My friend Jessica and I are complete opposites. I am organized and meticulous. My house is all neutrals. Jessica is spontaneous and takes risks. Her style is maximalist and bold. 

 

We were hanging out this past spring, and she mentioned that she was planning to go home and paint squiggles on her dining room wall. This sent me into a panic.

 

I couldn't imagine taking a paint brush to the walls of your new home with no plan at all. But that's Jessica. She wanted a big, impactful statement piece on her wall, so she was going to dive right in and make it happen.

 

Instead, I volunteered to paint a custom mural in her home.

 

I took three months to plan, meticulously research my strategy and technique, and Jessica eventually had to say “this weekend, or it's squiggles.” We booked a date and made a plan to knock this out in a Saturday afternoon.

I had always wanted to paint a mural. It's an art form I have always been curious about, and I thought this was a good, low-stakes opportunity to give it a try. 

 

As soon as I arrived and stood in front of the wall, I felt out of my element. Murals start big and end big. Tea towels do not. I thought to myself, how do you see the wall while you sketch on the wall? As I chalked the outlines of the mural, I though about quitting right then and there.

 

We tend to think that if you're creative about one thing then you can do anything creative. As a designer and illustrator, I understand composition, color, and form. I can generally picture something in my mind and visually translate it through my sketches. But each material you use as an artist behaves differently, and it takes a long time to understand how to work with and manipulate those materials. 

 

That lead me to my next hurdle: I do not paint.

 

Paint is spontaneous, and walls are bumpy. Within seconds of the first few brush strokes I was hit with panic realizing I was working with unfamiliar tools.

 

Before the first layer had yet to dry and the all-familiar doubt of trying something new began to set in, I half joked to Jessica I didn't think I could sign my name on this. When I stepped back that first day, to take in the whole piece, I wasn't proud of what I saw.

What started as a one-day project turned into more than a week.

 

The process was grueling. I used a tiny, half-inch wide craft brush to paint the entire mural. I had to do several layers to tighten up the edges and create the depth of color and texture I imagined. I stood for hours. Sometimes on ladders, sometimes reaching, sometimes crouching. It was a fully body exercise, unlike any art I've ever made.

 

Murals are the intersection of art and athletics. Imagine physical exhaustion, pulled muscles, and an aching back. And I was lucky to be working in the comfort of an air-conditioned dining room. 

 

With all of the obstacles, from the large canvas of the wall to the unwieldy paint and the tiny brush, plus the physical exhaustion and unending hours, I can't see myself ever doing a project like this again. I am truly surprised I was able to finish this mural in the first place. 

At the beginning of this year, I set a goal for myself to create art for art's sake. I wanted to find ways to be creative, to make new things with my hands, without tying it to my business or to any economic output. I wanted to explore creatively, to see how a project could evolve when the only motivation was curiosity.

 

As a business owner, I tend to always be in the middle. Completing one project simply clears the deck for the next. It's hard to experience the linear satisfaction of beginning, middle, and end when there are always loose strings fraying and fluttering at every corner. Owning a creative business can mean your creativity is wrapped up in data, margins and reports leaving little room to explore.  

 

This project gave me the wide open space I needed to explore and create just for the sake of making something new. Jessica, being the carefree person she is, allowed me to go at my own pace, creating art, not fulfilling a transaction. Somewhere along the way the materials and time forced me to let go, loosen my grip on that tiny little plastic brush and just play a little.

The process of creating this mural pulled me from feeling disappointed and lost when I first started, to finally finishing, stepping back and feeling proud of the final piece. I had to find a way to make it out of the dense fog, wondering how to meld the materials to the vision in my head. It's a work of translation, and when it's successful, a piece of you is left behind.

 

I'm grateful for my friend for taking the leap with me and lending me a room in her house to do the slow work of unfolding into a new creative practice. I'm proud of myself for sticking with the process even when it got hard. 

 

For more than a week, I got to tuck into a few hours a day of slow and quiet work. I put my body into making something tactile, something that will live in a loved one's home for a long time.

 

I did sign my name in the end. A final flourish to mark the project's end, like the X at the end of a map fulfilling a sense of accomplishment and finality I didn't know I needed and an opportunity for a different exploration to begin.

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