Welcome to a glimpse behind the curtain of one of the most transformative experiences of my creative career—the creation of an 89-foot mural during the Bright Walls Festival in Jackson, Michigan. This enormous project pushed me in every direction—physically, emotionally, and creatively. Over the course of six demanding, exhilarating, and soul-nourishing days, I turned a blank wall into a vibrant public artwork.
If you're curious about the overall vibe and experience of the festival itself—the artists, the energy, the community—you can catch all that in Part One of my mural series. But here, I want to offer a raw, honest, and thorough look at what it actually took to bring this mural to life. From initial designs to final brushstrokes, this is the full story.
The Beginning of Something Big
When I first received the dimensions of the wall—an intimidating 89 feet in length—I knew I was stepping into a completely different world of painting. Although I’ve spent years honing my voice as a visual artist, creating something on this scale was uncharted territory. The very idea of referring to myself as a muralist felt premature, almost like I hadn’t earned it yet. But this project changed everything.
My approach with this piece was to allow growth and imperfection. I was entering new terrain, and instead of striving for mastery, I chose adaptability. This project was not just about creating a beautiful public artwork—it was about evolving as an artist and human being.
Since canvas painting is built layer by layer, it made sense to me to treat each day of the mural process as its own kind of layer—each one with its own narrative, challenges, and small victories.
Day One: Rolling with the Unexpected
Before I even stepped foot in Jackson, Michigan, I had begun mentally preparing for the enormous task ahead—painting an 89-foot mural at the Bright Walls Festival. The moment I received a reference photo of the blank wall, I was instantly struck by both its scale and potential. My creative mind kicked into gear. Using Procreate on my iPad, I carefully mapped out a digital concept that would become my guiding vision for the project.
The plan was to build a dynamic composition that traveled visually from light tones through a vibrant rainbow middle and then into darker, moodier hues. I intentionally incorporated solid fields of color in both the top-left and bottom-right corners to create visual resting places. When designing large-scale public art, it’s easy to overload the eye with complexity, but balance and flow are essential.
This layout, while ambitious, felt intentional and promising. But, as with most things in life—and especially in art—plans rarely remain untouched.
Just before I boarded my flight, I received unexpected news that caused immediate stress: the assistant who was supposed to accompany me and help throughout the week could no longer make it. As someone venturing into one of the largest projects of my career, I was suddenly facing the daunting reality of managing a massive mural solo. The thought of being alone on such a labor-intensive job brought anxiety—but also presented an opportunity to lean into resilience.
Out of instinct and perhaps a bit of desperation, I texted my childhood best friend Amber, who lived only a couple of hours from Jackson. Amber and I hadn’t seen each other in ages, but when she agreed to join me on the first day, I felt a profound wave of comfort and encouragement. She wasn’t just an extra pair of hands; she brought laughter, familiarity, and the kind of emotional steadiness that can’t be quantified.
The morning we arrived at the mural site, we walked into the artist supply area where bins and shelves overflowed with paints. That’s when I noticed something important—almost every other muralist was reaching for spray paint. Meanwhile, I stood there with gallons of latex paint, brushes, and rollers, beginning to question whether I had misunderstood something critical. Why was no one else using latex? What did they know that I didn’t?
As soon as we got started, the answer became obvious. The cement-block wall I had been assigned was deeply textured, pocked with thousands of tiny holes and crevices. Rolling or brushing latex over it was slow and inefficient—each pass required multiple coats to achieve solid coverage. Spray paint, I soon realized, wasn’t a trendy tool but a practical necessity for surfaces like this.
Still, Amber and I pushed ahead, focusing our energy on the central rainbow section. Despite the intense physical labor and the steeper-than-expected learning curve, I felt a rush of joy when the first bold hues hit the wall. Watching the concept leap off my iPad and onto concrete was exhilarating, like breathing life into a dream.
That first day tested my flexibility, my physical endurance, and my ability to pivot on the fly. It reminded me that mural painting, unlike the solitude of working in a studio, is a fully immersive and adaptive process. It’s live, it’s visible, and it invites problem-solving in real-time.
Takeaway from Day One: Curiosity is your greatest asset. Embrace what you don’t know, ask questions without hesitation, and be willing to adapt. Mural work demands more than vision—it requires openness to discovery.
