washing all the colours away

Following is a bit of a rant that will most likely interest no one. Like I said awhile back, who really believes that anyone reads or cares about their thoughts? a bit narcissistic, this whole blogging thing, but I am becoming attached.

I have noticed that many people are afraid of colours. I wonder why that is. As children we love them, the brighter the better- so what happens along the way that makes us suspicious and even afraid of vibrancy in colour?

I wonder how do other people choose colours to fill their homes?

We are selling one of the coolest homes in all of Chattanooga, and I worry the young man who is moving in will not appreciate its flow and its uniqueness in room sizes (kitchen, living, dining, bathrooms and bedrooms are big for stelmo. We even have closets and a laundry as well as a West-facing deck with an incredible view of the mountain). Surprisingly though, I am most distressed that he may lack the imagination to appreciate the colours which make this quite the groovy pad.

His mother says he wants to paint it white!!! Of course, considering the cost to paint this house, and that it was painted within the last 2 years and recently touched up, I doubt he will go to that extreme.

The story of choosing a colour scheme:
I wish I could find a before photo of our house. We used to drive passed it, even after a month of living here. Extremely nondescript, bland. Actually kind of ugly. We purchased for the interior. The garden? there was none. Even the trees were sad. We lived with it for almost 7 years before we could afford to do anything about the paint.

It took a few months to choose a palette. The fall months are the best months to research nature's combinations in Chattanooga. I like for a house to complement its surrounding landscape. Living in St. Elmo, we are surrounded by old trees and antique gardens with beautiful spring flowers, but spring is far more fleeting than fall, and the trees are much stronger elements especially as I had not finished the garden plantings at that time.

When trying to make the decision, I would take long walks through the neighborhood. I would stand in front of the beautifully restored Victorians and take note of the variety of colours and how they were used to highlight and accent. One of my favorite homes has, I think it is, 7 different colours- though many of those are in the same family. I would stare at the birds who visited our garden, the stray dogs, the feral cats, the chickens and roosters. On my walks, I would gather fallen leaves, sticks, and rocks. I created a large catalog of purples, reds, goldens, yellows, greens, taupes, pinks, browns and blues- many colours represented on the same leaf, stick or rock. (I love the way there are no "solids" in nature. Every "solid" we see is only an illusion created from the various colours as seen in harmony.)

Bags of nature later, I finally made a decision. I found a small, beautifully patinous spot on our deck- a spot where the sun did not shine during that fabulous, wet season. The wood had weathered to a fantastic clay/ taupe with touches of aubergine mildew and the loveliest aqua lichen. I selected paint swatches, but was unsure how to apply them- body, base, trim, and accent. Thanks to the job supervisor from Randy Wilson, we came up with a lovely scheme that is both in line with the interior exuberance of our home as well as the historic nature of the 'hood.

To think that all the consideration that created this beautiful spot could be washed clean of colour and made glaring white, bleached and lifeless, a skeleton drying in the sun! SIGH!

Why is it that I want to have control in matters where I have no right even to speak? Too attached am I...

Don't tell me this house is not my home
And that neither is this flesh and bone,
I think I just want to be alone.