Moody Blue Feature Wall

Being a housepainter's daughter (not to mention signwriter's sister) I grew up surrounded by paint. Little wonder, then, how soothingly at home I feel with brush in hand and a tin of luscious, creamy emulsion by my side.

Ooooooh ... paint. It's such tactile, sensuous stuff. And best not to start me on colour.  Put a colour chart in my hands and I'll be dreamily occupied for hours. Possibly days.

Over the years, I've discovered a couple of myths about colour:
Myth 1: Dark colours make a room look smaller. Piffle, I say. Quite the opposite really - a small white room can feel boringly boxy, whereas a deep, rich hue can create the feeling of - well, depth.

Myth 2: Go for a lighter colour, as it always looks darker on the wall. Pffffff. Be brave: Go darker and earthier. When it's on the wall and the light comes (hopefully) flooding in, you'll be left with rich and/or vibrant, rather than insipid or garish.


... which was exactly how we ran with the studio, and we're very, very happy with the result.
Feature wall (against which Grace is so stylishly poised): Porter's Gunmetal Grey - a moody slate grey-blue - in Ultra Flat. Ultra Flat is loaded with pigment, and dries to the most intense, velvety, colour-saturated finish.
Walls and lower ceiling: Porter's Eggshell Acrylic in Marble. Looks white white in the photo, (and yet alarmingly dark in the tin) but in real life dries to a rich off-white with an almost greenish - well, marble-like - tinge. And the finish has all the lustre and feel of eggshell, without the fragility.

Yep, I'm a big fan of Porter's. I figure I save thousands doing it myself, so why not buy the best, most luxurious paint? Besides, it's a handmade, proudly Australian product; they do the richest, most stunning colours imagineable; it goes on like buttermilk; and smells fresh as a field of daisies when you're done. Take a big, healthy breath - it's VOC free.

Above: Looking towards the mini-orb ceiling. A relief not to have to paint those undulating curves, I must say. Below: Deep moody blue juxtaposed with the primary-colours of the Mondrian floor. Pieces of Art Deco coming out of hiding. It's all pulling together rather nicely. Now to dig out some prints ...

Studio Floor: Mondrian Marmoleum

For those of you who've visited in person during the last few months I apologise, as this will be rather stale news. But for those who haven't, may I proudly present the studio floor: Ta Da! Marmoleum a la Mondrian.

Marmoleum - I love the stuff.  Even were it not so incredibly hardwearing, economical, low-maintenance, tactile, hygienic, non-toxic - and yes, sustainable - I'd remain smitten by its utter beauty.

A commercial product by Forbo, Marmoleum is essentially linoleum - real linoleum. It is not - I repeat, not - to be confused with vinyl flooring. Marmoleum is a way more wholesome, VOC-free sandwich of linseed oil, limestone, wood flour, rosin, jute and natural pigments. You can take a bite if you're really keen. Or toss it in the compost - it's biodegradable. Lay it on your floor, though, and it may well outlast the pitter patter of your grandkids' feet.

But what really sets my heart a-pounding is Marmoleum's fabulous range of deliciously rich and vibrant colours. Believe me, I've spent hours of quality time with their samples folder. And because Marmoleum can be so easily cut, by hand or water jet, into strips, angles, curves - absolutely anything - the design possibilities truly are endless.


Head on over to Archidea and you'll see what I mean. Then download a brochure at Forbo.
And take a look down next time you're in a bank, museum, hospital, school, restaurant ... chances are it's Marmoleum.

Photos above and below of work in progress. Installation by the unflappable David Hadyn of Hadyn's Floor Coverings (Sunshine Coast), who was more than happy to rise to the challenge of cutting  Phil's angles. He even whistled while he worked.

70s Vintage Kenwood Really Cuts the Mustard

With the threat/promise (take your pick) of a fast-approaching housewarming, I've been doing a spot of shed spring cleaning. Well, it's a good thirty paces from old residence to new, and a gal has to consider what to pack.

Stuff accumulates, and I'm determined to be ruthless - particularly in the world of appliances. Only the stars will make it past the threshold.

But in "The Dream Kitchen" - one of a series of charming, room-setting vignettes that my hyperactive imagination leafs through 24/7 - my 70s vintage Kenwood is never far from centre stage.

Isn't he a hunk? I remember the day I first spotted him in the window of a secondhand shop in Boonah. Fell for him like a ton of bricks, I did.

What's that? Of course he's a bloke - look at that chiselled, no-nonsense profile. And he's so heart-throbbingly hefty and strong. Why, he even smells of grease.

