I did it—I finally finished Clara’s closet stamping project (the one I started here). Yes, as the title hinted, I made a potato stamp. It was surprisingly fun and nearly free. The whole project cost me 99 cents for a tube of Folk Art paint in Champagne, a soft metallic gold, since I used two potatoes we already had. I tried a few different approaches before settling on a pattern that worked.
My first idea was a dollar-store rubber stamp from Michael’s, but its fine pattern didn’t read well on the wall. I experimented with freehand marks too—imperfect horizontal lines, little X’s, and rows of dots made by pressing a small craft brush to the wall—but none of those felt right.
Then I moved on to potato stamps. I carved a handful of shapes freehand: a quirky quatrefoil, a star, a honeycomb-like hexagon, and a circular motif inspired by a Pinterest pin. For that one I used the top of a salad dressing bottle as a guide for the circle, then carved small wedge-shaped slivers around it to create a starburst effect. I also tried the celery-rose stamp idea I’d seen online, just for fun.
I tested each stamp on paper using the champagne metallic paint to see how they’d translate to the wall. The little starburst circle stood out as the best option; it read clearly and had a delicate, hand-made quality. With the winner decided, I started stamping in the closet.
I learned that brushing paint onto the potato with a small craft brush worked much better than dipping it into a paint plate. Brushing let me remove excess paint and avoid globs, which made the stamped shapes clean and consistent. The metallic finish catches the light at certain angles and looks soft and elegant on the wall.
After about an hour I completed the door and roughly a quarter of the adjoining wall before pausing for Clara’s nap. When I returned the next morning I discovered the potato had softened overnight—less firm, more sponge-like. I worried it might be useless, but I pressed on. I adjusted my technique slightly, rocking the stamp gently as I pressed to make sure each starburst tip made contact. Miraculously, it still worked.
I must have stamped that potato into the wall hundreds of times. The process became oddly soothing: brush paint on, press and rock the wrist, move a few inches, repeat. I eyeballed the spacing, keeping each stamp about five inches from the next, and staggered the rows so the pattern reads as offset horizontal bands that form a subtle chevron effect when viewed collectively.
While stamping I found myself thinking about the last nearly 15 months with our little bean—funny moments, first words, meltdowns, and all the messy, wonderful parts of parenting. Two hours flew by in that small closet, marking paint and memories at the same time.
When the paint dried and Clara was allowed back in, she was thrilled. She ran through the small space pointing at every shiny stamp and squealing “stah!”—her version of “star.” The finished stamping portion took about three and a half hours overall, including the earlier experiments. It felt completely worth it for the cozy, subtly metallic reading nook we were creating.
Next I reinstalled the white shelving system we had removed before painting, then filled the closet with Clara’s clothes, toys, and blankets. I added a fluffy faux sheepskin rug, a few pillows, and some of her favorite board books on the low shelves to make the space inviting at her level. I still want to make a beanbag, and I’ve pinned several tutorials, but the closet already feels sweet and comfortable. Clara loved testing it out.
John’s reaction was amusing: when I asked what he thought, he told me it felt “Sweet Sixteen”—which he clarified as meaning expensive-looking, like ornate celebration cakes. We all laughed. I’m happy that everyone likes the result, even if we don’t always agree on the best words to describe it.
Who knew a potato stamp would bring back middle-school memories and turn into one of my favorite small projects at the new house? Unlike stenciling, stamping doesn’t require perfect placement or worrying about smudges: you eye it and go. The slight imperfections are what make it feel handmade, almost like custom wallpaper. For 99 cents and a few hours, it felt like a meaningful little gift from me to Clara—one that even John thinks looks a little fancy. Sometimes the smallest projects matter the most.