I faced refinishing, or at least improving, our 1900 baby grand piano. It cost $1000 35 years ago, and for ten years was hit by sunlight through a window. The finish was flaked away, the flat surfaces bubbled and worn. Yeah, little kids, too distracted to notice, and no better place at the time to move it.
Pianos are now much out of favor (a starter electric keyboard is $100). Want one? They're often just given away. They typically have a satin lacquer finish on many a shapely and very unforgiving surface. I was daunted from the moment I agreed to the refinish job. The usual solution (YouTube) is flat black, no problem. My spouse said nope to that. I was hesitant until the refinish bid of $7,000 came in. Then I was convinced to give it a try.
Disassembly was a trip back in time. As I took apart the five-foot hinges and removed the fall board and pedals mechanism and two-part top I encountered four-inch screws of elegant design, all slotted. The braces and pedals were solid brass, the harp heavy cast iron still elegantly finished gold, the case marvelously bent maple which in its perfection, under the flaking surface, could still be varnished after my careful sanding.
But more than that was the knowledge, lying on my back big screwdriver in hand, was that the last fellow to turn this screw was probably born during the Civil War. Our piano was sold in 1900 (serial number identification is on line), and if he were 40 years old his father had probably fought in it. The workmanship was surperb. Despite the mistreatment of 124 years, the climate changes, the abuse, the scores of children pounding keys and the multiple moves by truck from owner to owner, no joint was loose, no incident of shortcut revealed. And this was only a Kimball, a piano for the masses. And the masses wanted a piano. In 1900, 171,000 piano were sold in America, population 76 million. In 1923, 350,0000 households bought a new piano. In 2007, 60,000 pianos left the showroom in a country of 350 million.
That's weird, lying on your back, looking up at the history of the country and remembering my own family in an era when somebody could always play, and did, and holidays rang with song.
But--painting one? After various failed experiments I decided to try Interlux Brightside, the one-part polyeurethane we use on boats. As far as I know, that's a first for a piano. I had no success with lacquers, and I didn;t feel like spending a grand on a sprayer and learning to use it. An amateur piano paint job is done in situ, you can't move the thing to a shop or a garage.
A piano isn't like a dinghy bottom, though. It must shine perfectly, in all lights, and the eye picks up any imperfection. Took me a while to find the thinning ratio (sand off and start over.) Black is a horrible color, the absolute worst. And sanding black makes black dust. But,,I knew it was going to work. And after the usual hiccups, it did. All roll and tip, working fast.
Not perfect, but close enough. I am now confident I could do the boom by roll and tip, whereas before I had used Preval sprayers as a hedge agaist drips. The trick is many light coats. The result is a hard, very high-gloss surface free of brushmarks (when it works). If a coat fails, sand off and start over.
Great stuff, as many of us already knew. But my piano didn't, until now.
Pianos are now much out of favor (a starter electric keyboard is $100). Want one? They're often just given away. They typically have a satin lacquer finish on many a shapely and very unforgiving surface. I was daunted from the moment I agreed to the refinish job. The usual solution (YouTube) is flat black, no problem. My spouse said nope to that. I was hesitant until the refinish bid of $7,000 came in. Then I was convinced to give it a try.
Disassembly was a trip back in time. As I took apart the five-foot hinges and removed the fall board and pedals mechanism and two-part top I encountered four-inch screws of elegant design, all slotted. The braces and pedals were solid brass, the harp heavy cast iron still elegantly finished gold, the case marvelously bent maple which in its perfection, under the flaking surface, could still be varnished after my careful sanding.
But more than that was the knowledge, lying on my back big screwdriver in hand, was that the last fellow to turn this screw was probably born during the Civil War. Our piano was sold in 1900 (serial number identification is on line), and if he were 40 years old his father had probably fought in it. The workmanship was surperb. Despite the mistreatment of 124 years, the climate changes, the abuse, the scores of children pounding keys and the multiple moves by truck from owner to owner, no joint was loose, no incident of shortcut revealed. And this was only a Kimball, a piano for the masses. And the masses wanted a piano. In 1900, 171,000 piano were sold in America, population 76 million. In 1923, 350,0000 households bought a new piano. In 2007, 60,000 pianos left the showroom in a country of 350 million.
That's weird, lying on your back, looking up at the history of the country and remembering my own family in an era when somebody could always play, and did, and holidays rang with song.
But--painting one? After various failed experiments I decided to try Interlux Brightside, the one-part polyeurethane we use on boats. As far as I know, that's a first for a piano. I had no success with lacquers, and I didn;t feel like spending a grand on a sprayer and learning to use it. An amateur piano paint job is done in situ, you can't move the thing to a shop or a garage.
A piano isn't like a dinghy bottom, though. It must shine perfectly, in all lights, and the eye picks up any imperfection. Took me a while to find the thinning ratio (sand off and start over.) Black is a horrible color, the absolute worst. And sanding black makes black dust. But,,I knew it was going to work. And after the usual hiccups, it did. All roll and tip, working fast.
Not perfect, but close enough. I am now confident I could do the boom by roll and tip, whereas before I had used Preval sprayers as a hedge agaist drips. The trick is many light coats. The result is a hard, very high-gloss surface free of brushmarks (when it works). If a coat fails, sand off and start over.
Great stuff, as many of us already knew. But my piano didn't, until now.
