I hinted at it in an earlier post and here it is: the newly painted family room. All it took was a gallon of the stuff and some minor changes to take the room from boringly bland to gorgeously (in my humble, nonprofessional opinion) green.
The drapes came down (nothing but deer back there anyway, and if they can climb the deck steps and peer inside, they’re most welcome to see whatever they see). The pillows were pulled from the guest bedroom and scattered (OK…anally arranged) on the (what-color-is-that-anyway?) sofa.
It’s the most contemporary room in the house, and I think it’s great fun.
I have absolute confidence in my ability to dress myself. I owe a lot of the positive results to my stylist buddy Sam, but I think I also inherited the elegant-and-fashionable-with-touches-of-original gene from my mom. However, when it comes to dressing my nest, my faith in my taste has always flown right out the window.
I’ve wanted to be creative. Different. I’ve wanted people to walk into my home and be dazzled by what they see, but I’ve always been just a little bit afraid to let go. Until recently.
I’ve been collaborating on two design books with women whose talents and taste are off the chart. They’ve taught me a lot, particularly how to access the brave-and-daring me who lives somewhere behind a tree in the neighborhood of the I’m-terrified-to-try-this me. The b-and-d me went out and bought a quart of very orange paint and did this:
And I love it. I think it’s the perfect background for all the design books I’ve been collecting to inspire me for future projects.
Now that I have a single success to my credit, I’m on a roll. As I type, the second coat of paint in the most amazing shade of kiwi is drying on the family-room walls.
Trace and Kristan, you would be proud. (I hope…)