I've been stripping an old commode the last couple of days. No, not a toilet--a cabinet with a lift-up lid that used to be used to store a water pitcher, a chamber pot, etc.) I found a non-caustic stripper, Smart Strip, that works well. I covered it with plastic wrap, even though it says you don't need to. This kept it wet for almost a day, at which point I peeled it off and scraped off the loosened paint. I'm letting the goop dry up, after which I'll bag it and dispose of it as trash in a sealed bag. I don't think there's any toxic material in it--if any of the paint was lead, the bagging up will take care of environmental concerns.
After the first coat had softened the top layers of paint, a layer of graining was revealed: the pine had been given an oak-look faux woodgrain, with some decorative swirls applied over that. I considered carefully stripping the remainder of the top layers--which, by the way, included bright turquoise and an even brighter orange under the most recent off-white layer!--and preserving the graining. If it were a more valuable, historically-significant piece, I probably would have, but these are pretty common, and I prefer the charm of the pine to the more formal oak look. So I reapplied the stripper, waited overnight, and scraped off the faux finish. But it reminded me of some Shaker chairs we have.
My great-aunt and -uncle lived in Alfred, Maine, right down the street from an old Shaker community, and had purchased three chairs from there when the community was sold off due to declining membership. The chairs had the original woven cotton tape, but had been painted white at some point. My father had removed the paint for them using a scraper rather than a liquid stripper...a wise decision, since they're much more valuable now with their original finish. I've known for years he'd used the scraper, but never asked why. He could have removed the cotton tape, used a liquid stripper, and re-woven the seats using the original material, if they wanted to preserve the weaving. Of course, that would've removed the original stain as well. Did they know the original finish made them more valuable? Did they just want to preserve it for the sake of historical accuracy? Was the scraping easier than removing and reweaving the tape to chemically strip the wood? Did they just like the look of it?
Suddenly, I wanted to ask my dad about this. I've always felt pretty settled regarding my father's passing. We had no unresolved issues when he died, and in the ensuing years, I've had only fond memories with no lingering questions. But suddenly, twenty-odd years later, I just wanted to talk to him. It wasn't a big thing, and I didn't suffer pangs of regret or longing. I just wanted to ask Dad about something he did that was similar to what I was doing. He had made a decision, as I had, on how to refinish something. We never did any projects like this together, and now I wanted to trade thoughts. All this time had passed, and yet for a moment I forgot that he isn't here anymore.
Once we lose people, we lose the opportunity to learn from them directly. We can no longer ask questions when we wonder what it was like to live through a World War or the depression, or how our parents fell in love. Or why they refinished furniture the way they did.
We once gave my mother a book in which a series of questions were asked about her youth, what it was like growing up, the circumstances of her marriage, her children's births, and on and on. She was supposed to write in her answers, and we'd ultimately have a book that chronicled experiences in her life we might not otherwise know. It was a gift for her--we figured she'd enjoy hours recalling the highlights and day-to-day goings-on in her life--but it was to be just as much a gift for us. When she died last year, never having filled in anything, we thought of giving it to my father-in-law. We mentioned it, but he didn't seem interested. Now I'm thinking I should keep it and start writing in answers about my life. If someone gives me a book like this when I'm old, I may not be interested then, either--and eventually my kids and their descendants may have questions that the book could have answered. Not on how or why to refinish furniture, of course, but a little more insight into who preceded them on the family tree.
A journal would accomplish the same thing, but at least this "memories" book provides a structured start. I think I'll try to dig out that book this weekend. Maybe it'll ask me to describe workshop projects.
After the first coat had softened the top layers of paint, a layer of graining was revealed: the pine had been given an oak-look faux woodgrain, with some decorative swirls applied over that. I considered carefully stripping the remainder of the top layers--which, by the way, included bright turquoise and an even brighter orange under the most recent off-white layer!--and preserving the graining. If it were a more valuable, historically-significant piece, I probably would have, but these are pretty common, and I prefer the charm of the pine to the more formal oak look. So I reapplied the stripper, waited overnight, and scraped off the faux finish. But it reminded me of some Shaker chairs we have.
My great-aunt and -uncle lived in Alfred, Maine, right down the street from an old Shaker community, and had purchased three chairs from there when the community was sold off due to declining membership. The chairs had the original woven cotton tape, but had been painted white at some point. My father had removed the paint for them using a scraper rather than a liquid stripper...a wise decision, since they're much more valuable now with their original finish. I've known for years he'd used the scraper, but never asked why. He could have removed the cotton tape, used a liquid stripper, and re-woven the seats using the original material, if they wanted to preserve the weaving. Of course, that would've removed the original stain as well. Did they know the original finish made them more valuable? Did they just want to preserve it for the sake of historical accuracy? Was the scraping easier than removing and reweaving the tape to chemically strip the wood? Did they just like the look of it?
Suddenly, I wanted to ask my dad about this. I've always felt pretty settled regarding my father's passing. We had no unresolved issues when he died, and in the ensuing years, I've had only fond memories with no lingering questions. But suddenly, twenty-odd years later, I just wanted to talk to him. It wasn't a big thing, and I didn't suffer pangs of regret or longing. I just wanted to ask Dad about something he did that was similar to what I was doing. He had made a decision, as I had, on how to refinish something. We never did any projects like this together, and now I wanted to trade thoughts. All this time had passed, and yet for a moment I forgot that he isn't here anymore.
Once we lose people, we lose the opportunity to learn from them directly. We can no longer ask questions when we wonder what it was like to live through a World War or the depression, or how our parents fell in love. Or why they refinished furniture the way they did.
We once gave my mother a book in which a series of questions were asked about her youth, what it was like growing up, the circumstances of her marriage, her children's births, and on and on. She was supposed to write in her answers, and we'd ultimately have a book that chronicled experiences in her life we might not otherwise know. It was a gift for her--we figured she'd enjoy hours recalling the highlights and day-to-day goings-on in her life--but it was to be just as much a gift for us. When she died last year, never having filled in anything, we thought of giving it to my father-in-law. We mentioned it, but he didn't seem interested. Now I'm thinking I should keep it and start writing in answers about my life. If someone gives me a book like this when I'm old, I may not be interested then, either--and eventually my kids and their descendants may have questions that the book could have answered. Not on how or why to refinish furniture, of course, but a little more insight into who preceded them on the family tree.
A journal would accomplish the same thing, but at least this "memories" book provides a structured start. I think I'll try to dig out that book this weekend. Maybe it'll ask me to describe workshop projects.
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