Spray, Girl. Spray.

So, I never said I was going to blog every day, but this is just ridiculous. It's not even Halloween, and this thing is gathering cobwebs.  I should lie and say I've been busy knitting scarves for homeless cats, or carving gourds into decorative, seasonal soup bowls, or some autumnal nonsense. It’s just been a busy month, so let’s just leave it at that, kiss, make up, and move forward.

As a follow-up to my last post, I wanted to include a few photos from my finished set design for Endgame. It was a beautiful show, and I’m proud to have been a part of it. We faux-finished that black concrete box within an inch of its life. Gary kept me company while I painted the floor, dragging back and forth with a wood grain tool, and sprayed the walls for layers of dripping. It was a labor of love, and it was a pleasure to watch the talented actors bring the space to life every evening. If you ever want a humbling experience, design a set, and then watch everyone tear it down 5 minutes after the last performance.

 Photos By: Martyn Kyle, Pernmoot Photography. www.pernmoot.com

In other news, I’ve been on a spray paint kick. (not in a graffiti/huffing sort of way.) In efforts to keep moving through these busy months, I love easy, do-it-yourself projects that don’t break the bank, the calendar, or the floor joists.  

My first can-tastic project was a super easy Chalkboard Globe. Using an old globe I picked up at Circa, one of our local consignment furniture stores for $12.00 and a can of Krylon black chalkboard spray paint, I created a fun, conversation piece for the house. We’ve been using it as a message center in the kitchen—for grocery lists, appointments, and even the occasional love note. It’s also been fun for friends at parties to leave messages—although some wouldn’t be suitable for this blog. Instead of using it for big children like Gary and I, this could be a fun project for ACTUAL children to learn geography, or write, or make crude drawings of genitalia and giggle, etc.

To create your own Chalkboard Globe, follow these simple steps:

1. Wipe the globe clean with a damp cloth, and allow it to air dry. (Look for sturdier globes and avoid antiques with lots of tears, cracks, and peeling facades. If the globe is more modern and plastic, you may want to prime the globe before painting.  
2.  Using painter’s tape and a plastic bag, tape off the base of the globe, as well as the finial, and anything you don’t want painted. I wrapped the arm using several 2 inch strips or painter’s tape.
3.  In a well-ventilated area, spray your globe with the chalk board paint, using nice, even strokes. Don’t spray too close to the glob to avoid drips and unevenness. Work your way around the globe and rotate it, being sure to get the bottom and all surface area. Allow each coat to dry, and check to see if any of the globe is peeking through. Once you have a solid, dry, smooth surface, you’re good to go.
4. Remove the painter’s tape, add chalk, mix, and enjoy. For under $20.00, we have a fun, interactive message center. Around the world in 30 minutes. Not bad!

On a similar note, armed with a few cans of spray paint and primer, I tackled another project for my C-VILLE Abode column last month. We were housing two, unattractive, outdated lamps in the attic that belonged to Gary’s Grandmother. She won’t read this, right? They were large, white porcelain, with a dark base, torn shades, and an autumn leaf motif. I’m sure they were lovely in their day, but they weren’t seeing the light of day in my house. Every time I would go in the attic to get something or put something away, I would look at the lamps. Usually I would just frown at them, but the more I looked at them, I started to fall in love with their shape. They actually reminded me of a lot of the large “Genie Bottle” lamps that are popular in modern design/many high-end furniture stores and lighting galleries.

It was settled, the lamps were coming out of the attic, and they were getting a makeover. A can of spray primer, 2 cans of yellow high-gloss spray paint, one can of silver metalic spray paint, and a few drum shades we had lying around the house later, we had new lamps. They’re bright, they’re fun, they're modern, and they were a small fraction of the cost of 2 similar new lamps. And to top it off, I think Gary’s Grandmother would actually dig them, in a big way.

For step-by-step instructions for the lamp project, visit my September Abode Column:

A Little Spray Goes a Long Way.

3.      

Lamps Before:

Lamps After: Hooray for Strategically placed lemons! You mean you don't keep your lemons on a platter in the dining room?

 Photo Credit: John Robinson.

