White Paint

When Kara went into the classroom there was a white sheet draped on a table with several white objects laid on top of it. The AP art teacher then asked the class what was the color of all the objects. And even though the students knew it was likely a trick question, in concert, the class answered white.

When I bought my house the living room walls were painted Benjamin Moore antique white—which between age and hue appeared apricot on my stucco walls and against my dark oak moldings and trim. And so it was a no brainer to whiten and lighten it up.  I chose white dove-- an off-white paint with a  creamy yellow undertone.

Twenty years later I am in the process of updating the living room. I am keeping my palate: navy, raspberry and white. But I plan to update the wall décor and the runner on my stairs. I also planned to paint.

But picking a wall color this time was not so easy. I wanted to keep it off-white—but I wanted to change the undertone from yellow to blue. And that is when I began to lose my mind. Because the lighting and texture of my walls transformed the paint chips into completely different colors. Some looked green, some looked lilac, and some looked violet. All were too intense. My goal was to walk in the room and get a subliminal message—a whisper of a hue—not a shout of color.

Multiple trips to several paint stores and four mini-paint testers later, I made my decision: Benjamin Moore winter white—which in direct sunlight has a grey-taupe undertone which in the room barely suggests blue.

And of course the objective of the AP art teacher was to demonstrate to the class  that nothing that is white is ever truly white. All things white have color. And luster, lighting, and shadows either intensify or lessen the effect.

Which is why the Benjamin Moore man told me his worst nightmare is when women like me come into the store to buy white paint. We are the difficult sale—the one that makes him earn his dollars.

But we are also the ones who earn our own satisfaction.