How could anyone let this delicate beauty, old-fashioned charm and sophistication to end up as trash?! I couldn’t. I found this rocking chair by the curb just two houses up the street from my place. (There has been something like an epidemics of homeless chairs in my neighbourhood lately.) Broken. Mouldy. Smelling of neglect and old dogs. Covered in dirt. Soiled.
To repair the wooden parts I had to learn how to use a hammer in confined spaces – between the lovely curves of its legs, to buy four different types of bolts (all of them unsuitable), to familiarise myself with the entire product range of every hardware store in town. But the result is worth every effort.
Painted white and upholstered with a pachwork made out of remnants of my curtains and other scraps, this is the most elegant piece of furniture I’ve ever had in my possession. And the most inviting seat in my living room. It makes me day-dreaming of wearing long dresses, white gloves and outrageous hats.