Monday, February 27, 2012

Hanging Pictures




No, I didn't fall off the planet. But, once or twice, it was the fingernails that saved the day. We learned, on relatively short notice, that we were the lucky hosts of the family reunion. Note that I say "relatively short notice" that is short compared to how much needed doing to prepare for the arrival of the group. Since I got a little carried away with art shows last year and produced quite a bit of new work, that meant piles of frames collected and were stuck on the floors. I began to notice that the room once designated (only by me) as "the gallery" (any normal person would have recognized it as the formal dining room) had considerable less floor space than when we first first moved in. It had even crossed my mind that the room would soon shrink to the point of becoming a hallway to nowhere.

How could this happen, you ask? Well, for one thing, when we moved in, this house was only about four years old and the walls still had a lovely coat of mostly uninterrupted paint. This became a thing with The Husband. While I have mentioned more than once what a catch he is, he is human—yes, there is a flaw here and there. He had adopted this notion that he didn't want "a bunch of nails" in the wall. We had hung a few things that I talked him into, along with a few picture shelves, and I had used a bunch of easels as well as the fireplace mantel. Yet, we had a warehouse of frames leaning against walls and an expanse of lovely empty walls. Beautifully painted. Clean. Boring. Empty. Walls.

While we are on The Husband's eccentricities—you hear about mine all the time—the period leading up to house guests has become quite predictable in our home. I have played my part in this little ditty dozens of times in the 30+ years we have been married. If there is any notice at all, I begin making an effort to clean the place up as soon as I get the word that guests are coming. I immediately sense panic, because of course I am always in the middle of some all-encompassing project. On each occasion, I had managed to virtually overwhelm myself with ambitions and deadlines leaving no time for the routine of housework. And, equally inevitable was The Husband's response to my rising panic. "Don't be silly. No one cares what the house looks like. You make too much over it. Stop fretting and relax."

Many years ago, I would fall for that line. Such naivete. Soon however, I learned that it was a trap. A devious, seductive, but stinking trap. Every time I would be rocking along, focusing on my all important, new and wonderful adventure at whatever, oblivious to the impending storm. Then, suddenly one morning, the man I lived with would be replaced by this obsessed person who could talk about nothing except what needed to be picked up, put away, thrown away, washed, dusted, or just generally fixed. I know, you are probably saying why not let him clean and count my blessings. That is because you have never been through this whirlwind.

Soon, he's interrupting me with "What can I do with this junk of yours? Can I throw this out? Do you need this anymore? I'm taking all this junk to the dump, anything you want?" Needless to say, any possibility of concentrating on my project is impossible and I get sucked into the whirlwind.  Well, I am on to him now. When he says, "Don't worry. No one cares, but you", I smile (mostly) and continue cleaning. I am on to his tricks.

This time, the place had gone completely to pot. The end of last year was about art shows and a new web site. January was about being sick. Housecleaning? No way. To top it all off. We had family leaving on a Tuesday morning and another house guest arriving that afternoon. It was going to be interesting. But, this time there was a surprise.

About two weeks before the guests were due here—right on schedule, he walked into my warehouse meant to someday be my gallery, scanned the piles of frames, and announced, "We need to hang this stuff on the walls." Fortunately, I was near a door jamb and didn't hit the floor. I hustled to my studio, nervously grabbed the ever-ready hangers and hammer (and I was never even a Girl Scout!), and said, "Where shall we start?" I was so startled, I couldn't believe it would last.

For days, we spent part of each day hanging prints. In between, I dusted, washed, put away, and cleaned alongside this transformed creature—always anxious about when the old and familiar man might reappear. Fortunately, there was no relapse and, over several days, more nails were tapped into place until the house was transformed. At the end, he stood back and said, "Wow, the place looks great."

I am still pinching myself and periodically have to browse through all the rooms marveling at all my work hanging. It seems that the gallery spread quite a lot beyond the walls of what was built to be a dining room. When the dust settled and the last guest left, last Wednesday, I was bleary-eyed with exhaustion, but smiling. And, I am still smiling.

12 comments:

  1. Oh, Anita, this is an absolutely wonderful post. I am also smiling! Yes you have a "keeper" in this transformed creature. But, I think you knew that already.

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    1. Thank you, Monte, for your response and I am so happy that I made you smile. Of course, The Husband is now denying that he ever had any problem with nails holes and threatens to issue a protest for my having blown his cover. What counts is that he still loves the way our house looks now.

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  2. I am sure your guests will be in for a real treat. The best part, you will get to continue to enjoy the new gallery even long after they are gone.

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  3. Yes, there was a big payoff for all that work. I will enjoy the benefits for a long time to come. Thanks, Mark.

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  4. After we moved into our house, we put all the framed prints on the floor near the walls. They stayed there for months until we were sure of the locations to hang them. I'm glad you got your work up where it belongs and I'm sure your house guests will appreciate your hard work.
    This shot is absolutely beautiful. Blue and gold are one of my favorite color combinations.

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    1. Thanks, Ken, for making me feel that we aren't the only ones who stored rames on the floor for a while. The house guests were kind in their comments—especially the last one to arrive. More on that soon.

      I am pleased that you like this photo. Our sunrises are quite beautiful. Once in a while, I get too busy and fail to pause for appropriate appreciation; but, mostly, I take moment to marvel at each display.

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  5. What a heartwarming and humorous story, Anita. Now, what I need for you to do is try your hand at a bit of interior photography because I need to see what it looks like!!! :D

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    1. Thanks, Paul, for the comments on the tale. I had already thought about taking a stab at it. It is more than a little intimating. Plenty of obstacles; but, I may yet figure it out. Besides, I am banking on your seeing the "exhibit" in person!

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    2. Oh! I will be there in person this year. Probably sometime in the June/July time frame if you are available!

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    3. It is great to get a time frame. We will work it out. I will soon fill in details on a June event that wouldn't preclude your visit. A little suspense, now and then, is healthy.

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  6. I am laughing so hard! You two sound pretty much like me and my husband. And yes, I know all about the piles stacked against the wall, not wanting to fill the walls with holes, and the impending panic at the thought of house guests! My transition to getting work hung has been a much slower process though. A picture here, another there.

    I'm hanging out for the money to buy gallery rails so I can hang all I want without poking holes in the walls!

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    1. Roberta, sometimes our experiences seem so clearly parallel that it is downright spooky. I love your comment. Thanks for the smiles. And, those gallery rails sound pretty swell.

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Anita