"If I only had a basement!" What a rich man I would be if I only received $1 every time I have repeated that phrase over the last 30 years. It's not like we were surprised, upon buying this house, that a basement didn't exist. No door was present that, when opened, lead to nowhere. Of course, there have been many reasons over the decades for wanting the basement. Mostly, it would have been a good place to hide miscellaneous bits and bobs that seem to accumulate from mid air on every horizontal surface that isn't already covered by other unnecessary items
These days, in the east coast setting of southern new jersey, I wish I had the basement to make using spray paint possible. Although not an ideal setting, I could perhaps rig a box that vented fumes to a window. Then the paint would actually come out of the can and settle on my projects as desired instead of hanging clueless in the frigid 30-40 degree weather. So why not just switch to brush on acrylic? If that is the look I was going for, it would be great. But in this case, I need, want, and must have the smooth finish I get from a mist of color.
Keep thinking Spring (unless you're from one of those totally unfair areas that live daily between 65 and 85 degrees). Maybe I shouldn't worry so much about how the project looks. When blemished and imperfect, I can always market it as "handcrafted in the cold of the east coast winter."