I Might Just Love This Kitchen

When we started on this weird road I had some vague, cloudy visions pulsing with bright oranges and yellows, not unlike certain very-early mornings at the End Up.  I set about molding my sense of this room in that direction and gathered the requisite 3-inch stack of paint chips.  I spent weeks blathering endlessly to my long-suffering mate about my feeling for the karma of this space, and the paramount importance of the vibrations of my color choices.

He might have mentioned at some point that he’d sooner gouge out his own eyes than have an orange kitchen.

So, we agreed, perhaps, that I would back off of the orange and away from the bong (Just kidding, dad!), and that we’d proceed with demolition and keep palette in the backs of our minds.

Then the magical happened, just like in a dream.  I was prying the GODAWFUL plastic tiles off of the East wall and I was visited by the ghost of kitchens past.  This was just the thing…here was our palette!  Here’s a picture of the east wall immediately after de-tiling, followed by a detail of the colorifficness from which we drew our color choices.  Funny how things work out.

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