a brush with the past

“Without tubes of paint, there would have been no Impressionism.” Renoir

The only time Anniemay and I ever disagree (seriously disagree) is when we’re decorating. Not in terms of style or design - on that we’re usually in accord. What causes (in the words of Anniemay’s eldest Chris) “trouble in paradise..” is to do with technique.

Here’s a typical exchange; it could be painting, wall papering, or even filling holes in walls.

Anniemay; “my Dad did it that way”

me; “well my Dad did it this way”

Anniemay; “I always used to help my Dad do it this way”

me; “my Dad’s bigger than your Dad.”

Before I became ill I could always play my trump card; “well my Dad was a painter and decorator.” Now, I usually watch Anniemay, helpfully pointing out where she’s gone wrong, with the dawning realisation that I have finally turned into my father.

My Dad wasn’t always a painter and decorator. Before the war he was a draughtsman. But the company he worked for was badly bombed and when he came home in 1945, there was no job.

The hand and eye coordination that he had developed in his previous life made him a meticulous decorator. Rather than buy tins of ready-made paint he would buy a tin of plain base paint and then, like the early Impressionists, make the final shade by adding small drops of colour from tubes. I can remember as a child watching, fascinated, as white gradually became swirls of blue or pink or green, as he stirred the mix.

I don’t know what he’d have made of ‘one-coat’ paint or paint pads and other modern attempts to make the task of decorating simpler. Not a lot, I guess.

Of course, all this attention to detail had a downside. He became wheel-chair bound when I was about 14 and it fell to me, as a stroppy teenager, to pick up the paint brush when it came time to decorate the house. As he sat watching, I could feel his eyes boring into me, like a laser, etching into my back, the unspoken words; “you missed a bit” .

Of course, all this attention to detail had an upside; I soon had skill enough to earn pocket money painting and decorating the houses of others, including teachers at school. But not the (ex)teacher I’m married too. This pedigree cuts no ice with Anniemay.

Fortunately the issue is resolved (for now). We’re off to Cornwall for a week or so and someone else is going to come in and do it while we’re away - a father and son building firm. The son is going to tile and paint in our absence. Presumably like his Dad taught him.