JUST A STORY, BUT ADMITTEDLY CLOSE TO REALITY
Dear aunt Ella died, in her sleep. She was always good to us and she knew that we had an eye for art and sculpture. That is how we came to inherit her splendid collection of porcelain figurines. It so happened that we had an old cabinet with glass doors we had been thinking of selling or giving away. It was made of depressingly somber dark oak. But potentially it was perfect to display our new collection of figurines. It was not an expensive piece and the thinking was that it would not be a crime, esthetically speaking, to redo the cabinet in a lighter color. In other words, I was volunteered to paint it. It is a well- known fact that in homes where married people live “volunteer” is a transitive verb.
What color, though, would be right? A creamy white was one suggestion. I objected since the walls of the room are already creamy white. There would be no contrast. The cabinet would blend into the wall and visually disappear. My argument was accepted.
Red was mentioned. We already have a small red library or sofa table. But that red is so bland and diffused that it was impossible to find a matching chip in the paint store. And a bright red cabinet in the dining room? A little bit too much contrast, I thought. So that suggestion was discarded.
The original idea had been to paint the cabinet in a lighter color, to get away from dark colors. Blue was suggested. Some of us, me for example, thought that blue was a dark color unless you are thinking of powder blue. We were not thinking of powder blue, however. Defying logic, we were going to lighten up the room by painting the cabinet dark blue. Not dark dark blue, but not powder blue either. Lots of contrast with the wall, however.
It was almost fun to paint the plain wooden outside, two coats with a drying day between. But there were glass doors with ribs that were meant to simulate smaller panels. To paint 3/16 inches wide ribs without spilling any paint on the glass was a challenge, and it also had to be done twice of course. I did not let this bother me. I already had grey hair.
On to painting the inside then. To keep it light we selected, yes, a creamy off-white. The inside had no ribs to worry about and was finished in record time. The off-white inside of the cabinet contrasted beautifully with the blue outside. We should have measured the pieces first, but when we began to install our little collection we discovered that one of the precious figurines was just a little too tall to get her head under the shelves. The only thing to do, short of the guillotine, was to move one of the shelves. The shelves rested on cleats that had been installed by the manufacturer about ninety years ago. They did things solidly in those days. To move those cleats in such a way that the re-installed shelf would not wiggle or slope was a procedure I will not further describe lest my language offend any one.
But we got it done. Our beautiful figurines had a palatial new home. The figurines were mostly off-white and blended perfectly into the off-white interior of the cabinet. Absent contrast, they became virtually invisible.
What does one do in such situations, other than letting go a few nasty words? Get rid of Ella’s white figurines and buy our selves a bunch of blue ones was one idea, and it nearly landed me in divorce court. Or perhaps re-paint the inside of the cabinet blue, sacrificing the idea of lighting up the room in favor of more contrast for the figurines. That made sense. Off came the doors again, out went the figurines — careful, you (me?) broke a finger off one of them already! Take out the shelves. Paint the inside back panel of the cabinet blue, two coats, drying day between them. I was developing a routine. As I finished it was late and I was tired, and tired of painting.
I must have gone to bed but I do not remember that. I should have loved to hear what Professor Freud might have said to my dream that night: I was in my underwear, and in front of me I had a collection of little white figurines, lots of nasty little people with impertinent beady eyes, which I was angrily splashing with red glossy enamel. There, take this! Take that! And I was splashing a lot of red paint on myself in the process when my wife walked in and, thinking I was bleeding to death, let out the mother of all screams. Except it was actually me who was screaming in my sleep. Which woke my real wife up, wondering if I had lost my mind. I was too tired to explain.
Just as well, because another problem had arisen. It was all much too blue. So why don’t we take out the shelves again and repaint them cream color. Just the shelves, not the background. Well, maybe the side panels too. It would help lightening the room and would not diminish the contrast.
It was then that it occurred to me that a bunch of those nasty little red people with cream colored feet that I dreamed about would make a perfect display. Cram them in, a hundred of them, fifty to a shelf if need be. That should be enough contrast for anybody! I suppressed the urge to scream, however, and kept that idea to myself.
(c) by Herbert H. Hoffman.
Picture credit: Croyland Abbey, Lincolnshire