As I was savagely sanding away at the various layers of paint that have seeped deep into the wood of this lovely peice of furniture, I stopped and thought, what life has this dresser lived? What does each layer of paint represent in its’ life? Was it properly cared for? Did it sit forgotten in an attic to collect dust while mice made homes in its drawers? How did it end up here, in my father’s garage?
Perhaps it seems silly to wonder all of this about a crumbly hunk of wood that most people would have brought to a junk yard. But for some reason, it comforted me to think of it in each home.
The first layer painted is white. It’s quite small, so I imagined it in a little girls room, perhaps as a home for her toys. Maybe as the girl grew it became her first make up table, the top of it trashed with pink powdered blushes and knicks of mascara.
The next layer was a sandy yellow. Maybe it made its way through the family, or to a friend who decided on a new colour. Perhaps it found it’s home in a hallway, topped with a vase of flowers, drawers filled with odd buttons and notepads.
But it was somehow forgotten. It ended up in my fathers garage, below a mountain of miscellaneous items, full of dirt and cobwebs.
I want to bring it back to life. I want to give it a home, where it’s safe from being forgotten again. I want to fix the wood and fill the holes. I want to make it beautiful again.
I will end with this quote, which I have posted before, but it is beautiful and warm, and perfect for this post.
“It took her years of pulling back layers to find the love she was born to hold. For her own heart and soul were craving her attention.
She was always putting others before her. Now it was time to wrap her fingers around her own body, caressing her beauty and believing in her worth.” Simi Fromen