The Paint We Spill

I hate magnolia. When we lived in a decently-sized-but-falling-apart rented flat, every wall was painted that colour; an inoffensive neutral. When you rent, you never really relax or settle into the feeling that it’s your home, you know that even if you’ll be there for years, it’s temporary. Is it worth painting the walls? Only if you can be bothered to put it all back to magnolia should you move out, losing your deposit being the alternative. You put up pictures and shelves but in the back of your mind you’re working out if you’ll be able to fill the holes well enough when you take them back down – the more you put up, the more work there’ll be to do later.

When we eventually bought a house (that’s a story in itself…), it was also magnolia, top to bottom, and the first thing I wanted to do was paint. Make our mark. I borrowed some ladders from my uncle that had been in our family for years, covered in dirt, old paint and plaster; stories of rooms long before ours. Borrowing turned into long-term loan and evolved into ‘just keep them.’

The living room was the first victim of my manic energy and I choose rich, dark, Oxford Blue. ‘Maybe we should just put it on one wall and see how it looks,’ said my other half, looking with concern from the tiny room to the near-black paint in the tin. ‘Nah, go big or go home.’  Doing the whole room was the right choice in the end, we both loved it.

Slowly, over the months and years that followed, we covered the magnolia: Sage Green, Polished Pebble, Willow, Frosted Steel, each freshly coloured wall a slow soothing of the past. Insecurities, and associated worries fading under bright paint.

The bathroom came later, accidentally painted a hideous baby blue because the paint looked nothing like the colour on the pot. By that time of course, I’d become so confident in my paint choosing skills that I’d not bothered with a tester. It looked awful; seaside meets crèche. I couldn’t face redoing it though so it stayed that way for a few years, until two weekends ago when I decided to use leftover paint from other rooms to smarten it up. Finally, the baby blue was gone, replaced by Polished Pebble and a wall of Sage Green, far gentler colours rather than the assault on the eyes we’d been living with.

While painting, I dropped Sage Green onto the ladders from the end of my brush and started to wipe it off. Thought about the long-term-ladder-borrowers of the future scratching a nail absently against the hardened blob, wondering about the rooms painted and the choices made.

Changed my mind. Let it dry.