Color is such a personal thing. What one person absolutely loves on a wall the next person may loathe. I know this, so I can’t really knock the people who were in this house before us for their paint choices. And yet…
There’s this dark, gloppy goth purple everywhere in the house. It’s like being at a rave. Minus the warm, fuzzy ecstasy high.
There’s this murky mauve in the bedroom that my camera just cannot adequately capture, set off by dusky pink trim. Ugh. Every time I look at it I’m immediately transported back to 1985, any lobby of any Holiday Inn.
I actually gravitate to most shades of orange and could maybe, possibly, doubtfully have gotten behind this one in the bathroom, but then they didn’t finish the job. What kept them from painting the last two feet? I just don’t get it. I guess that means fewer coats of paint to add to that side of the room. Oranjaglad it’s not purple?