Day Two: Discovering My Support System
Day Two began before sunrise, thanks in part to lingering jet lag and the urgent sense that I needed to make significant progress. While the streets of Jackson still slept, I returned to the artist supply depot and made it my mission to track down as much leftover spray paint as possible. There were cans tucked away from past years of the festival, and I was grateful for every usable shade I could find.
Although Amber’s visit was just for one day, her help had given me a much-needed start. I was still facing a week of work on an enormous wall and wasn’t sure how I’d keep pace. But the universe stepped in once more.
Enter Kate Damich—a DIY influencer, color enthusiast, and creative dynamo. She came into the project like a burst of fresh air. Kate immediately connected with the vision of the mural, saw where help was needed, and jumped in with both feet. Her energy was magnetic, her instincts razor-sharp. It was clear from our very first hour working together that she wasn’t just there to assist—she was invested in the outcome.
Together, we turned our attention to the top-right section of the mural. With each spray, stroke, and adjustment, we began shaping the depth and dimension I had envisioned. Kate’s background in maximalist design meant she had a bold sense of color harmony and wasn’t afraid of saturation or scale—a perfect fit for this mural’s palette.
Joining us was my dear friend Emily, who offered her keen eye and attention to detail. Where Kate and I were focused on large compositional movements, Emily thrived in the refinement process. She cleaned up edges, smoothed transitions, and ensured that every element looked considered and clean.
The synergy between us was incredible. There was no hierarchy, no creative tension—just flow. We each brought something vital to the process, and the mural began to reflect that collaborative energy.
That evening, I met with my licensing partners from Mead Cambridge, who had driven up from Illinois just to see the project and share a meal. Sitting around a table with people who had supported me for years made me pause in gratitude. These were the moments that made the experience more than just paint on a wall—it was connection, community, and mutual celebration.
Takeaway from Day Two: Trust in the people who show up. Collaboration is not a compromise—it’s an expansion. You don’t have to carry every creative vision alone for it to be yours. When aligned people come together, the result is often stronger, richer, and more beautiful than anything you could achieve solo.
Day Three: Committing to the Vision
By the time Day Three arrived, I felt more anchored—not only in the rhythm of the festival but in the physical demands of mural painting itself. Wearing a proper respirator, I finally had a level of protection that allowed me to work without the distraction of inhaling fumes. Breathing easier, quite literally, gave me the clarity to focus on refining the mural and pushing the visual narrative forward.
There comes a point in any creative endeavor where you have to make a firm commitment to your original vision, but also be willing to deviate when something doesn’t resonate the way it should. That moment hit me when I kept returning my gaze to the bottom-right corner of the wall. I had chosen a turquoise hue for that section, thinking it would anchor the darker side of the mural with a cool, modern energy. But as the sun shifted across the mural and colors came into their own, that area started to feel emotionally flat. It lacked contrast, dimension, and drama.
After spending time studying it from different vantage points—close up, across the street, even from a car window—I realized I needed a deeper tone. So I requested a richer, more saturated shade of blue. The moment it hit the wall, everything changed. The deeper hue added weight and visual gravitas, restoring balance across the composition. That single change deepened the atmosphere and connected the entire color story in a way that felt intentional and alive.
With the foundational colors finally clicking into place, I turned to one of the more delicate steps: adding stylized florals. These bold, geometric blooms had lived in the digital version of the mural for weeks, but this was the first time I’d be translating them to full scale. I approached the first flower with both excitement and caution, sketching it lightly before committing to the final lines.
To my delight, the blooms worked. More than that—they elevated everything around them. These floral motifs brought rhythm and visual punctuation to the wall, guiding the viewer’s eye from one section to the next. They weren’t just decorative elements; they were anchors, tying disparate parts of the mural into a cohesive language. Their placement helped shift the mural from a linear design to something more layered and expressive.
While the physical work of mural painting is grueling—long hours on your feet, repetitive motions, sun exposure—the satisfaction that comes with moments like this is unmatched. Seeing your idea manifest at a scale larger than yourself is incredibly empowering. It forces you to trust your intuition in a visceral way.
As evening settled in, Kate and I made our way to Ogma Brewing Co., a beloved local spot. There, we celebrated the day’s breakthroughs with cold craft beers and some well-earned comfort food. We sat among locals and visitors alike, many of whom had passed by the mural during the day and shared kind words about the work. It was the kind of community interaction that reminds you why public art matters—because people see it, engage with it, and make it part of their experience.
