On Painting the Consulting Room

Two years ago, I arranged for my consulting room to be redecorated. The administrator of the office building in which I work notified me that during the coming summer holiday some painters and decorators would be undertaking repairs, replastering and repainting the hallways, and she wondered whether I might wish to avail myself of the opportunity to have them spruce up my office as well. As I had not updated the décor of my consulting room in quite some time, I responded with enthusiasm, and arranged for new paint on the walls, new carpet on the floors, as well as new chairs and pictures. The work began on August 1, and finished in plenty of time before my return to work on September 1.

In spite of the changes, I did, however, keep my stalwart analytic couch. In fact, I have used the same couch for approximately twenty years. It has served me well, supporting patients both concretely and psychologically. I knew that my patients had become quite attached to this particular couch, as have I, and thus I saw no reason to purchase a new one.

The workmen undertook the refurbishment in a most straightforward manner, and the new chairs arrived in time. The room looked much more fresh and modern, and in spite of the lingering smell of new paint and new carpets (which would soon fade), I returned to work with an extra spring in my step, enjoying my revivified surroundings, which I surveyed from my comfortable, new leather chair.

I suspected that patients would in time notice the various changes, but I had no preconceptions about how each particular person would respond. Early on Monday morning, Miss A. entered the room and lay on the couch. She immediately clocked the transformation and chirped straightaway, "You've got new carpets. That fits my mood perfectly. I found a new boyfriend over the summer. He's older than I am, but he's lovely. I feel that new carpets are symbolic of what I hope will be a new chapter for me." In retrospect, this response seemed to be a perfect representation of Miss A., and of her approach to object relations. A reasonably healthy, high-functioning patient, Miss A. will often adopt a cheery, if not bubbly, attitude, sometimes to her detriment, but often to her benefit. I would not describe her as manic or even as hypomanic. Miss A.'s instant association to new carpets as harbingers of new relationships struck me as not only characteristic but also delightfully admirable.

Mr. B. arrived one hour later and, with a dramatic flourish, he collapsed into the chair across the room, as he does not use the couch. Mr. B. had endured a difficult summer break, and he had to fend off creditors to whom he owed a great deal of money. He allowed his head to flop back against the top of the chair, and then stared at the ceiling. "Ah, the crack up there is gone," he sighed. This observation instantly unleashed a chain of associations about the cracks in his life, and about his anxieties that he will crack up from all of his many work pressures and marital upheavals. I wondered aloud what he thought about the fact that we had had a long summer break, and that upon returning from this break he had discovered that I had repaired my crack in the ceiling, whereas he still had many cracks remaining, and perhaps felt cross with me for having left him during the month of August without a psychological plasterer or painter. He sniggered at this fairly simple transference interpretation, and told me that he could have used a session or two with me over the break, but that he felt pleased to be back nevertheless so that we could resume our work. Mr. B. quipped, "I could do with some spackle for the inside of my head."

Mr. C., a five-times-weekly analytic patient, returned from his summer break and lay on the couch in a state of utter hopelessness. He had missed both me and his sessions over the...