The kids wanted to keep the masks that they got with The Dad for The Big Trick in Scotland... I didn't know what to do with dime-store masks that would just crumple.
Then we saw a window display in Paris and it all became clear.
For art today the lesson was on repurposing... On a trip to Michael's The Sister picked up a can of silver spray paint (somebody had to unlock the gate that keeps the huffers at bay, but they did not check her I.D.), and this morning we turned the masks into cool home decor (that has personal meaning).
Since blogs are often all about DIY steps, I'll do my bloggerly duties:
DIY Steps for Somebody Spray Painting Dime-store Masks in an NYC Apartment Building
Step 1: Don't do it.
No, really -- we LOVE them. The thing is that I'm not sure that the 4.5 months of my life that the project shaved off because of the stress of this morning is worth it. In the future, I would just use non-toxic craft paint and a brush. Might not be as smooth of a finish, but much healthier.
Here's what happened. A couple of months ago we walked into a cloud of eye-stabbing, respiratory-system-destroying fumes in the laundry room on our floor because the neighbor was water-proofing some boots. Nobody seemed to think anything of it. Thus, when we came up with our great plan to paint our masks, the laundry room seemed the obvious and totally acceptable choice.
So, the Sister returned from the laundry room, having done the deed (what? Of course she was the one to do it... She's ALWAYS the one to do the random jobs... Shoot -- that's why people procreate -- to create these smaller people who do the lame jobs. I was still puttering around the apartment in old -- at least eight years old -- maternity pajamas, sporting smeared yesterday's eye makeup, and crazy wig-like hair... With a wave of my hand and voiced suggestion that she "take care of the masks" she was dutifully off... The thought that went into the request on my end was akin to asking her to take out the recycling...)... Where was I? Yes, so she returned and mentioned something about her nose burning, and went back out with some wipes to make sure the paint was all cleaned up... While she was gone, I thought to read the back of the can -- I've never used spray paint that I can remember.
Holy, holy hell. That's essentially what it said it was going to turn our home into -- a combustable chemical cloud; a raging inferno of despair. Phrases like "flash fires" were sprinkled amongst the frightening poisonous-chemical names and the disclaimer that if somebody within four blocks bit down too hard on a mint life saver and created a spark, half of Manhattan was going to blow. Seriously.
At that point, the warnings about the damage to the nervous system were the least of our concerns. After all, it wouldn't matter if The Sister urinated every time somebody said her name -- that she wouldn't recognize as her name -- if our building blew sky high.
I was ready to have her and the kids evacuate while I came clean and called the building office to explain why everybody else should evacuate. The Sister was much calmer, she explained that she had used plenty of spray paint while creating sets for drama, so she would just go and prop open the door so it was ventilated. "What are you high?" Yes, she probably was... But her high-ness did go back to the flash fire area and propped open the door, then came back to report that with the air conditioning blasting it was well-ventilated and fine.
Nonetheless, I continued spinning in circles, wringing my hands. I also kept opening the door to monitor for flash fires.
Not the most zen-like art project that we've done.
I looked it up online and apparently after ten minutes the fumes should be gone (for every three minutes of painting). So I guess if the building blows now, it's not our fault... it will be the lady on the other floor water-proofing shoes, or the guy smoking in the stairwell, or... This little experience has made me wonder what kind of near misses are going on in a building of this size every day...
There is still a slight smell to the masks (I was afraid to light the stove to make dinner), but The Sister pointed out that it might come in handy if the kids get to be too much for me... I got what the wicked glint in her eye meant, walked over to where they were, and pretended to take a long inhale: "Quiet, Mommy's busy..."
It's a good thing that "school" is almost out. The curriculum has officially gone to hell.