Stay tuned for fall fun, seasonal recipes, and bourbon-soaked/pumpkin-spiced do-it-yourself projects coming your way. Happy Friday, and Happy Fall, Y'all.

Cheers,

Edward

It's the End of the World as We Know It. And I Feel Fine.

People ignore design that ignores people. 
— Frank Chimero

I think one of the greatest design challenges is designing for someone else. In my brief time on this fine planet, I’ve had friends ask me to help them shop for furniture, and to help them pick out paint colors, to help them redesign their living rooms while their husbands are out of town. I’m always extremely flattered, if not completely surprised that they want my opinion. After all, what do I know? It’s so much easier to design for your own space. You know what you like. Hell, mix one part blue paint, one part ebony stain, two square arms, a dash of coral, pour over ice, garnish with some Lucite, and I’m a happy boy. When Southern Living and Garden and Gun come in the mail, it’s like porn without the paper wrapper. We are who we are. 

It’s a challenge to not enforce your design-beliefs on others, even if it comes from a place of love. I have to constantly remind myself, we don’t all live on the same side of the color wheel, we don’t all have the same needs, some people actually like red, we don’t all pray at the same house of worship…which, in this case is a Restoration Hardware outlet, I guess? I digress. 

All of that to say, I’ve been busy ignoring my own home, and working on one of my greatest design-challenges-to-date. Last spring, I was asked to serve as Scenic Designer for a local production of “Endgame” a one act piece by Samuel Beckett, being presented at one of our local community theaters, which happens to be the longest-running community theater in Central Virginia. Just sayin’. 

I immediately questioned myself as a viable candidate for “Scenic Designer.” After all, I’ve appeared on stage, I’ve interacted with a set, but I’ve never designed one. Stealing my sister’s Barbie Dream House and Playdough Hair Salon to stage my own production of Steel Magnolias as a young boy apparently doesn’t count. Despite questioning my ability to translate home/personal design to a set, there were many factors that quickly drowned out my doubt. I knew it would be a fun challenge, I love theater, I have tremendous respect for the director on this project, it has a stellar cast, featuring some good friends, and well, I’m sleeping with one of the producers. That’s show business, kids. 

It’s been a challenge, and a project that has pushed me out of my comfort zone. How would I put this? My design aesthetic is a little more “Happy Days” and Endgame is a little more “End of Days.” If you’re not familiar with the show, it takes place in a dark room with two windows, and the rest of the world outside ceases to exist—a post-apocalyptic playground…shabby chic on a whole other level. From turning a black box into something that’s depressing in a good way, to a floor that can withstand a rolling chair and some rough and tumble moments, there was a lot to think about. In addition to fighting the urge to use mustard yellow Kelly green, and a chevron-patterned rug (maybe that’s someone’s idea of hell, so it works, right?), there are all of those unique elements that come with designing for someone else. You’re designing for the director, the actors, the theater, the audience, a reviewer who may say your set is “dismal, in a bad way.” Hell, you’re designing for Samuel Beckett, himself! 

As sketches and computer drawings started to come to life, walls started to stand tall, and paint started to glide on, I found myself feeling oddly practical about the whole thing. I realized it really isn’t so different than real life, than our homes, than practical design.

Whether it’s our own homes, or someone else's home (even if they’re a character in a play), we have to design for real life. Walls shouldn’t be in our ways. We shouldn’t trip over furniture, just because it looks pretty. We need for spaces to meet our needs, not just our wants. With this set, with this show, we’re telling a story. And you know, that’s what we do with our homes. We tell stories. Our homes tell people who we are, what we do, how we live, what makes us happy. Whether they’re actors, a bachelor with a dog, or a young couple with a baby, we all have different needs and expectations for our spaces.  Granted, a critic for the local paper isn’t going to tell you she dislikes your dining room chairs, but still. (If she does, it’s your fault for inviting her to your dinner party.) All of that to say, it’s not that different, after all. 

Despite designing for other people, and for a world much unlike my own, I think you’d still find a lot of me in the design. Luckily, I love the color gray. Not only does gray work well for the end of the world, but it’s a beautiful color. It’s cool. It’s calming. It’s a color of uncertainty. Life’s not black and white. Whether it be the use of texture, materials, or the fact that I faux finished that place within an inch of its life, there’s some Edward in that dark room with 2 windows. 

