Painting a Basement: What Was I Thinking?

Spontaneous combustion is just one of my concerns about tackling the dingy condition of the basement walls and floor in my rental property. I understand that muriatic acid can solve a lot of problems. I've also read that a pilot light can cause the fumes to combust and perhaps end my life a bit prematurely.

Does anyone else suffer from immaculate basement envy? Have you been in one of those unfinished basements from the 1920's where the cinderblock walls and concrete floor glisten in the sunlight? They represent the pinnacle of clean, welcoming old basements. Achieving that state also appeals to someone with self-diagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder. Blame my father, my best OCD friend.

I genuinely like an inviting basement. I grew up in a small Iowa farmhouse that had an unfinished basement and somehow the place always looked inviting. My mother was a budding professional artist at the time and she had paint cans, canvases, and frames piled up on shelves, co-existing with my father's shelves of tools, gloves, seed corn caps and farm boots. I would go down into the basement when I got off the bus after school, if my mom were there painting, to pour out the critical details of my day. The place was just homey.

When I walk into the basement of my Tosa investment property, it feels just the opposite: neglected, empty, random. Upon purchasing the property three years ago, I found years of dust and a hodgepodge of abandoned junk in the basement. In a sort of warped "Where's Waldo" universe, one's mind quickly became visually lost in an eclectic mix of items, including concrete bags that had split open, left-over pieces of wood floor trim, electrical conduit, broken garden pots, someone's hand-made set of shelves, an old door, a dilapidated desk, extension cords, shoes, and a broken window air conditioner. I rented a flatbed U-Haul trailer and made a trip to the dump.

Last week, we tackled the walls in the first of a three-phase project. I subjected my two teenagers to forced labor conditions and, with my boyfriend, we scrubbed the basement walls and applied a fresh coat of masonry waterproofing paint. We all learned together that this is not your average painting job. The bare cinderblock sucked up paint like a sponge in Death Valley. We went through three times more paint than I expected. I made four trips to the corner hardware store. It was a long day.  

Phase two involves cleaning the floor. I’ve talked to some painting professionals about concrete floor cleaners, solvents, stains, and paints. I’ll be using a latex, water-based cleaner that will not cause burns over 90% of my body. I can say with certainty that I'm happy about that. Phase three includes painting the floor and the bottom foot of the walls. That section was too dirty to paint during phase one.

Neither my children nor boyfriend have approached me with a gleam in their eye, asking when we can begin phase two. For this reason, I plan to do it alone. I’ll drag my boyfriend back for phase three.

Like all Tosa bungalow projects, this is a labor of love that can quickly turn into a labor of unwanted labor. That said, once I’m holding a brush in my hand and am in the act of work, I enjoy it. Choosing to live in an older Tosa neighborhood goes hand-in-hand with preserving the character of the homes. There may not be craftsman-style woodwork or leaded glass in the basement of my investment property, but there’s still my pride of ownership. And the need to find an outlet for my OCD.

Wish me luck. After this project, I have a list with about 20 more.