Takeaway from Day Three: Your instincts are a powerful compass. If something feels off, don’t ignore it. Whether it’s a color, a shape, or a feeling, adjustments can reignite the entire creative direction. Stay connected to the story you’re telling and be willing to adapt when the narrative demands it.
Day Four: Flow State Unlocked
Day Four came with an unspoken pressure. It was the final full day before the Bright Walls Festival officially opened to the public, and that meant thousands of eyes would soon be walking past this mural—many for the first time. I knew that after today, painting time would be fragmented by conversations, interviews, and the electric energy of the festival. If I wanted the big pieces finished, I had to enter the zone and stay there.
So that’s exactly what I did.
I began early, headphones in, music loud. Beyoncé’s Renaissance album became my personal soundtrack for the day, with each beat syncing perfectly to my pace and brushwork. I barely looked at my phone. I didn’t pause to photograph progress or overanalyze any one area. Instead, I locked into an uninterrupted state of creative flow. The chaos of the street faded away. The mural and I were in constant dialogue, and I could feel every decision happening at the speed of instinct.
This kind of immersion is rare but essential in large-scale work. When you hit it, you move faster—not recklessly, but with intention. Each motion becomes more confident. Your hands remember what your brain no longer needs to explain. It’s as though the mural begins to paint itself through you.
Most of my attention was on the left side of the wall. It had been the most underdeveloped section until now, but I had saved it intentionally. I needed to fully understand the energy of the mural before finishing the beginning, so to speak. Bringing this section to life completed the arc of the piece, creating a visual journey from soft luminosity to rich, dark depth. The colors now danced together across the wall with cohesion. What had once felt like three separate zones now pulsed as a unified statement.
I didn’t take many breaks. I lost track of time. My shoulders ached, and my arms were dusted in specks of spray paint. And yet, I kept going.
Around five in the afternoon, I finally stepped back across the street and just stared. The mural had turned a corner—from a collection of colors and marks to a full, compelling composition. It wasn’t finished yet, but it was whole. I could see the vision in its entirety, and more importantly, so could everyone walking by.
That kind of visibility is humbling. You paint in public not just for praise, but to invite people into your process. To share art as something communal rather than private. There’s vulnerability in that—especially during awkward or incomplete stages—but it also breeds accountability. You show up because people are watching. You give your best because the wall deserves it.
Day Five: Balancing Chaos and Commitment
The fifth day marked the official start of the Bright Walls Festival—and with it, the vibrant chaos that comes from being part of a public art celebration. The once-quiet streets of Jackson transformed into buzzing corridors of art lovers, photographers, local families, and curious passersby. There were interviews scheduled, artist panels to attend, and plenty of conversations sparked by shared admiration for each other’s work. The energy was electric, but it also meant my mural time would be limited.
With so many eyes now watching, the pressure to present a cohesive piece intensified. The mural was close to completion but still lacked the fine details, precision lines, and polished transitions that would elevate it from “almost done” to “fully realized.” I knew I wouldn’t have the luxury of uninterrupted painting hours during the day, so Kate and I made a pivotal decision—we’d return after nightfall and keep painting under the stars.
When the festival crowd began to thin and the sun dipped behind the buildings, we came back to the wall equipped with headlamps, snacks, and an almost delirious determination to finish. The air was cooler, the streets quieter, and a calm focus returned. Beneath the gentle amber glow of the streetlights, we tackled the smallest, most meticulous parts of the mural—blending gradients, sharpening outlines, and perfecting transitions between bold colors and graphic elements.
It was a different kind of rhythm. There was no music this time, no background chatter or festival noise. Just the hiss of spray cans, the soft drag of brushes, and our occasional bursts of laughter. We leaned into the fatigue, turning it into fuel. Our movements were less rushed, more deliberate. Even in exhaustion, there was elegance. Each line felt considered, each stroke precise.
At one point, I looked over at Kate, her hands stained in layers of color, her hair pulled back, still focused with the same intensity as she had on Day Two. We didn’t have to say anything. We both knew the mural was transforming before our eyes. There was a clarity emerging in the work—a kind of visual refinement that only comes from deep, almost obsessive commitment.
This kind of effort, the late-night hustle under city light, was never part of the plan. But it became essential. The mural was not just a project anymore; it was a relationship. And like any relationship, it required patience, time, and extra care when things got complicated.
