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The Art of Living in the Middle of the Masterpiece.  R. R. Shakti I admit it. I’m new. I had imagined this renovation as a grand reveal—like something on HGTV—where, in the span of a single episode, the house transforms from potential to perfection. But it’s not like that at Cloudfall Pines. It is tape on the windows and half-painted walls. There are piles of tile, waiting for me to learn how to install them. We still have un-opened boxes stacked in the garage and a to-do list four pages long. It’s happening in stages, one necessary step at a time. So I am here. Learning to find contentment in the unfinished. Learning that “liveable” has its own kind of beauty. Continuing to listen for the soul of this place to honor what’s needed next. With imagination…and patience. No urgency. Because the work of becoming is never all at once, not for my home and not for my own soul. It’s layer by layer. It’s commitment and surrender. And it’s never truly finished. This is the art of living in the middle of the masterpiece. BEDROOM ONE B E F O R E : We have big ideas for this house—one day, for instance, a light-filled master suite above the garage. But that’s still a couple of years away. For now, this little room is our nest. Just enough space for our king bed, a dresser and us—dreaming into a new chapter. We’ve uncovered hidden corners, with both treasures and dust. Behind the mirror in my small walk-in closet, for example, an opening revealed extra storage space. There were funky things back there, like an old ski boot turned mouse-house. Snowball (our cat) made sure that they are permanently evicted. The wallpaper border was quaint but not quite “us.” We scraped it off to discover another wall-paper border beneath. A layer of soft pink roses, painted over (a terrible idea, by the way). Each strip came off like the shedding of an old story. It wasn’t easy. With vinegar, water, patience and persistence, we eventually got down to the bare wall. Plaster peeled where a touch of mildew had loosened it. We learned that bleach is NOT the answer. Vinegar works better to kill mold…and without the toxicity. After sanding and sealing the floors, we were giddy over the natural color of the wood. For the walls, we chose “Oatmeal” from Glidden. Marley and I almost vetoed the color just because of the name, which was decidedly less poetic than the other paint choices we’ve made. But we couldn’t deny the warmth of the soft white, perfect for the light coming in from our south-facing windows. The last photo in the series, above, was the inspo. we found on Pinterest for the trim color–a chalk paint from the Behr collection: “Silver Celadon” (much better name). We like it so much, in fact, “Silver Celadon” might feature in another room or two. My old dresser was much too big, so I was elated to find this lovely vintage piece on Facebook Marketplace. And the rug!—the “Delia” from West Elm’s “open box deals.” It kinda makes the room. My favorite feature, though, is the built-in cubbies framing our bed. Inside them, we each created small altars of memory and inspiration. On my side, my mama’s trinket boxes live among crystals and wisdom cards. Marty assembled, on his side, a still life with tiny mūrtis—Buddha, Hanuman, Tara and Ganesha. By necessity, this room has made us pare down what we own. We’ve kept only what we cherish and let the rest go. It’s become a ritual of clearing—a ceremony of enoughness. And through it all, we’re reminded how much we truly value one another. It is still a work in progress, but we’ve made this room livable. And in that word, I hear “love-able.” What part of your life is asking to be made more livable—less “perfect,” more meaningful? Begin there. One story-layer at a time. A F T E R :  TipsI get it now—why so many people opt not to install wallpaper. It is tough to remove.
But here is how we are doing it, through trial and error. Supplies you need:
STEP ONE: Remove hardware like switch plates and outlet covers. STEP TWO: Score the paper using the scoring tool. This is to allow the liquid to penetrate through the surface. STEP THREE: Use your paint scraper to remove as much as you can, peeling from the corners. STEP FOUR: Soak the remaining wallpaper and wallpaper backing by sponging on the vinegar/water mixture. Let it sit for a few minutes, then sponge over the surface another time. Alternatively, you can use a steamer at this step. STEP FIVE: Use a scrub brush or scraper to work the remaining sticky spots. *We did try using a chemical compound from the hardware store. Despite wearing a mask, the chemicals were overwhelming. We discovered that the vinegar/water mixture worked just as well, if not better, so I recommend sticking to what’s natural for best health and efficiency.
