Attributed to Richard Parkes Bonington: Small Figures and Tent (1823)

" … while the rest of the world gets distracted going to Hell."

While The World was distracted going to Hell, I volunteered to refinish the vintage trim boards I'd saved when removing the front porch ceiling. I had the necessary equipment and experience to successfully complete the job, but I needed a paint shop. Some of the boards ran longer than my garage. I needed covered space so I could work through sun and rain. The sun this time of year could render shade essential. Rain was also always possible, and rain and paint do not mix. The answer was some sort of tent, a Pop-Up Paint Shop. The Muse bought a fancy Pop-Up canopy when she was running for Port Commissioner, to use at the 4th of July gathering in the park. It had been in its case in the basement since, except when she'd loaned it out to another candidate for the same purpose the following summer. She promised that I could use her fancy canopy, but I wanted something less precious.

Our first Pop-Up canopy, bought to use as a paint shop in the driveway, was ultimately laid low by a rainstorm. It tended to sag in places, and an overnight rainstorm filled those places with rainwater, which ultimately overwhelmed its remarkably flimsy aluminum frame, twisting it horribly and rendering the canopy unusable. I'd saved the cover, though, and figured I could rig up some parachute cord from some eyehooks I could install along the front of the garage, over the sliding door, and out to the back of my pick-up canopy. I could drape the old canopy cover over the cord and secure it with clothespins, thereby producing adequate shade and protection from rain showers. The clothespins would make it collapsible in rainstorms, with no inflexible frame to prevent that from happening. If weather wrecked this veteran cover, I wouldn't be out much.

What it lacks in beauty, it more than makes up for with utility. Yesterday, in gusty wind and bright sun, I stripped the first four of a dozen boards in relative comfort. I'd spent several days imagining the construction, time I sat inside the garage peering at my pick-up's rear end, before finally stringing up the hank of parachute cord. The skein of cord turned out to be precisely long enough to allow me to string around the perimeter twice, reinforcing when passing through the eye-hooks. The result seemed strong enough. I wrestled the old canopy cover, which was peaked rather than flat, over the cord and began securing it in place with clothespins. The wind started gusting, creating considerable flapping, but my crude construction held.

I filled the space with an underlying tarp and working surfaces. A collapsible ladder that I could open into a W shape, which I could use to hold the boards. An old TV dinner tray and two low sawhorses, which I could top with an old board and some cinder slabs to hold my hot Silent Paint Remover® between applications. I'd use the tailgate as my primary working surface and slide the boards forward and back using the collapsible ladder support. The wind took to whipping again as I set about stripping the first board. The top of my crude tent grazed the top of my head, and the sides flapped as if breathing hard while I worked. The shade proved adequate, and the setup, once fine-tuned, proved comfortable enough for me to feel as though I could make reasonable headway.

My Pop-Up Paint Tent is far less than perfect. It's barely good enough, and judged by appearance, somewhat less than even that, but I revel in it. This shop seems the rough equivalent of any tent any adventurous eight-year-old boy might construct in the clutches of woods across the street, like I had when I was that age and lived across from a beautiful clutch of woodland whose owner was mostly absentee and never posted No Trespassing signs. The sense of self-sufficiency that would wash over me after creating some crude habitat intended only for me has never been equalled since. Let the neighbors sneer at its evident crudeness. My Pop-Up Paint Tent is my domain, and it seems like the perfect place to refinish vintage porch trim boards while the rest of the world gets distracted going to Hell.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #CHope , #PureSchmaltz