By the time we packed up for the night, the wall had taken on a new sense of presence. It no longer looked like something in progress—it looked alive. It shimmered, even in the dim light, with intention and artistry. We hadn’t reached the end just yet, but the finish line was within reach.
Takeaway from Day Five: When creativity collides with constraint, perseverance is the difference-maker. Pushing beyond comfort, especially when deadlines loom, reveals your true capacity. You are capable of more than you know—especially when driven by purpose.
Day Six: The Final Flourish
Day Six arrived with a blend of anticipation, pride, and surrealism. The mural was nearly complete, and the festival was in full swing. Jackson’s downtown had become a walking gallery of public art, with people moving from wall to wall, camera phones in hand, smiles on their faces. It was beautiful, chaotic, and emotionally rich.
This final day wasn’t just about finishing the mural—it was about sharing it. The painting process had now become part performance, part interaction. Every time I lifted a can of spray paint or stepped back to evaluate a section, people paused, watched, and often asked questions. They wanted to know the meaning of the colors, the story behind the flowers, the reason for each shift in tone. It was both affirming and humbling to see strangers engaging so deeply with something that had lived in my imagination just a week before.
Yet even with the fanfare, I still had work to do. There were a few final strokes to add, transitions to smooth, and a final check to ensure the mural felt whole from every angle. I worked with an awareness that each movement was a concluding note in a much larger composition. This wasn’t the time for experimentation—it was the time for restraint and clarity.
One of the most difficult parts of painting in an abstract and expressive style is knowing when to stop. There's a persistent urge to tweak, embellish, add one more burst of color or line of detail. But with murals, there’s a point where more becomes too much. And that’s the exact line I found myself approaching.
I stood back, scanned the entire mural, and felt a swell of quiet satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t meant to be. But it was finished—and it was honest. Every section told a story. Every choice reflected a decision rooted in feeling and instinct.
As the festival-goers walked by, some taking photos, others simply stopping to admire, I felt a profound shift. This piece no longer belonged to me. It belonged to everyone who would see it—locals, visitors, children, artists, dreamers. It would live in the background of conversations, commutes, selfies, and community memories. Public art is about more than aesthetics. It becomes part of a city’s language, part of its emotional terrain.
With a final deep breath, I packed away my brushes and empty paint cans. Kate and I looked at each other, exhausted and elated, knowing we had done something meaningful—not just beautiful, but deeply impactful. The mural was done, but its presence had only just begun.
Reflections on a Transformative Experience
Completing the 89-foot mural at Bright Walls was far more than checking off a creative milestone—it became a deep, immersive journey that unfolded on multiple levels. From its conceptual beginnings to the final celebratory brushstrokes, this project shaped my identity as an artist, collaborator, and storyteller. Every square foot of that wall carries with it the weight of unexpected hurdles, spontaneous joy, new friendships, and intense artistic discovery.
Looking back, I realize that what started as an ambitious design on my iPad transformed into a living, breathing monument to growth. It was physically demanding, emotionally charged, creatively fulfilling, and entirely unforgettable. And in the process, I learned that creating a large-scale mural isn’t just about covering space—it’s about revealing parts of yourself along the way.
Reclaiming Confidence Through Creative Risk
As artists, we all carry moments of doubt—especially when entering uncharted territory. For me, mural painting had always felt like a distant world, one reserved for street art legends or lifelong professionals in the field of public art. I was more accustomed to working in the controlled quiet of my studio, where a single canvas and a familiar process offered comfort and predictability.
But this project required me to step into something radically different. The scale alone was daunting. The idea of painting outside, on a massive surface, in full public view, made me nervous at first. I didn’t have the perfect tools, or years of spray paint experience, or a production team to fall back on. I just had a concept, a wall, and a willingness to figure it out as I went.
And yet, it was precisely in that unfamiliarity that I began to thrive. The act of showing up each day and making bold decisions—even when I wasn’t fully sure of the outcome—became incredibly empowering. I learned to adapt with grace, to problem-solve under pressure, and to trust my creative instincts in ways I hadn’t before. That trust wasn’t immediate, but it grew stronger with each completed section, every reworked corner, and every quiet moment where I stepped back and realized, yes—this is working.
More than anything, this mural restored my confidence not just in what I could create, but in what I could endure. It reminded me that courage isn’t about eliminating fear; it’s about continuing in spite of it.