The show opens this Thursday. If you’re in the Charlottesville/Barboursville area, you should come see it. If not, stay tuned for some photos of the finished product. Whether we’re talking end tables, or the end of the world, keep it simple, keep it practical, and keep it uniquely, you.

Until next time.

Cheers,

Ed

For more info on the show:

http://www.fourcp.org/shows_cellar.php

Photo Credit: Gary.

Life. Love. & What I Ate.

"Edward, darling. That's a precious little story. Now be a dear, and fetch Grandmother a martini."

My grandmother, a lady considered to be the quintessential “Southern Hostess” always believed that at any given time, guests should be found with a drink in one hand, a plate in the other, and good company by their side. This is also a woman who wore a fur coat to the bank in June. Needless to say, southern hospitality (and eccentricity) have both been in my blood, like gravy, for years.

I struggled with a case of blogger’s block, wondering how I wanted to kick this puppy into gear. I tried to think of it like you’re picking up my blog in a bookstore, and are only going to read the title and the back cover before you decide whether it makes it into your Boat ‘n Tote for your next summer excursion, or if some Nicholas Sparks’ novel about teenage angst in the Outer Banks is going to beat me out again.

Nevertheless, here goes. My name’s Edward. I’m a twenty-something (nearing thirty-something) southern gentleman residing in Charlottesville, Virginia (if you haven’t visited, it’s a lovely, small city.) I work in higher education full-time, and freelance as a DIY columnist for a local leisure publication about home improvement and design. Some of you might remember me from a small blog entitled “Simply Cville,” the story of a bachelor and a bungalow. I loved that little blog, yet let it dry rot when life got too busy. I’m Sorry? I used to think you had to create a new project every day to keep one of these things updated and interesting. Needless to say, I reached the point of almost repainting my kitchen a third time, and knocking down a wall just for the sake of a blog post. Life’s too short to spend it blogging all the time. All things in moderation, right?

What should you know about me? I love to cook, bake, entertain, design, decorate, reuse, re-purpose, reupholster, reinvent, renovate, and apparently re-blog. I’m known for wearing loud and colorful pants whenever possible, earning me the nickname “Fancy Pants.” My “style” is a little something I call “Modical: Modern Nautical.” (Think urban beach cottage). Most notable, since my last journey into the blogosphere, I found true love. I met the love of my life, Gary doing a local production of the musical “The Drowsy Chaperone.” Try and picture it…2 gay men….musical theater….revolutionary stuff, here. In all seriousness, he’s beyond amazing. I didn’t know people like him even existed. He’s my best friend, my partner, my muse (not in that weird Olivia Newton John Xanadu sort of way) and the best part of me. I plan to seersucker him into marrying me one day, but for the time being, we’re extremely happy—almost to an annoying state. So, expect some frequent cameo appearances from the boy. You can also thank him for the title of this blog. Top Siders, Bourbon, whales, pianos, cheese grits, “Company” the musical, porches, beaches, cupcakes, bacon, hammocks, the Carolina Shag, family, friends, and a stationery fetish are all part of the very colorful picture. Imagine Martha Stewart and Stephen Sondheim had a baby and raised him in a Jonathan Adler showroom. That’s me.

I love to reinvent the classics. Whether it be a piece of furniture, a cocktail, or a Macaroni and Cheese recipe that will make you want to lower the blinds, put on some Al Green, and slip into something more comfortable, I like to find the beauty in the everyday simplicity. Life’s too short to worry about keeping up with the Joneses, because chances are, Mr. Jones is gay, Mrs. Jones is addicted to her son’s ADHD medication, and the grass is greener because it’s fake. It’s not life and death. It’s window treatments.

From entertaining and renovating, to living and loving, I hope to keep you all entertained along the way with a big helping of southern sarcasm. It’s my hope you’ll find my life as entertaining as I do.

And if you plan on going with the Nicholas Sparks book instead, let me save you the trouble. He dies in the end.

Thanks for reading, and until next time.

Cheers,

Edward