When Mister Man sent me pictures of the house he bid on, the stripes were the very first thing I noticed. He claimed they weren't bad, but I disagreed. When we finally arrived to the house he bought, I still couldn't get over the stripes, but I knew paint could do wonders. Without a doubt, I would be painting this house. I didn't have a choice. The stripes had to go.
I think for a lot of the neighbors, it's the fecal brown paint that really gets them. Most of them didn't even realize what I meant by "stripes." But I personally believe if the house was all fecal brown, it wouldn't be nearly the eyesore that it is. It's the stark contrast of the stripes that I feel draws your eyes in. And perhaps I'm wrong, but I feel like if it had all been one color, no matter how bad the color, it wouldn't have been nearly as aesthetically displeasing as it was with stripes.
And just as I said I would do this spring, April or May, and well, it happened in the latter, I slapped some paint on the front. I started with only one gallon of paint to "test" the color, and well, after all that work, there was no way I was repainting it. And luckily, I really love that color. I wanted to make sure I wasn't stealing a neighbor's color, so I went around matching paint swatches to their houses before I ever bought any paint. A bit on the awkward side, but I worry about people thinking I'm copying them; I'm unsure as to why.
While many people have said they're not sure what possessed anyone to use that brown, another neighbor shared with me that the husband who had died 25 years earlier had chosen those colors, and the lady kept the house sort of as a shrine to him. And even when she had it repainted, she kept those colors. That helped me understand the thought process because I've met two extremes in people after a loss, especially with widows. You have those who keep everything the same, and then you have people who change everything as though the person never existed. They remove every trace of them. Obviously, we know which extreme the 85 year old lady fit in. And that's understandable.
But it's my house now, and I have no reason to keep it striped. I started this project last Tuesday, and since, I've spoken with more people in the neighborhood than I have since we bought the house. Strangers drive by slowly. People who walk by just stand there and stare while I'm painting. I'm not sure if it's the paint or the short grey paint shorts I wear, but I'm really hoping it's just the difference that some paint can make. And what a difference it makes. We still have some work left to do, as other than Saturday, it's been a solo act. (Mister Man was a huge help though and a lot was accomplished that day.) The details on the front have taken me forever, all of those nooks and crannies, while the stucco sides are much easier to paint. Also, I've been doing all of this with just a paintbrush and high grade rollers. Fantastic workout, but a lot of hard work. And while it is still unfinished, many neighbors have let me know that it already looks so much better. Yes, paint truly can make a difference.
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