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 It has rained–at least a bit, sometimes a lot–just about every day since we started moving in. Today splinted sunlight washes in through the morning windows. I’m waking up with Snowball (the cat) at my feet. His ears prick at the call of a lively bird outside, and I am called to life by the Aspen leaves rattling through the trees. Like a giant rain stick. Like a box of rain.
Some noises are conspicuously missing and I am giddy by what I don’t hear. I don’t hear the sounds of I-70, or a garbage truck, or a construction site, or a neighbor’s choice of music. Only the melodies of Nature. …and my husband in the yard, down below, muttering something encouraging to the tangled flowers we have inherited in the wild gardens of this unkempt mountain home. I didn’t sleep very well, again. It could be the increased elevation of my bed (from 8200 to 10,200 ft.) It’s been hard to turn off the ideas, excitement, and “to-dos” as I lay in the creative potential. “This is all a dream we dreamed one afternoon long ago.” …and just about every day since as we argued and envisioned, planned, saved, lost hope, and imagined again. And now (with big thanks to family and friends and all the timing of the cosmos), I am here. …feeling the morning vibes of my daughter’s room; gazing out old, but open, windows trimmed in the color she chose for them: “Blue Moon Bay.” For the past several nights we’ve been camping in the backyard. Or we have thrown down mattresses among un-opened boxes and yet-to-be-hung artwork on the raw, sanded wood floor of the den. Inside this box of rain. The rooms of this house continue to progress through various stages of live-able “completion.” There is no end in sight. It will be a labor of love and DIY problem-solving for the foreseeable future as we build our forever (for now) home at Cloudfall Pines.  Home renovation, they call it.
But it’s not just walls and wiring, not really. It’s layers. Layers of life, layers of time. There’s a kind of holy whisper, a promise that pulses through the floorboards and ugly wall-paper and broken lights. When I heard that whisper for the first time, I knew this was going to be our house. I saw a place in need of repair, an experience waiting to be discovered–a “forever, for now” home for my family, waiting to be created. This is not just renovation, I’m guessing. It’s ritual, maybe. It’s recovering something of my own soul, perhaps. Last night, my daughter and I spent our first night in our new home. We woke up with a long to-do list, paint and tools and curious hearts. The soul of this house has settled into its corners. It waits in the cracks. You can hear it creaking in the stairs. As we began to dust and pull away layers of old wall paper borders, the soul of our house began to speak. I am excited to keep listening. To keep trying to translate the history of these walls into a treasury of tales that will bring meaning to our future. Who knew that a sledge hammer could begin a creative unfolding? I believe there is poetry inside this plaster. I sense a longing in the floor boards. And I already feel my own story rising to meet it–the story of this house. We gave our new home a name: Cloudfall Pines. I’ll be sharing the story here, a little bit and from time to time. As I dream our kitchen into a haven. When I transform our hallway into a gallery. When the bedrooms become downy nests. It might be beautiful. It will be messy. It might get weird. But somehow, Cloudfall Pines is calling me to strip my life back to the studs. To trust that a living legacy courses up from the foundation; and to refurbish some of the outdated adornments of my psyche. I am creating a new relationship with “home.” |
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© COPYRIGHT 2018-2026 R.R. Shakti | Soul Artist ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
DANCE with the rhythms of Nature.
TEND the fires of your heart.
FEEL yourself re-wilding into your most authentic expression.
Soul Artist Gatherings are immersive experiences, shaped by the seasons and rooted in applied mythology, soulful connection and creative practice.
Explore the Soul Artist Calendar to discover upcoming opportunities.
Recorded teachings are available in the archives.
TEND the fires of your heart.
FEEL yourself re-wilding into your most authentic expression.
Soul Artist Gatherings are immersive experiences, shaped by the seasons and rooted in applied mythology, soulful connection and creative practice.
Explore the Soul Artist Calendar to discover upcoming opportunities.
Recorded teachings are available in the archives.
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The Soul Artist Journal features mystic visionaries: artists and poets; mythologists, musicians and ministers; adventurers and healers. It is a gallery of soul stories, poetry and images so unique that each issue may become a collector’s edition in its own right.
Published quarterly, in digital and print, the magazine presents topics that align with Nature’s rhythms and the current cultural climate. Between the covers, you can find treasures and epiphanies to inspire your creative freedom. We encourage you to wonder, to imagine, and to create your most meaningful life. |