It’s clear I wasn’t born to paint. Anything – drawings, canvases, walls…Adirondack chairs. After languishing for over a month because of bad weather, Passover, family in town and a million other more interesting enterprises, I decided today was the day to tackle the two poor things that made me feel guilty every time my gaze swept over the backyard. Breezy morning, some sunshine, I figured it was the perfect time.
The colour I had picked turned out to be much lighter than I had anticipated but, screw it, I wasn’t going to fret over it. Within three minutes of using the rolling thing – I suppose you would call it a roller – it was apparent that gloves might be in order as my fingers had started to resemble a greenish leopard. Ottie lost interest pretty quickly in my endeavor, with the can of paint clearly not edible and my entire focus shifted on something other than himself, and started pursuing his daily routine of assessing which dangers might be forthcoming from the great white yonder behind our fence – squirrels, birds, other dogs, coyotes suffering from insomnia, lizards, a wide variety that would keep him interested while I belabored with brushes and paint.
Despite the newspapers I meticulously put over the ground and secured with rocks, splotches of paint are now gracing my patio. It all went fairly smoothly as long as I did the large surfaces with the roller, I was actually having a good time but do you have any idea how much detailing is there in an assembled Adirondack chair? How many crannies and under surfaces and back surfaces? My interest was fading fast – every time I thought I was done, another little corner appeared, demanding attention. It’s interesting how I can slave over a cake decoration, a cookie detail, or fill 500 eclairs without batting an eyelid but cannot stay focused for just over an hour to paint a stupid chair. In the midst of my effort I ended painting a poor spider who came out of hiding at the very wrong moment – he hobbled away in a hurry, none too happy with his new minty green suit.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, I was done with one chair and promptly decided the second one would have to wait until next week-end. It does look ok but, on closer inspection, it’s easy to see it’s not professional handy work. Upon checking myself in the mirror, getting ready to meet some girlfriends for lunch, my hair sported a Cruella deMon streak, minty green. Lesson learned. For the next chair, I am wearing a hat.