I'm Mariia — I grew up outside Odessa, and now I strip, sand, and repaint the furniture nobody else wants, one curbside dresser at a time, in a garage in New Jersey.
I came to New Jersey for my husband, for a quieter life than the one I grew up with, and — if I'm honest — without much of a plan for what I'd do with my hands once the apartment was unpacked. My grandmother had a dacha outside Odessa with furniture older than my mother, and I remember the smell of linseed oil more clearly than I remember most of my childhood. I didn't think about it again for twenty years.
Then a neighbor put a chest of drawers out at the curb with a "FREE" sign taped to it, water-stained and missing a handle, and I couldn't walk past it. I dragged it into the garage before I'd decided what I was going to do with it. That was the first one.
Now the garage is half workshop, half archive — drawers drying on sawhorses, hardware soaking in jars, paint swatches taped to the fridge for my husband to weigh in on (he always picks the blue). I take the pieces other people are done with — thrift store rejects, estate sale leftovers, that dresser your mother-in-law was finally ready to let go of — and I give them a coat, a color, and a reason to stay in someone's bedroom for another thirty years.
No two pieces get the same treatment. Some just need eleven layers of old varnish gone; others need me to build a new drawer box from scratch because the old one didn't survive the move. Here's a few from this year.
Not every drawer makes it. Water damage, warped plywood, joints that won't hold glue anymore — sometimes the honest thing to do is rebuild the frame from pine and let the old face and hardware sit on top of something new. This one's from a dresser whose drawer boxes had basically dissolved. Nobody who owns it now will ever know.
still smells like fresh-cut pine in hereIt's the same six stages whether it's a $20 nightstand or a set someone's had for twenty years — what changes is how long each one takes.
Check the joints, the runners, the back panel. This decides whether the piece gets refinished or rebuilt.
Chemical stripper or the orbital sander, depending on how many layers are hiding underneath.
Loose joints, split panels, replaced runners. Whatever the piece needs before it can hold paint.
Wood filler on the dings, a bonding primer over everything, then a hand-sand so the next coat sits flat.
I almost never use a color straight from the can — a little more navy, a little less green, until it looks right in this light.
Brass, brushed nickel, or the old handles cleaned up — whatever the piece is asking for. Then it goes to someone's bedroom.