black and white

There is a scene in Sabrina where Julia Ormond is on-site at a photo shoot right in front of the Eiffel Tower. It's raining, and the two models are busy turning their heads this way and that, staring dramatically back at the camera. Sabrina (Ormond) walks into the frame. She loosens her grip on a red scarf, letting it trickle down from her finger tips until it gathers like a pool on the plaza. The scarf stays in the shot, the only color to the backdrop in the actual movie and in the photo shoot, on a dreary Paris day.

This morning I met with S to talk about paint colors. They've been living in this gorgeous house for almost a year. I was dying to go inside the minute I noticed the house from the main road. The woodwork is to die for, the floor plan divine and the master suite?! Let's just say I wish they'd sublet. I'd make myself at home in the half bath just off the kitchen. One of the first things she said to me when I walked in was, "So. Much. White." She's right. The previous owner (and builder) painted the walls a boney white, which is not a far cry from the color of the woodwork throughout the rest of the house. We stood in the space for a long while, both splashing ideas across the white canvas. As time went by, my eyes grew weary.

In design school they cautioned us to not go overboard with either color or pattern; that in all the busyness, the eye needs somewhere to rest. It was interesting though, that today, in the absence of color, my eyes were probing for any semblance of pigment: S's red purse on the black counter top. Her daughter's orange shoes in the hallway. A little boy's green jacket on a hook in the mudroom. (I'm not saying this family lives in a colorless world. That day in and day out they go around dressed in all-white, reenacting the scene from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory when Mike TV shrinks the size of a Wonka Bar. They've got colorful clothes, colorful bedspreads, etc. The bare bones of the house, however, are literally without color and that's what we're working on. That's where the fun begins).

Just off the dining room, opposite two columns, hangs a large oil painting. As we stood between the living room and dining room, each utilizing a pillar as a headrest, we caught up on things other than color and design. As we chatted in the white hallway, my eyes drifted in all the unbusyness. I needed color. Saturation. Tone. I found myself breaking eye-contact to look at the painting which helped me keep my color composure. I left with lots of ideas and S is on the hunt for more than enough paint chips for our house-sized canvas.

When N and I discuss kitchens, we always advise white. White cabinetry. White trim. White marble. It's fresh. It's crisp. It's timeless. And, I suppose it's because white is color's playground. Pattern, texture, and hue can inch furtively up to it and burst out bold and white's no worse for the wear. The future of the P's house looks bright. My paint decks are fanned and the sky's the limit!