. Today I picked the roller up again, reluctantly, bespeckling myself, my hair, and my glasses with China White. The color is creamier than I intended, but so be it. I can’t run out to the paint store as easily as I did in Brooklyn; anyway, I refuse to extend the process.

Listening to music didn’t help. I missed my daughter, who made last autumn’s painting jag a lot more fun.  The fact that I couldn’t see what I was doing added to the misery (the top coat and primer are close in color, and although I had a clamp-on light, the room was dim by late afternoon, or maybe my eyes are failing).

I vowed this would be the last time…that is, until tomorrow, when I do the trim, including a set of window shutters (shudder), and — saving the best for last — one short wall with Benjamin Moore’s Rhythm and Blues. In a couple of days, I’ll wow you with pictures.