When I first “finished” the driftwood lamp a few months ago, I had bought this bright white drum shade from Target knowing full-well once I saw it on the lamp that it wasn’t going to work. So, back to the store it went (and back into my pocket went $16).
The wired lamp base has sat on the sunroom floor ever since; I’m sure it was still Lake Ontario water-logged and needed more time to dry out anyways. I had been shopping for and bringing home other shades during that time, but none of them worked – not even this huge drum shade that my buddy at the local salvage shop gave me fo’ free (because it was pretty grimy).
Given the tall and narrow proportions of the base, the big shade wasn’t jiving with me right. But that’s not to say it wouldn’t have worked out somehow – I considered rehabbing the shade with new fabric or paint, and know if I see someone on Pinterest do it I’ll still probably crumble in envyousy (a wee combo of envy and jealousy). But back to the shade-to-base proportions: I just wasn’t feeling it with any that I found in my travels, so I sat back and waited for better inspiration, which I’m happy to say finally arrived this week.
Looking at the driftwood for so long also made me decide that maybe the proportions of the base were just too wonky for my taste overall, and as I had mentioned before, I was really thinking that slap-chopping the wood into two matching, squattier lamps might be a better use of the materials. (Plus, who doesn’t like a nice 2-for-1 deal?).
Well, that’s just what I did.
A perfect cut in half around the middle meant that I would be left with two 8.5″ x 8.5″ tall lamps, which seemed more tolerable given the living room space (which is where I’m currently seeing them live, at least semi-permanently).
Because I wanted to rip through it with the miter saw, I needed to make sure that there were no rowdy obstructions (rusty nails) in my cutting path, and a careful assessment only yielded that only one stood a chance of being in my way, so I removed it. It’s free, and pointing at the exact 8.5″ mark right here. And yes, that was one honkin’ nail.
The miter saw that I used worked pretty well; it didn’t go through the full piece of wood, even when I cut both sides of the lumber, so I used a hand saw to cut the final 1/2″ or so that was binding the two pieces together.
Right away I re-wired one of the two pieces using materials I had in-house (read: free) to see how it would look with the lighting hardware attached. Verdict? Lookin’ good.
And if you’re wondering, I did cushion the bottom of these driftwood pieces for two reasons: 1) If it wasn’t padded, it could scuff up the table surface, and 2) the cuts with the saw weren’t perfectly smooth, so the fuzzy-side-of-the-velcro-pad helped to balance the situation out. A thin panel of felt glued to the bottom would have done well too.
The inspiration for the shade that I’m writing about here drove me to use another somethin’-somethin’ that I had been holding on to for awhile: this coloring book from Anthropologie. Immediately upon finding it I had lots of questions. Was it an adult’s coloring book and why would adults buy coloring books? Should it belong to Richie Rich? This couldn’t be a kid’s coloring book priced at $29.95? (Mine was only $14.95 on clearance, high five.) Or was it meant to be something that could be artistically hung? Maybe used for decoupaging? That’s how I was spinning the case in my mind, rationalizing that $15 for 50 pages of art wasn’t a bad deal because that brought the price-per-page down to a very tolerable I-find-this-in-the-Wegman’s-parking-lot-weekly 30-cents. Cheap art. Pretty art.
It’s not your average coloring book, if that’s what it was meant to be. The black and ivory pages are totally swoon-worthy and individually framable. Intricate in pattern, each page is completely different from the next, and my imagination was telling me that I could maybe, possibly, probably make a paper lampshade from it.
As I forged ahead with a plan to make this brainchild of a paper lampshade, I selected 4 pages of art that were similar in the sense that they were mostly ivory with black line detailing. I used a razor blade to carefully slice the pages from the binding, and then cut each sheet into 3 pieces width-wise so I was left with 12 4″ wide strips of paper. And no, I was not accurate, I was eyeballing it, which was fine by me.
Those pieces of paper were evenly sorted so no like-pieces were side-by-side, and then hot-glued together, edge to edge, using Pete’s manly hot glue gun (featuring manly yellow super-strength glue). I haven’t actually used a glue gun since I lived with my parents and helped out with Girl Scout projects, so this was fun for me. And yes, I felt like I was going to get scolded for letting it drip on the table. It was more fun than I’m letting on now.