But, I'd have to say, it was that handsome, mustard and tan complexion that really stole my heart. Yep, you can keep your curvaceous, pretty-in-pink Kitchenaids. Ken's the one for me.

He's in amazing shape for his age: like most chaps his vintage, he was built to last. In fact, he'd probably take on a bowl of cement if you let him. And if that weren't enough, he comes with a full kit of impressive tools (just check out his monogrammed beater) and a slick vinyl dust jacket.

Sigh ... I can't wait till it's just the two of us in The Dream Kitchen, spending quality time together, testing out his "planetary action" (honest - that's what it's called).

So if anyone has any suggestions as to cakes we can whip up on our first dates, I'd love to hear from you. In the meantime, I'll just go give him another rub down...

Eumundi House: Bananas over Bifolds

We planted our first banana plant within grabbing distance of the front verandah. At the time, I had a vision firmly in mind: me sauntering barefoot across the deck to casually pluck a golden, sun-ripened narna for brekkie.

As you can see, I'm still waiting for floorboards to saunter across (reclaimed ironbark would be nice), but the narnies are coming along very nicely. In fact, there's something of a banana glut here at Eumundi. Visitors have been cheerily carting off mammoth bunches of them, and the freezer's chock-a-block with tupperware containers.

(Tip 1: Bananas freeze extremely well, and, whizzed up with chunks of chilled pineapple and fresh mint, make a deliciously thick and creamy smoothie.)

Banana plants, however, can go rampant at an alarming rate, so I've had to do some serious thinning out. Must say though, for a bantam-weight gal like me, it makes for a rather satisfying afternoon - felling 6 metre "trees" in two minutes flat, with a handsaw.

Enough with the bananas; this post is really about these beautiful, elegant-in-an-industrial-kind-of-way bifold doors. Well, I'm allowed to brag about them. I didn't design them. Phil did (of course). Some details, for those who may be interested:

•  Fabrication by Coz from Allstar Garage Doors and Gates, Noosaville (who also did our fabulous primary-coloured doors). 
• Welded aluminium construction, powder-coated in Precious Pearl. (Who thinks up these names? I want that job.)
• Louvres and louvre galleries from Breezeway (also in Precious Pearl).
• Lower sections of doors to be fitted with glass louvres, but top sections with full glass panes. (There can be weight issues with glass in bifolds, and louvres are heavy. In any case, we decided the contrast would look better.)
• Meticulous fitting of louvre galleries, hinges, locks, handles, tracks and rollers by - who else? - Phil. Here's how he's going so far ...

The north face of the house is essentially a wall of doors, opening up onto the deck, the view, the breezes, the birds, the bananas ...

There are three openings, each with two pairs of doors. That's sixteen. It's a lot of fiddly work - even for a very patient man.

He's cheered on by morning tea, arvie tea, and sunset beers with cheese and crackers.

One opening down, two to go. All together now - Yay Phil!!!  Go Phil!!

Studio lock up - tick. House lock up by end of October. Christmas dinner in the house. Everything finished by Easter. You heard it here first.

I'd better go and make him some banana muffins ...

Eumundi House: The Fine Art of Getting Plastered

Here at Eumundi, things have gone beyond excitement. First, the studio got plastered; then, to celebrate, we got plastered; then, Hamlet got plastered.

Nah, I'm just kidding. Ham's only allowed one stubby a year - and that's on his birthday (which is in May, should you care to send him a card).

Okay, I'll stop messing about. It's just that, for the first time since embarking on this all-consuming (as we're now painfully aware), relationship testing, mildly insane escapade known as house construction, we finally have something resembling a Proper Building ... as opposed to a building site.

As plasterers go, I'm still patting myself on the back for finding Jesse. While possibly the fastest plasterer in the west (he and his brother sheeted up the studio in one day), Jesse is no cowboy. He gave a very reasonable quote. He was organised. He was reliable. He was thorough. He did a beautiful job. He actually - wait for it - swept up after himself ... not a Breaka bottle nor ciggie packet left in sight.

The results were truly transformative. After all these months - years - of looking at hard, blue steel framework, it was magical to see that skeletal form fleshed out in pale grey and alabaster white. Come inside - please do - and see for yourself:

In case you're wondering, Phil's beautifully undulating ceiling (above) will be lined with mini-orb, to match the soffits.

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And now, almost every day, I wander into this miraculous space of air and light, and feel very, very happy to be here. I gaze through the louvres at those green velvet hills, and dream of an endless summer of parties, and friends and family sleeping like sardines on our studio floor.