This was another dumpster find – just more proof that someone has already thrown out everything you need. It was grimy, sad and white. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I at first painted it Fire-in-the-Hole red, and the inside of the drawer, orange. I still don't understand why. So I stripped it down naked as the day it was murdered and gussied it up pretty. What's that in the drawer, you ask? Dictionary pages, decoupage'd like a mutha. That's how I roll.
Here's the ad copy that accompanied these pix:
I'm driving in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, on my way west to Wisconsin to some festival or another. I switched some shifts at my job to free up time during the week so I could attend and so I've worked the better part of 36 hours straight. I'm in the fifth or sixth hour of my drive and I'm fighting the Sandman, who has employed to his cause the tedium of the nearly unbending, two-lane road that traverses this vast expanse. I'm surrounded by emptiness, a wall of trees cleared only by the road and the dark – the kind of dark where evil hides just out of light's reach. Alien abduction dark, 'No One Will Hear You Scream' dark.
But I've done this drive before. I know how to get through it.
Up ahead, the road without feature and seemingly without end is suddenly broken up by something unexpected and orange and blinking. I soon find myself swimming in it. Orange barrels, layered like dominoes on either side of me, zig-zagging me left to one lane and then, few miles later, back to the right. The barrels are each topped with an orange light that blinks in open defiance of synchronicity with any of the hundreds of their clones sprawled out ahead, with each flash of light spitting in the face of the Law of Averages, like the visual representation of a Chick Corea tune played over top Charlie Parker number. A diamond-shaped sign tauntingly announces I've got another 190 miles of this.
That's when the drugs kicked in.
Taking hallucinogens while driving is not a great decision. Neither was painting this desk red, and orange, and black like I did. Like my drive through Michigan's UP, this was not a good move. So I fixed it.
Conservatively done in flat black and sanded down to its bare-naked wood and stained with a recipe of my own making, this desk is now ready for 30 years of abuse. The top, along with the inside and outside of the drawer is finished with layers of clear poly; the base with hemp oil. The inside of the drawer has random dictionary pages decoupage'd in for good measure.
Like you, it has imperfections. But it is becoming okay with that and likes itself for who it is. Don't be so judgmental. 36w x 32h x 17d