To develop a very necessary framework for this shade to hang on, I tore apart the large drum shade I showed you earlier. See how the fabric was affixed to several metal hoops? I tore that thing apart with the same vigor as Truckasaurus when he/she/it chomps through demolition-worthy vehicles (and I’m only referencing this and aware of this kick-ass phenomenon because we saw it on the NY Thruway over the weekend and it made Pete light up like a 5-year old boy).
My main goal was to make a solid framework from the existing materials; the shade itself was going to be made of paper, so despite being cool in my mind, I also realize that Pete’s little girl will go to turn on the light the first time and probably tear it, and such an occurrence will be fine. (I’ll probably be ready for a lampshade switcheroo by then anyways.)
Using one of the round pieces, I trimmed and hot-glued the coil to be smaller than it was originally; I didn’t want a huge shade, just one that appeared proportional and not overwhelming the newly cut base. I used wire cutters (and a hack saw, but possibly because I was being weak with the cutters) to detach the part of the shade that attaches to the lamp harp.
The three-pronged piece fit perfectly within the custom hoop, and with a little hot glue, stayed in place well. The whole piece was spray painted with a glossy white and a glossy clear top coat before I did anything further with it.
Once it had dried, I carefully glued the paper frame directly to the hoop with the glue gun, and within a minute it was ready to be installed.
Excitement ensued, although I’m seeing three things I’d like to fix. And I’m not talkin’ about that pile of stuff on the floor at the right (Dad surprised me with old junk yesterday) or the sloppy shelves (that I’m just cringing at now):
2) The base of the harp wobbles back and forth on the driftwood. I’m thinking of gluing it right into place to lock it in more securely, since it contributes heavily to shade un-levelness.
But learning curve issues aside, I’m loving it in the living room. And Cody’s still loving that dog bed I made earlier this week. The lamp’s once-siamese twin will sit on the other side of the couch once I buy a sweet little assembly kit or another old fixture to tear apart.
P.S. Tamarack art installed over the IKEA cabinetry! It’s been there for a few weeks now, and I’m feeling like it’ll stay there awhile longer.
Backtrack to 2009 to me finding Cody gnawing on the guest room Urban Outfitters comforter. He left a sweet not-so-little and not-so-reparable hole in it, although I have to admit that maybe (and by maybe, I mean definitely) I was the one who originally screwed up the blanket to begin with by putting it through the washer and dryer instead of dry cleaning like the product tag instructed me to. That’s why the filling you see is wadded up like a used tissue and not fluffy like normal exposed quilt fill.
His fault or not, Cody still looks guilty two years later, right?
Aside from being tattered and full of holes, I still loved the fabric, which is why I hadn’t tossed the whole thing out yet. Or maybe because my hoarder tendencies were kicking in.
Fortunately, I think he chewed in the best possible spot, only destroying the corner of the inset section on the top of the quilt. I found this to be when I chopped apart the blanket to salvage the fabrics and figure out what I could make with the remaining materials.
The back panel of the quilt was that soft, lightweight cotton that I drool over routinely at Anthropologie and Urban Outfitters. It was in reasonably good condition still, and despite being washed roughly in the machine, it wasn’t pilled at all.
Because there was a 12″ trim that went all the way around the quilt in a more colorful fabric (bring on the pinks and oranges!), I also had salvaged as much of that as I could – it’s shown in the next photo. At this point, I decided that I might have enough fabric for a much-desired pouf or, if I could make it large enough, a nice-but-totally-not-masculine-for-my-masculine-dog dog bed. (Did you read that right?)
I was leaning towards the latter because the boy had been really good lately. And he’s been working his way up to a big-boy bed after spending a year napping on two layers of towel. Without chewing them. Atta boy.
Because of the hole in the large flowered piece of material I showed you earlier, I was limited to a diameter that maxed out at 36″, so I taped together a few pieces of newspaper and cut a perfectly round template using a DIY’ed protractor with a pen and a piece of wire that formed an 18″ radius.
With the round pieces of larger fabric cut into 36″ circles, it was easy to see how large this bed was going to be.
By measuring with a string around the entire circle, I learned of the true circumference, which translated to me knowing how long the piping for the top and bottom of the bed needed to be. (I know there’s a math equation for this, but you don’t really expect me to remember it, right?)
