The fragile beauty of a finished room
Soon, very soon I will have a finished bathroom. I’m projecting that it will be soon, please. Because even with my military precision ordering everything perfectly on time, it will be ready so very much later than my heart hoped.
I thought about this room for ten months before I decided how to use it. And, of course, I am searching for feeling as much as functionality. I believe how we use a room, is so much more important than what we buy to put in it.
Starting with a tile when you haven’t squared whether you are even a shower person, seems a little back to front. I prefer to start with why, rather than what.
Quiet, generous and private was what I sought. And an empty bedroom. And I didn’t want to mess with the house.
Although I started with the idea of a small ensuite, I ended up with a large dressing, reading and literal bath room, with the serious part quietly residing behind a discreet opening. The original Georgian doors between the bedroom and new bathroom and landing remain, so the house’s integrity hasn’t been sacrificed. The rooms are then both separate or together and that’s what I need for this room to work for our family. If I’d started with tiles and fittings, then perhaps I wouldn’t have got to this beautiful and practical solution.
When we commit to ‘doing’ a room, we have hopes. High hopes aesthetically and probably an unspoken but deeply felt faith. We renovate to make our lives better, perhaps make us look better, or make our house and therefore us financially more robust. Mid-point we generally question the madness.
But when the bathroom is in and you have finished dealing with the never-ending plaster dust, then what do we do? Said room is weirdly unspoiled and missing the beautiful flaws that humans and their real lives bring.
Hanging the first picture, means first hook holes. Which unless you are gifted, they will probably not be in quite the right place or hanging quite the right picture.
The seal is broken – hoorah!
I ask my team to bring their whole selves to work, and I think we should apply this at home too. A new kitchen is only right when the first jar is dropped, the first Jackson Pollock sauce situation, the first chewed chair leg.
Our bathroom, which I hope will be what I imagine in my head and heart, will hold a puppy crate at night for the next few months. This will invariably mean accidents and possible permanent floorboard stains if I’m not awake at the critical moment. I’d rather have the visual memory of George as a cheeky puppy than not and so I hope for an everlasting marker somewhere.
When you are planning a new bathroom, snug or nursery, think about yourself living in this room, making memories as well as marks. Then, perhaps a truer version of your home’s aesthetics will reveal themselves to you. We can loosen our grip on design and wrap ourselves in life.
PS: The colour I chose for our bathroom is Milk - quiet and generously pigmented. Perfect.