Three years ago we bought this house. It was a short-sale that lasted almost six-months, which gave me plenty of time to agonize over decisions about how I wanted to decorate. I spent hours pouring over coffee table books, magazines, and obviously, Pintrest. I realized I was drawn to white rooms with tons of house plants at about the same time I realized that every women my age, on the Internet at least, was drawn to white rooms with tons of house plants. It was a disappointing discovery. I didn't want a house that look exactly like every other house, even if I had come to believe I really liked that house.
I allowed myself to indulge in the house plants, but decided to paint the the big, open room a warm yellow, in an attempt to evoke cheeriness. But I almost instantly regretted it. It looked dingy, especially as back drop to my mostly thrifted artwork.
Right before Alamae was born I bought two gallons of my faithful Simply White Benjamin Moore Aura paint, ready to turn the space light and bright. But my plans got thwarted when my friend Joanna, who has great, unconventional taste started critiquing the ubiquitous white houses shown so often in print and on screen. And I wholeheartedly agreed with her. There are too many houses that look shockingly similar. Yes, people should embrace color. And why are we all so afraid of being bold and doing something different?
But the thing was, I still wanted a big, white canvas to play with. So when last week's kitchen fire meant the insurance company would in affect pay us for our time to repaint, I decided that the white was finally happening.
And you know what, I'm really happy I did.
The curtains need to be rehung (this time a little further up and out just like Emily Henderson told me) and the art is getting moved around. And then maybe, if for a few moments I can get it looking spruced up, I might give the internet more of what it wants: pictures of houses with white walls and house plants.