The Bedroom (Cont'd)

Still no words to speak of, but plenty of design news today. I completed wall two of the bedroom. Here I pan to the right--you can see the right edge of the Palmer painting featured in my last post--as I photograph the first edge of the newly finished wall:

Yes, it's a little blurry and there's a glare, but I'm tired. This image does not do the lady in the drawing justice (formerly the lady in my hallway), a Christmas present from my mother. The lady simply HAD to relocate to the luscious new digs. Here's the entire wall:

Can you even? I know I can't. What can I say? LOVE. But it's been a bit of a bitch getting here what with me having to contend with a hefty set of plantation blinds pretty seriously interfering with me hanging those yummy watered silk pinstriped drapes. In the end, it would take screws, nails, and all the powers of the Bosch 10.8 volt Litheon i-Driver with Quick-Change Chuck along with the VERY LIBERAL application of four-letter words to get them exactly where I wanted them (they just graze the floor...BY. GOD.). The other piece of art many Paducahans may recall as a pulled print etching of the Texaco by former Lowertown artist Mark Barone. Near as I can figure, the only thing missing in this bedroom of artistic wonders is one of Nikki May's latest works of ladies sketched in her antique book.

Much has been made over at Facebook about the ceiling fixture in this room; a hideous thing that I've taken to calling the boob light:

Yes. MUST go. This newly sophisticated space simply cannot BEAR the now highly offensive stench of the boob light much longer. I found the perfect fixture at IKEA which, naturally, isn't available except in-store (the closest to me of which is in Chicago or Cincinatti). I may settle for this which is much like the IKEA fixture:

Obviously, the fixture is less about style than the need to better light the art in the room but even as utilitarian as it is, it is a huge step up from the boob light.

Also, today's special design find, a tiny (!) lamp from Pier One:

I had to have two, of course, to light my dresser.

Otherwise, Tallulah, for one, is very happy in the newly evolved space. You see her below in a photo I snapped from my blackberry this morning She is settled in to my favorite spot in the bed all ready for another long day of observing me going about my labors. It's exhausting for her, you know. Really.

And...MORE charcoal.

The original plan was to paint only my bedroom charcoal. I bought the lamps, the bedding and curtains (to be photographed later) and chose the paint (Behr, Dark Granite) at least a year and a half ago (exactly at the time I became taken up with school) with the intention of bringing it all together in the bedroom. Meanwhile, the charcoal paint crept on to first one, and then another kitchen wall. I've had to take a couple of days off work and firmly commit myself to finally turning my attention to the bedroom to make this happen. I'm thrilled with the result. I had thought to use a large vintage metal Coca-Cola sign for a headboard (some readers my remember it from my erstwhile Lowertown barn), but once complete, the look was far too sophisticated for so folksy a touch. Nothing but the Mark Palmer painting would do!

Not that I'm finished or anything. I've got more painting to do and curtains to hang and I will likely replace the tired old ceiling fixture that looks like a boob. I will keep you posted.

Charcoal: The obsession continues

So, I should have taken a before shot. But here's the after of my latest painted kitchen wall. Dark, velvety charcoal. Isn't it delicious?

For comparison, at the upper left-hand corner, you can see where the charcoal ends. As I was pondering the spot ("Where the Charcoal Ends") last night, I imagined the charcoal side is lively, vivid life and the weak yellow side but a pale imitation.

Swear to God, I'm working on a longer post. I have not abandoned or forgotten my little blog and, I promise, I will be back in my usual form sooner rather than later. Thanks for your patience.

You know I love ya more'n my luggage.