This column was published December 13-14, 2024 in the Manhattan Mercury.
Upsizing from a small-ish house in Manhattan, to a large-ish one, offered an outlet for heretofore hidden talents and artistic creativity, he said modestly. When the opportunity arose to add some color to our house, we went to town.
In anticipation of selling the large-ish house that we would eventually buy, based on the blank slate premise, the previous owners painted all the walls and ceilings white or grey.
When it was first put together in 2007, the previous owners dug into the top of a Flint Hill, constructed an entire lower level, then retrofitted a house built in 1918 atop it. The result is more spaces and walls than one might expect. Some logical, others uniquely and idiosyncratically connected, lending “character,” in realtor parlance.
To town we went. Twenty-four colors. Two dozen. Some would argue that’s 22 too many. The previous owners, for example.
Not us, boy.
Completely unintentionally, and unbeknownst even to ourselves, we have embraced what we would later learn is maximalist decor. More is more. Go to town. An eclectic mix of colors, patterns, textures, and objects. One maximalist online outfit described it as a way to showcase your personality and create a vibrant, expressive space.
Why, thank you.
All four walls in the living room, also known as the great room, are now Honeycomb. Until I’ve lived in it a while, I’ll reserve judgment on how great it is, but one man’s Honeycomb, is another man’s yellow.
This house has about a million doors and a few thousand open entryways separating rooms and spaces, so the canvas allows for a plentiful palette. (Where’s the boundary between maximalist and exaggerator?) Each floor has a chromatic theme. In addition to Honeycomb, shades of what my wife calls gold and I call yellow, include Butterscotch, Viva Gold, Surprise Amber and Sunflower. The untrained eye would not be able to tell a dime’s worth of difference between them.
Not me, boy. In the discerning of chromatic themes, I have come to learn, subtlety is the ballgame.
I am also now fluent in accent walls. Three Surprise Amber walls, one Secret Garden (sort of an olive drab) now adorn the walls of a breakfast nook in which we have yet to eat breakfast. One guest room features two Jalapeno Orange (and all this time I thought jalapenos were green) and two Viva Gold, with an adjoining Oakmoss bathroom. Let’s call it dusty green.
Most of the ceilings are Dakota Wheat. Unsure whether it’s North or South Dakota, but I’m going with North, since Kansas dukes it out with them each year over wheat production.
The basement family room and adjoining space will be decorated in Americana motif, so Bolero, Navajo and Salty Dog. Translation: red, white and blue.
Jewel tones upstairs. 1918 doors and molding were painted white and I’ve neither the time, nor inclination to change them. Plus, it makes a nice accent for the Earthen Jug guest room (with a Surprise Amber ceiling stripe), the Really Teal bathroom, Mature Grape office (hers), and Prestige Green office (his).
Our bedroom carpet is Grape Kool-Aid, exactly what you think. A pony wall offered an opportunity for more thematic color choices. We opted for Leather Bound, Smoky Topaz and Caramelized. Separate, distinct shades of brown, but when you get them on the wall and ceiling, Leather Bound looks like Smoky Topaz, which looks like Caramelized. Walking into our bedroom feels like walking into a vat of Call Hall chocolate ice cream.
Word to the wise for would-be maximalists: You can get too cute.
Armed with new skills, experience and knowledge, my pigmentation-oriented creative bandwidth has been expanded. I am now a paint chip-carrying maximalist, who can spot the difference between Honeycomb and Viva Gold at 20 paces.
Oh, and the person whose job it was to name Really Teal wins the award for truth in labeling.
Mike Matson’s column appears every other weekend in The Mercury, and he hosts ‘Within Reason,’ weekdays at 9 a.m. on NewsRadio KMAN. Follow his writings at mikematson.com
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