THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 19, 1995 TAG: 9502170089
SECTION: HOME PAGE: G1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: HOMEFRONT
SOURCE: BY MARCIA MANGUM, HOME & GARDEN EDITOR
LENGTH: Medium: 72 lines
The study. A corner to sit at the computer and create. A reverie. A retreat from the rest of household.
Those images come to mind when I think of a study. My husband and I were pleased that the 72-year-old house we bought last spring had a small, sunny room suitable for one.
But the previous owner had a different idea of what a study should be.
Judging from the bold, zigzagged orange-black-and-white wallpaper and geometric orange and black rug, he wanted stimulation, not calm. The room was well-done to suit his tastes, but, unfortunately, not ours.
We resolved to tackle the transformation as soon as we finished stripping the blue-and-green floral '50s-print wallpaper from the room that would soon become our guest room and nursery. That was no easy chore, with yellowed wallpaper paste beneath the paper and cracked green plaster walls beneath that.
I was 8 months pregnant and in no condition to climb ladders or breathe chemicals, so my husband handled that room single-handedly, finishing it just in time for the arrival of his parents and the baby.
Then we were ready to begin the study. Down came the sagging built-in bookshelves. Down came the wallpaper. Off came the layers of glue. Then we faced the walls- extremely chipped and cracked plaster.
My father-in-law, a determined engineering type, set about chipping off the loose paint and plaster and patching the walls. Alas, extreme summer heat stopped him two walls short of finishing.
The room sat untouched for months. Finally, we could stand it no longer and re-entered the war zone.
By November the room was painted a clean antique white. But the walls were lumpy - too many years of patching, papering and painting. We decided to mask the imperfections with a faux finish.
My husband's office manager, who moonlights as a professional painter, suggested we try feathering. Even quicker and easier than sponging, she said.
My husband was convinced. I was confused.
You choose your color or colors, buy a couple of cheap feather dusters and some sturdy paper plates, and you're ready to go, my husband said enthusiastically. When you're all done, you just throw it all away.
What could be simpler?
Not sure exactly what feathering involved, I took the duster and a plate with a little paint and practiced dobbing on a board in the basement. A dripping, ugly mess. Kind of like graffiti in the rain. This couldn't be right. I tried a short, sweeping motion.
Better - until I hit the corners and edges. Then it got tricky.
The room started to resemble a gaudy finger-painted mess created by my 2-year-old.
Dismayed, I solicited my husband's opinion. He diplomatically agreed it wasn't great but encouraged me to finish. Maybe it would look better when it was done.
It didn't. I was depressed. My first major project at the new house was a flop. Half the weekend was gone, and the room looked worse than when I started.
The next day I got out the antique white and started to repaint, knowing it would take at least two coats to cover all that green.
My husband convinced me to stop at one coat and let him try his hand at feathering. A little green showing through would add texture.
We agreed to only use the light green. He practiced a moment on the board and quickly mastered the light-handed dobbing technique.
Within an hour, the room was transformed. The finish looks a little like a bamboo wallpaper, only softer, ``artier.'' It looks relaxing - somewhere I want to spend time. by CNB