I have recently had to renovate a bedroom of my house in order to make room for a new occupant. I have been living in this house for some time, now, and I always cringe at the prospect of fixing up any of the rooms. Now, I don’t have any fear of ripping out or replacing flooring. I can install trim without any problem for days on end. I can make pieces of furniture to fill the space, permanent built-in cabinets to serve dedicated purposes – I can even pull out and replace windows and thereby improve the overall climate of the house. All of these things don’t bother me.
So, what makes me cringe?
In one word, paint. I don’t have any difficulty painting, though. I just have a problem with what I’m painting.

In the case of this house, many layers of paint have been slathered on over the past 40 years. My archaeological excavations of various areas in the house have unearthed some truly original and striking colours – the most striking of all appear to be the original colours of the house.
When I moved in, of course, everything was beige. Now, beige is a fine colour for teddy bears or cigarette butts or dead plants, but it’s just not a good idea to make everything beige. I believe I mentioned previously that there is one room in my house in which everything was painted beige – including the door, door knob, hinges, electrical outlets and switch cover-plates. Well, that was a common colour theme throughout the house when I moved in.
Once I started going through and changing things, I discovered that the original colour of the living room was a bright banana yellow. That was interesting enough, but I discovered the dining room had once been a vibrant tangerine. And at least one wall of the kitchen had been a candy-apple red. I would have felt quite at home here in my turtleneck and corduroys.
Those colours were not the problem – although they were probably responsible for some of the layers of paint (it can be very hard to cover red paint). The real problem was the fact that the walls were originally given a light texture coat.
Upon removing one of the built-in dressers in a closet, I discovered the wall behind it felt sandy. Not a little sandy but a whole lot like 80-grit sandpaper. That was the original texture coat put on before the house was painted.

Why on earth would they do that? Well, this was a modular home, brought in on a truck in pieces, placed on a concrete block foundation. Such an operation causes shifting and to minimize the appearance of the effects of that shifting, corners had moulding strips, plastic strips adorn the tops of windows and doorways, and the walls have a texture coat. My guess is popped nails aren’t as visible when the walls are already not even close to smooth.
Original reasons aside, the unfortunate outcome of the texture coat is truly apparent after 40 years of paint jobs. The surface of every wall in the house became remarkably close in nature to the texture of the spackled ceiling. Every tiny speck of the texture coat magnified through each successive paint layer until the surface of the wall more closely resembled a gravel road.
So, when I have to deal with painting a wall, I cringe. The painting is fine, though. The preparation is a nightmare.

First, I sand the walls to grind down the larger of the lumps – not just the texture coat lumps but the uneven patch jobs people have attempted over the years, the remnants of plastic plugs, pieces of chewing gum that have been painted over (not kidding). What I really like to find are tiny nails that I didn’t see until they’ve torn the sandpaper off its holder.
There’s no need to aim for a smooth wall through sanding. I don’t think it’s possible. It’s important to even out the surface a little, though.
Next is to apply a skim coat of drywall compound to the wall. Cover every inch of it. The coat you apply should be virtually transparent. You really want to minimize sanding. Apply more coats as they dry, to get the wall closer to smooth. You can sand when you’re satisfied, but as little as possible.
I once worked on a renovation where a crew was supposed to come in and skim coat a wall. It was an office building and they needed to do the work overnight, unsupervised. Unfortunately, not one of them knew what a skim coat was supposed to be. They actually covered the entire wall with a quarter inch of drywall compound.
Don’t do that.
Make sure there’s no dust on the wall and then prime with drywall primer. Once that’s dry, you can paint.

Alternatively, you can go buy several sheets of drywall and install that. Taping the joints will likely prove less irritating that fixing the old stuff.
I, however, always opt for whatever will cost least and generate the least amount of garbage.
It’s probably just a coincidence that option ends up also being the most irritating.