Tearing Down to Build Up

By Liese Gardner

Construction begins with the desire to make something better. But before it can improve, whatever that thing is (in my case at the moment, a hallway), is going to become uglier than you ever thought possible. There will be sand, grit, rusted nails, old studs, raw and jagged edges, and in some cases termite droppings, newspapers and chunks of concrete.

But that’s not the worst part. In all the home construction I’ve done during the past few years I’ve found there is always that moment that makes you want to cry. Usually it’s when everything is in utter chaos and you just can’t imagine that what you’ve just torn down will every look right, much less beautiful. But you keep going and little by little things start to look right. Beautiful comes later.

Then comes the part where you start to “button it up.” A great phrase because you really are re-dressing the wall with dry wall. As each screw goes in and the wall begins to hug the studs and you don’t see that empty cavity staring at you, you are one step closer to success. Albeit a small success, but really, does success come in sizes?

Then there is plaster and that’s where my meditation on perfection really begins.

The first layer goes on and it’s not pretty. With an old house, no wall is straight so there are huge indentations and that show up in the plaster. It’s not smooth. But only one layer at a time can be added. And as they go on, you develop a technique and there comes a rhythm to the actions. Swipe, counter swipe, swipe, counter swipe. Before you know it, you have a beautifully smooth surface.

I have learned now to fight that urge to give up; to be calm knowing that this state of chaos is actually an important phase within the entire project. Without it, there is no change. We have to tear down in order to rebuild and have the strength of mind to know that it cannot and will not look like that forever.

There is no instant gratification in plaster.

Each stage has to happen: Messy, boring, hard, exciting, satisfying. They are all there and the only way to the end of it is straight through it. Eventually the wall is smooth, paint is applied and no one will ever know that once there was a gaping wound there. You’ll tell friends and family what it was like, how afraid you were it would never be better again, how much work there was and how you slowly built it all back up again. They will listen politely, but at a certain point, they move on; they have their own holes to fill.

In the end, you will realize that all the work you’ve done, every little corner you agonized over, ever perfectly smooth area you created, is really just between you and the wall. And you’ll take great comfort knowing that you faced what is ugly, scary and daunting. And you’ll know just how strong that wall, and you, really are.