A Philosopher's Guide to Home Decorating 1: Always Use a Paintbrush Not a Roller

Deutsche Philosophen malen lieber mit Pinseln 

(SA/2022)

 

 

We all know the advantages of working with a roller rather than a brush; thanks to its porous character, the former holds far more paint and provides a thin, even coat over a larger surface area.

 

Thus it is that rollers are much favoured by those who worry about saving time and money, which is probably the majority of people drifting round Homebase like DIY zombies.   

But even if the roller is a faster and more economical method of painting walls and ceilings, as a philosopher I continue to advocate for the use of a fine set of brushes and decorating slowly with great care taken over every stroke, so as to create a more textured and individual look.   

 

Ultimately, the paintbrush is a genuine hand tool (and thing) in the way that a roller is not. 

 

That is to say, when one paints with a brush, one works in a blind fashion that is determined by the body (its pleasures and fatigues); when one uses a roller, the mind is very much directing things and the eyes remain wide open at all times. 

 

I don't know if Heidegger ever painted his mother's house, as I am now doing, but he certainly knew a thing or two about the vital importance of what he termed handwork (which, rather surprisingly perhaps, also includes thinking) [1].     

 

Just as the typewriter degrades the art of writing, so does the roller degrade the art of painting [2]. Take a brush in your hand and paint with it and you will understand that, in its essence, it is more than merely useful - it is reliable. 

What does that mean? 

 

Well, according to Heidegger, the reliability of things (as things) - be they tools or items of footwear - consists in the fact that they "embed human beings in those relations to the world that make life stable" [3].

 

A roller is reliable only in the most banal sense of the word, exhausting itself in pure functionality. It might allow you to quickly add colour to the walls of a property, but it won't allow you to paint a dwelling place (any more than email allows you to compose a love letter). 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See my post 'You Need Hands' (1 June 2019), for remarks on Heidegger's love of the human hand: click here. 

 

[2] Readers are reminded of my three part series of posts reflecting on the typewriter published in June 2019: click here, for example, to read part one on the case of Martin Heidegger and the Schreibmaschine.   

 

[3] Byung-Chul Han, Non-things, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2022), p. 69. 

 

 

On Painting Ceilings

Kazimir Malevich 
Suprematist Composition: White on White (1918) 
Oil on canvas (79.5 x 79.5 cm)

I.

The Sistine Chapel ceiling, painted by Michelangelo between 1508 and 1512, is certainly an impressive piece of interior decorating and design, incorporating over 340 figures, both clothed and nude, allowing the artist to fully demonstrate his skill in creating a huge variety of poses for the human body (poses that have been much imitated ever since). 

Contrary to popular belief, Michelangelo painted in a standing position, not lying flat on his back, and endured great physical discomfort; eye strain, neck ache, muscle cramps, etc. Little wonder then that he bodged certain sections and that it was left unfinished. Nevertheless, according to Goethe, those who haven't seen this work for themselves can have no appreciable idea of what greatness a single man is capable.


II.

I was thinking of Michelangelo and his High Renaissance masterpiece whilst painting a ceiling in my mother's house over the weekend. Not that I drew inspiration from the Italian; that came rather from the avant-garde Russian artist Kazimir Malevich and his Suprematist composition of 1918 entitled White on White (shown above).  

For that's essentially what I was doing: painting white on white, inch after inch and one polystyrene foam tile after another, using Farrow and Ball's All White Estate emulsion; an expensive but soft and sympathetic paint which provides a chalky, very matt finish, with just a 2% sheen (which is more than enough lustre for any ceiling in my view).      

Whilst most people today probably prefer to use a roller and get the job done as quickly and as conveniently as possible, I like to take my time and prefer to use a small (12 mm) brush, ensuring that individual brush strokes and small imperfections remain evident; the thought of machine-perfect smoothness - or machine-smooth perfection - is anathema to my tastes. 

Having now completed the second coat, I have to confess that I prefer my ceiling in all its infinite and abstract whiteness to Michelangelo's, which - for me - is far too busy and show-offy. It's nice to dispense with illusions of depth and to also rid painting of representation and colour. The foam tiles - that were so popular at one time, but which are now deemed to be a fire hazard - provide a richly textured surface.      

Although I don't much care for his ideal fantasies of purity and spiritual transcendence, I share something of Malevich's exhilaration and know exactly what he means when he claims in his 1919 manifesto to have overcome the lining of the coloured sky and learnt how to swim in the freedom of the white abyss ...