aging painted metal signs

I've done a couple of posts now on how to make vintage-look painted signs on metal panels, but I'm still perfecting my methods as I work my way up to a large project. I have a patch of fence, though, in the backyard, that is chain link, and ugly, and has a tiny dog on the other side (a pomeranian, I think) who likes to bark at us when we're minding our own business in our own yard (but only when he can see us). And I had some metal panels laying around, ready to get made into signs.

A project for every purpose, hmmm?

So, let's not talk about how I should have used a template before taping and spraying so that everything would look a little more professional. I freehanded this in chalk and then taped around it; I know it doesn't exactly dress to impress. But I would like to write a little about my experiments with aging. Aging the sign, that is, not myself. (*wink*)

First, I started with a cream painted metal panel from Bring, the recycled building store where I pick up a lot of my project materials. As you can see in the sanded spot in the photo below, there were three other layers of paint under the cream: tan, brown, and gray before the steel shows through. Picking a panel with a lot of layers of old paint in dated colors is a great first step towards making something look vintage, I think.

After I taped my lines, I sprayed with a flat black primer, and then three very light coats of cherry red. Some of the black still shows through, with I think lends some nice age.

You can tell from the above photo there is a flat finish to the red paint. It was glossy out of the can, but if you hit anything with enough scrubber pads, sandpaper, and steel wool, you can dull the finish pretty nicely. 

As you see here, my next method to aging is to scrub all the way through the layers of paint in several areas, down to the bare metal. I made the patches somewhat random in order to look like "natural" aging. 

And then, of course, rust. I scrub the area with salt while it lays flat, then spray with vinegar and leave it to do its thing. Voila! (It's still wet in this photo, but you can still make it out.)

Ah, rust. I left this laying flat in the rain for a couple of days, which helps hasten the process.

I let the kiddo dance on it a bit, too, to give it some dents and chips.

So, the aging is going well, and this hides a pomeranian. Mission accomplished!

Stay tuned, as I'm in the middle of another sign project I'll be sharing soon. This one is even bigger and way cooler.

Thanks for reading!

a long, long, time ago, in a college far, far away . . . (a frog's tale)

When I graduated high school, I was seventeen years old and still hadn't formulated a plan for college. I knew, vaguely, that I should go (lacking marketable skills outside of retail cashiering), but though a good friend's mom had tried to light a fire under me a year or so earlier, the idea of choosing from hundreds of schools, applying, getting accepted, packing up all my stuff, moving hours away from home, applying for financial aid and scholarships, and enrolling in classes seemed way beyond my ability. So aside from taking my SATs and requesting countless college brochures, I didn't actively apply myself to the challenge. I was afraid.

If I'd really thought it out, I would probably have seen this: that the person who tried to light that fire (Bonnie, I'm looking at you) would have helped me, if I had asked. In fact, I had numerous adults in my life who would have helped me if I had asked (parents, a stellar aunt, a language teacher who thought I was great). But that's not something I accepted or thought of then. I thought I was all alone.

I was lucky, or perhaps some unknown benefactor interceded on my behalf; I still don't know, seventeen years later, how the nearby college got a hold of my grades and SAT scores. I probably owe someone a huge debt of gratitude there. Because one day, after the time for choosing a college had passed me by, the college chose me. A phone call was answered, a partial scholarship was offered, and before I knew it, I was an eighteen-year-old freshman in college. Lucky.

All of which I'm writing about now because soon, I turn 35. I graduated high school a little over seventeen years ago, half a lifetime now. And there are still lessons I haven't learned completely.

But there are others I have. Like that change can be scary, but that I shouldn't fear it. Sometimes, change brings the greatest things to my life, like a guy with a big heart who tells the best jokes (my husband), or a little boy who can light up a room with a smile while simultaneously driving me crazy (my son).

And trying new things, stepping outside my comfort zone, can yield huge rewards, or at least teach me something about myself, like moving to a new city and graduating from a different college. Like starting new jobs and making new friends and running a business. Or, as I found out this week, taking a rock climbing class.

Asking for help is still hard for me, and being awake and alert to the unseen helpers around me is still something I struggle with (I'm disgustingly self-centered sometimes). But I'm still evolving. And that's as important as having evolved.

All of which, strangely, leads me to my friend Froggy, here.

Froggy was one of the projects I made in Sculpture 101 (or similar) class my very first quarter of college. Yup. He's almost as old now as I was when I made him. Carved from a block of plaster cast in a bucket, Froggy made me see everyday materials in a new light. One of the students watching me make him in class later commented during a critique that he could tell, while I was making him, that I was in love with what I was doing.

Froggy has seen quite a life, moving with me eight times, I think, in the past seventeen years. He's all banged up, but oddly enough, the big chunk out of his cheek came only weeks after he was finished, when a roommate's bongo drum was knocked over by one of his cats, and cracked Froggy's cheek off.

But though Froggy's seen it all and been battered around by bongos and babies, he's not done for. He's still evolving, too.

Thanks to a little Milk Paint, Froggy's looking fresh as a forget-me-not.

He's doing the same thing I'm constantly doing; adding something new and different to a solid base.

I still (as you know) love making things. A particular joy of mine is taking old things and reworking them. And that's what I'm thinking about as I start my 36th year.

Thanks for reading. Froggy thanks you too.

p.s. you can make these photographs larger just by clicking on them, but you probably already knew that.