The Unexpected Power of Collaboration
One of the greatest gifts this experience gave me was the opportunity to collaborate in ways I hadn’t anticipated. From day one, when Amber drove in to support me at the last minute, to the moment Kate joined the team with her boundless creativity and insight, I was reminded of how powerful shared energy can be.
Public art doesn’t exist in isolation. Behind every great mural is a story of teamwork—of people stepping up, sharing their talents, and believing in a collective vision. Whether it was Emily meticulously cleaning up details, the supply staff helping me find the right tools, or fellow artists encouraging me during tough moments, each person added their own brushstroke to the journey.
The physical act of painting became secondary to the relationships forming around it. We shared stories, traded tips, laughed through exhaustion, and offered silent nods of encouragement when words weren’t needed. Even strangers—people I’d never met—would stop to share thoughtful comments or express admiration. Some told me the mural made them smile. Others asked how it came to be. Each interaction was a reminder that this project was no longer just mine. It was part of the city now, woven into its texture.
In a world that often glorifies the solitary artist, I found something much richer in collaboration: resonance, synergy, and real human connection.
Art as a Bridge Between People and Place
One of the most moving realizations I had while creating this mural was how deeply art has the power to transform not just space, but experience. The wall I painted wasn’t just a physical surface—it became a canvas for possibility, emotion, and identity.
Every passerby engaged with it differently. Some paused to photograph its bold brushstrokes, while others simply slowed down to watch it evolve. Children pointed at the flowers, tracing imaginary shapes with their fingers. Older residents shared stories of what the building used to be. In this exchange, I saw firsthand how murals can change the way people feel about their environment. They activate curiosity, foster pride, and offer a kind of shared ownership that few other creative forms can.
The beauty of public art lies in its accessibility. You don’t need to buy a ticket or enter a gallery. It’s there—on the sidewalk, in the alley, across from the café. It becomes part of everyday life. It sparks conversations between strangers and turns overlooked spaces into landmarks. For me, that’s where the true power of mural painting lies—not just in the visual impact, but in the emotional connection it creates.
What I left behind on that wall wasn’t just paint. It was a story, a presence, an offering to the city and the people who live in it.
Looking Ahead With Renewed Purpose
Completing this mural changed how I see myself and the path ahead. It was the largest thing I’ve ever painted, the most exposed I’ve ever felt, and one of the most enriching creative endeavors I’ve taken on. And now, after experiencing the transformation that can happen through mural painting, I feel called to do it again—and again.
This project showed me that murals are more than art on walls. They are expressions of voice and presence. They invite communities to pause, to feel something, to reflect on the spaces they inhabit. They tell stories that linger long after the artist has packed up their brushes.
I left Jackson with sunburned skin, paint-stained hands, and a heart full of gratitude. The connections I formed, the challenges I overcame, and the final mural standing tall beneath the sky—all of it became part of a personal transformation that will continue to ripple forward.
This mural isn’t just something I did. It’s something I became.
Final Thoughts
Looking back on the six intense days I spent painting this mural, I’m filled with a profound sense of gratitude, growth, and perspective. This wasn’t just about transforming a wall—it was about transforming myself as an artist. Standing before a blank 89-foot surface with only an iPad sketch and a few cans of paint was both humbling and thrilling. Every stroke carried intention, every adjustment reflected intuition, and every challenge was met with a determination I didn’t fully know I had.
One of the most powerful realizations I had during this process was how fluid and adaptive creativity needs to be at this scale. Things don’t go according to plan, and you have to make quick decisions in real time, trusting that your artistic instincts are leading you in the right direction. That kind of decision-making is its own skill—one you only gain through experience and willingness to stay open.
What also made this journey so meaningful was the community that surrounded it. From the fellow muralists I met, each one creating powerful work of their own, to the festival organizers, volunteers, and people who stopped to chat or share encouragement while I painted—every single interaction reminded me why public art matters. It’s not just about what’s on the wall, but about the connection it builds between artist and audience, between intention and interpretation.
This mural gave me more than a finished product. It gave me new friendships, a deeper level of trust in myself, and the joy of stepping fully into a creative identity that had once felt intimidating. I left Bright Walls with tired hands, paint-streaked clothes, and a soul that felt completely fulfilled.
And maybe most importantly, I left with the deep knowing that I am capable of more than I once believed—more risk, more color, more courage. This mural was a beginning, not an end. I can’t wait to see where the next wall takes me.
