The Hall
In which a 1914 corridor gets a second opinion, a family heirloom finds a new home and one colour decision remains classified content
Most old houses have a hall that sets the tone for everything that follows. Ours is no exception — federation fretwork, original stained glass, doors that are older than anyone currently living in the house and will most likely still be here long after we’re gone.
It’s also currently a dirty cream colour and has seen better days. Which is nobody’s fault but is nobody’s future either.
The plan, and I use that word loosely because I reserve the right to change my mind about any of it, is a full colour drench in my custom Lilac Pink. Walls, trim, architraves, all of it. This kind of commitment either looks completely intentional or requires repainting. There is no middle ground with colour drenching but I’m here to give it a go. Because what is paint if not to be experimented with? If it works, this hall will certainly be an entry statement.
The recently sanded floors are now a lovely light shade of Tas Oak with a matt varnish and the bones of the space will stay exactly as they are. They are extraordinary and we have done nothing to deserve an entry as fancy as this. But they do need a little kick into 2026, and here is where my plan comes to life.
Into this hall goes the following:
The painted Chinese cabinet that has been with us for almost twenty years. Many have offered money for it, but it’s so beautiful we will not part with it. It’s that unicorn piece that looks good in any setting we add it to. I cannot explain it. I’ve stopped trying.
Next will be a Persian style runner. If you’ve been around for some time you might remember the rugs I had in the hall there. I’m sure the rug company owners were able to retire on the amount of links to their store I distributed. Anyway, I loved those rugs so I bought the same again in a different size.
Third, the family heirloom oil painting in a gold frame. I have somehow been entrusted with its safeguard, so it’s lucky I love it because, frankly, the thing is massive and very hard to find a wall for. It depicts a waterfall in a forest and has been in storage waiting for a wall worthy of it. This hall has that wall.
I’m sorry to say that Maria’s 1982 chandeliers will be leaving the building to be replaced by two drum pendant chandeliers. Maria’s chandelier may find a home in the dining room. It deserves to be somewhere, as long as I can tame the bling and make it slightly less in-your-face gold.
Lastly, I’m thinking green toile wall sconces because I cannot help myself and I won’t be listening to any ‘advice’ on that.
I’ve planned a pop of surprise too in the form of a colour that will appear somewhere unexpected. I’m not telling you where yet. You’ll see it when it’s done.
One does wonder, of course, what the previous occupants would make of all this. Whether Maria, now presumably settled in aged care, will somehow sense that her chandelier has been removed and dispatch Effie immediately. Whether Effie will do a drive-by, clock the drum pendants through the window and send a five screen text to the neighbourhood WhatsApp. Whether the person in my comments who expressed a sincere desire to adopt the dusty spider chandelier near the kitchen door is still waiting by their letterbox.
These are the things I think about at 2am.
The chandelier is available. You know who you are.
This is the vision. Some of it will happen exactly like this. Some of it will not. That’s renovating a 1914 house in Tasmania with strong opinions and a husband with a chainsaw.
Plot Twist. It’s always a plot twist.
Lindy x