An ear to hear: thoughts “listening” to furniture

Breathing new life into old materials, furniture and the like, often requires good listening skills.  I find that it takes me a fairly long time to develop a plan for a piece, only to have that plan change during the process of working on it.

This dresser stumped me for the longest time.  And it looked pretty good too, as is, though not particularly interesting.  Originally, I tossed around a lovely coral color. But it didn’t feel right. I liked texture of the grain and the hardware and so wanted to somehow keep those elements in place as much as possible.

Mercifully, I’m not the only one who struggles to listen carefully to an old item, or who finds that her/his plan is altered by its voice.  I love how Gilly, of Color Saturated Life,  in reference to this lovely, puts it:

When I started this piece I had a whole other plan for it…but during the process the piece spoke to me and I had to follow my gut instincts. Sometimes furniture does that to you, it dictates what is to be done. I fell in love with the wood on this piece, especially the veneer on the doors and I wanted to pay homage to the work the original craftsman had done.

Her ideas about paying homage to the original craftsman resonate with my own philosophy.  I admire the details, the craftsmanship, the lovely wood veneers, and want to highlight those details so often not present in new furniture.  Like these drawers joints.  There’s an artistry evident here.

Sometimes, though, I find myself questioning the original craftsman, and his or her process; e.g., why on earth did she not reinforce this?  Or why did he….?  You get the idea.  The back on this piece needed some work as did the entire structure; it swayed like a sheet in the wind.

In order to pay homage to the original craftsman, here’s what I try to do.

One: restore functionality.  This often falls to my main man, Thad.  I want everything I complete, that has my name and reputation attached to it, to be both functional and beautiful.  He’s usually responsible for the functionality part while I usually do the beautifying.  So not original, I know.  And while I like the idea of fixing the piece myself, he’s so good at it that I see no real point in messing with the current division of labor.  But I digress.

Two: listen to the piece.  Sometimes it speaks loudly and clearly.  Other times, it mumbles, changes its mind, or sometimes, external factors intervene–say, for example, a child’s greasy handprint on a freshly paint washed dresser.  It might look something like this, perhaps?

This piece–let’s call it the greasy handprint dresser!–as I mentioned earlier, I originally wanted to paint a lovely coral color.  But, after staring, and staring, and staring, I saw a lovely driftwood milk paint wash, inspired by the large, forbidding and yet captivating Lake Superior.  So that’s what I did.

Indeed, old things require an ear to hear, or in this case, an eye to see.

For fun, I’ve shared this with the ladies who host Friday’s Furniture Fix, and with Suzanne from the The Painted Drawer.