I sewed the piping myself (not made of traditional or DIY’ed bias tape like any seamstress would recommend); my strategy was to make a simple sleeve sewn shut lengthwise, looking a bit like a piece of sausage casing. The sausage-sized casing itself was then stuffed with (wait for it) old cut up t-shirts. That’s right, I sewed it right into place. The two sausage pipes (if I can call them that) were then sewn along the length of the more colorful fabric strips evenly and and in parallel form to become the center band of the dog bed slip cover that provides height to the whole thing. Yes, rolled out completely it extended the the length of the living room.
There weren’t many photos between the piping step and the finished piece step because I was madly attached to the sewing machine with a whole lot of dog bed jammed in my lap. There was nothing complicated about the whole ordeal, just a lot to hold onto and not a lot to be seen. The slip cover was sewn inside out as I carefully attached both 36″ round pieces to the piping strips, sewing in a circle. Once it was almost completely sewn together, I flipped it so that the exposed piping and colorful fabrics were on the outside, and I finished off the bed by stuffing it by hand.
I did use an old foam dog bed as the core means for filling, although it was smaller, thinner, and rectangular than the slip cover I had (and too small for Cody to use by itself) so I included extra rolled up and spread out bath towels and old beach towels to pad and round out the whole bed. Sneak peek inside?
I swear, the best part of it is that it’s almost entirely machine washable (only part that wouldn’t be is the foam cushion). And because I want to be able to wash it easily, I’m planning to button shut the opening in the side (just making sure he doesn’t try and eat it after a few more days).
Although, having been entirely made of recycled materials, it’s his to destroy and damage; if it lasts a year, that’ll be amazing. Every material used was free to me.
He sure looks comfy in this photo, and has been sleeping on it intermittently, for the record. It’s the kind of bed that you can just melt into.
If it lasts 2 weeks, at least I didn’t drop $100 on a nice one from L.L. Bean. Know what I’m sayin’?
Something hasn’t been right in the stairwell since I painted the steps.
I sat at the base of the stairs looking upwards for awhile Friday evening trying to place my angst. I was also feeling sick, and being under the weather like that sometimes make me second-guess and over-analyze my home improvement decisions. What I was seeing was nothing but overwhelming:
Believe it or not, I think I was smack-dab-in-the-middle of making the situation worse. Sure, the flowers were pretty, and I had swapped and added a few frames to the wall on the right, but I was also busy-busy-busy extending the gallery up the stairwell to the wall beside the second set of stairs. That gallery was nearing completion and reveal done. I hung this new frame that displays the baby starfish from this mid-century garage sale mounted on a paint chip:
Sick-headed, the stairwell made me feel like I was swimming in color and pattern. The original gallery colors brought in my favorite laughing and energetic oranges (you can read about my love for those paints here and here), but the stair stripes were muted shades of gold and gray, and never incorporated the more vibrant colors that were already at home in the space. It also didn’t help that the art itself wasn’t muted, so it was a boxy-bright-art/dark gold wall/muted staircase mess, which was enough to make me lay down on the couch, obsess over my color problem, and watch 7 episodes of The New Adventures Of Old Christine (of which I only have 10 more to go in the series, booyah). Patterns, squares, colors, patterns, colors, squares, ahhhh, it was becoming one of those nightmares you’re transported into when you’re on NiteQuil.
A few thoughts/solutions ran through my head during that time, like… maybe I should paint the stairs? Or the wall? Or both?
The interim solution that I decided upon during the episode where Barb gets detained as an illegal alien was to remove all of the art. No bringing up the paint rollers out of frustration, no going to Home Depot to buy the first color I saw for the stairs, no breaking all of the frames and putting them out for this morning’s trash. Dramatic much? I’m really not. Sick brain, baby. I thought up every plausible solution, but removing the frames seemed least drastic and easiest to do.
Without the art, I immediately got that gut-wrenching feeling that you get when you’re packing up your house/apartment/room to move on to a new pad. You know that feeling, I know you do. The staircase also looked barren and lonely and… wide.
What’s next? I still don’t know, but it’s going to require more paint, and if something goes back up on the stairwell wall it needs to let the stairs steal the show. I’ll find a new place for the art, and at that point I can show you some of the new framed projects I’ve been working on.
P.S. Feelin’ better, by the way. Sick brain was just Friday. The weekend was fabulous, and I hope yours was too.