The joys of Painting a Historic Commercial Building Newport, RI

There are certain jobs you take because they pay the bills. And then there are the jobs that feel like a test from the universe—a mix of excitement, dread, and a slight existential crisis. Painting a historic commercial building in Newport? That was one of those jobs.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I love what I do. There’s something deeply satisfying about taking a worn-down structure and giving it a second life. But when you’re dealing with a building that’s been standing since before electricity was a thing, well, let’s just say the walls have seen things. And they don’t let go of their secrets easily.

Day One: The Illusion of Control

The first day on a job like this is always the easiest—because nothing has actually gone wrong yet. We rolled up with our crew, fresh buckets of paint, and the kind of naive optimism you have before reality sets in. The building itself was a grand, three-story relic from the 1800s. Gorgeous details, high ceilings, and the kind of architecture that makes you wonder, how the hell did they build this without power tools?

We were hired to restore the exterior and repaint the trim, which sounds simple until you remember that historic often means full of surprises. First surprise? Lead paint. Of course. Because why would an old building NOT have a little extra danger baked in? (I swear, if you’re a painter and haven’t done at least one round of lead-safe certification, are you even in the trade?)

So, before we could even think about cracking open a paint can, we had to set up containment, suit up like we were dealing with biohazards, and start the ever-so-thrilling process of lead abatement. If you’ve never sanded old lead paint off a building while wearing a respirator in July, you haven’t truly suffered.

The Unexpected Guest (aka Pigeon Apocalypse)

By day three, we were making solid progress—scaffolding was up, primer was going on, and morale was surprisingly high. That is, until we got to the top of the building, where we met the actual owners of this historic gem: about 40 very territorial pigeons.

Let me tell you something—pigeons don’t care about OSHA regulations. They do not respect personal space. And they will absolutely dive-bomb your face if they feel like you’re encroaching on their ancestral rooftop domain. We tried shooing them away. They laughed at us. We put up deterrents. They knocked them down. At one point, I swear, I saw a pigeon stare at me while methodically kicking a plastic owl off the ledge, as if to say, Nice try, buddy. This is our house.

By the end of the day, we reached a silent agreement: they wouldn’t attack us too aggressively if we stayed off their section of the roof during feeding time. Which, by the way, was all the time.

Weather? Yeah, That’s Gonna Be a Problem

If you’ve ever worked on a historic building in Newport, you know the weather is your real boss. One day, it’s sunny and perfect; the next, you’re watching your carefully applied paint literally wash away in an unexpected coastal downpour. (Fun fact: old buildings are like sponges. They absorb moisture, and then they reject your paint like a toddler rejecting vegetables.)

There’s something uniquely soul-crushing about standing in the street, watching streaks of fresh paint drip down a 150-year-old brick façade while knowing that tomorrow, you’re going to have to do it all over again. At that point, all you can do is sigh, drink an absurd amount of coffee, and hope that the weather report is less of a lie the next time.

Finishing Strong (With a Few Battle Scars)

After a few weeks of scraped knuckles, pigeon warfare, and more unexpected touch-ups than I’d like to admit, we finally wrapped up the job. And let me tell you, seeing that building transformed made every frustrating moment worth it. The faded, chipped paint was gone, replaced with a crisp, historically accurate color scheme that made the architectural details pop.

The best part? The business owner—who had been just as stressed as we were—stood back, looked at the finished product, and said, “This is exactly what I imagined.”

That right there? That’s why we do it.

Of course, I also walked away with a mild case of heat exhaustion, a new grudge against pigeons, and an unshakable suspicion that this building is probably haunted. But that’s just part of the job.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. Just… maybe not next week.