Students of home decor tell me that, in the 70s, foil wallpaper was a totally normal thing. Not something crazy or absurd and certainly not cause to burn down a house -- despite similarities with the torture chamber in Phantom of the Opera (novel). For your consideration, here is an example.
The half bath in my house has no window.
During my ongoing bathroom de-wallpapering project, I have occasionally scraped out bits and pieces of some sort of metallic backing. It was beneath the wallpaper and usually behind mounting brackets. I assumed it was construction material associated with drywall anchors. I was wrong. When I removed the mounting brackets for the bathroom mirror, I found larger samples.
They were very difficult to photograph.
Slowly the realization sank in. The accursed wallpaper I was destroying was the pale revenant of an ancient hero. The builder of my home intentionally designed the bathroom as a fully enclosed, mirror-lined box. The only visible feature to preserve sanity: a lovely blue and yellow-beige floral pattern. The wallpaper I hated so much was posted to end that threat. My hat is off.
The only surviving photo of what I replaced is from the home inspection.
Nonetheless, the time had come and gone for tearful heart wallpaper and we've all seen the photo of what happened next.
Mmmm, toilet photos.
Julie and I both thought that bare drywall was a great improvement, but we realized that we had an opportunity to do something cool. Armed with zero ability to coordinate colors and several books of colors guaranteed by the paint company to "go" together, we came up with this.
The fisheye lense was made for bathrooms.
The eggplant-looking side needs another coat, but we're both excited to see it all up there. We're also excited that I've got the toilet put back together. I never could convince anyone to flush with a bucket.