Spray painting is the daredevil, extreme sports version of painting, not to mention mostly thrilling (except for the pressure on the button of your forefinger) because of its long tradition as the tool of choice for graffiti. Given the choice of sitting quietly with paint can and brush or spinning around an object while shooting out color, I go for the spray paint.
Today gave me three opportunities to wield some spray paint colors, namely bright blue, grape purple and deep green, while aiming at a chair, a file cabinet, and a little wooden cabinet that has been recycled from holding baby blankets to remote controls and wii boards to its next assignment of holding fabric. All these objects are going into my office, which is quite a mess of revision as it changes from mere place to write and pay bills to grand art table, sewing space and writing studio. There’s also an astonishingly heavy door involved, which I was wise enough not to spray paint.
I spent the afternoon in the shaded part of our gravel driveway aiming and pushing, and because I can’t leave well enough alone, I ended up mixing colors for each object. There’s enormous satisfaction in spraying over rusted edges, scratches and blotches, not to mention a high gloss finish.
Now it’s the quiet wait while all dries enough, the great exertion of energy to carry and haul them into place, and then the dazzlement of however they look together. There may be fumes in the air, but there’s also a palpable buzz carrying me through a project that doesn’t require much thinking, clock-watching, speaking or writing. Sometimes the project that leads to future projects is the most happy of all.