I began at the paint store in the knowledgable hands of Vic, on whom I can always count for advice and a story or two. He assured me that Benjamin Moore Regal was the way to go and he was right; it covered dense and dark in one coat.
When I told him what I was doing he looked down and nodded his head. “You know, I can paint a steady, straight line,” he looked up from under his brow and finished, “with either hand.” I smiled back, “You know, I can, too. Pretty much.”
And I did. The lines waver slightly – you can see that they were not taped. I like it better. No pretense.
I made a quick guide and started at the center of the longest wall and moved toward the door. I was intent on getting the worst out of the way, the Catholic school girl in me still so deeply embedded that I felt the need to earn satisfaction through suffering. But I succumbed. Succumbed to the creamy temptation of the paint and the soft “shush” of the brush on the wall. The marking scrambled my brain, but the painting soothed my spirit and before the small space filled with the scent of the intoxicant I realized that this was what I sought from the beginning.
In no hurry, with my focus on what was right in front of me, I took it a little at a time. There was the bother of corners and plumbing, but even those, with patience, were managed. Standing back now, with pictures and props in place, it looks as if it all worked out as it should.