During all the years of growing up in the little house on "M" Street in Auburn, Washington, there was a small, two-drawer chest in my parents' closet under the stairs. As a teen-ager, in a effort to make our old furniture more modern, I did bad things to it. I painted the chest brown and took the hack saw to my wrought iron bed to make it into a Hollywood bed frame. For these and all my sins, I am heartily sorry.
When we moved Mama to an assisted-living apartment, the little chest came to live with me in my studio. I apologized to it and stripped away the awful brown paint. Moving furniture around is a favorite pastime of mine but the little chest came to me with only three wooden wheels that screeched in protest so its travel around my studio was limited.
This week, I bought four ball-bearing casters for the chest and placed my French Mistress (why is it called that?) on top. Voila! A new mobile life as my oil painting taboret!
When we moved Mama to an assisted-living apartment, the little chest came to live with me in my studio. I apologized to it and stripped away the awful brown paint. Moving furniture around is a favorite pastime of mine but the little chest came to me with only three wooden wheels that screeched in protest so its travel around my studio was limited.
This week, I bought four ball-bearing casters for the chest and placed my French Mistress (why is it called that?) on top. Voila! A new mobile life as my oil painting taboret!
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