Studio Re-Do, Part the Uno: Preparing the Walls

OK, so you know what the studio looked like before. Then I started spackling all the holes in the walls. And they were Legion, let me tell you. When we moved here, in 1989, I was Into Rubber Stamping. Big time. I began writing for Rubberstampmadness, and stamps pretty much were My Life. I had thousands. Literally. I put up shelves for them on every available wall, and then, later, took all those down and put up different little stamp shelves. Everywhere. And then, when I moved away from rubber stamping, I took those down and put up still OTHER shelves. See all those white spots?

Spackled holes.

And then there was the disaster behind the washing machine. Years ago, when Maxwell was still alive, he told me, late one Sunday night, that there was a leak. It took a while to find this, as it was just a tiny little spot of water at the edge of the floor under the washing machine. Most people would have ignored this, but when Maxwell told me something, I listened. We pulled out the washing machine, thinking it was leaking. But non. No leak there. We started poking around, with Maxwell’s assistance, and he found the leak coming from the baseboard of the wall. Long story short:  the plumber came, cut up the floor in the bathroom. No access. In the sewing studio. Ditto. Finally cut through the wall behind the washing machine. Turns out that connection had once been the outside faucet (huh? yeah.), and the Young Couple From Whom We Bought This House (the ones who had their church group come and paint in exchange for pizza (and, I suspect, much beer, as the light switches and electrical outlets were all painted over, as if someone had taken a brush, loaded it with paint, and just started in one corner and kept going)) had just taped it all together, sealed up the wall, and called it a job. When we got in there, we could see that just a tiny little jolt would have fractured the join, causing massive amounts of water to shoot behind the wall of the studio.

Maxwell. My Hero.

After the plumber left (and all I need to tell you about that is:  Plumber. Late at night. On a Sunday), we had to fix the floors and the wall. For years, knowing I was eventually going to paint this room, I just had the drywall section held in place with—omigod—duct tape. Yes. I did.

Call me white trash. I deserve it. BUT:  it was only temporary! I swear!

So I repaired it. The drywall was in two pieces, and I took those outside and taped them, front and back, and bedded that. When it was thoroughly dry, I put it back in place and taped and bedded that. Let it dry. Sanded it. More joint compound. It makes The EGE uncomfortable, as if I’m tempting The Fates of Plumbing by sealing up the access:  he wanted to have something built with hinges, just in case.

It looks fabulous. OK, so maybe it’s not completely smooth and even, but I never claimed to be good at this. I just know how to make things work, using the proper stuff (never mind the history of Duct Tape Abuse).

Then we started painting.

The ceiling.

Trimming out.

Here’s the hole behind the washer before:

It’s that hole under the opening for the faucets.

Here it is now:

Yay, me!

The walls:

Next, The  Nightmare That was The Floor.

Stay tuned.