This year was a lot, but of course it had to be. 2020 was perhaps the most difficult act to follow of all time. Over here, 2021 marked a bold return to my practice, quitting corporate gigs and committing to fine art at full tilt. That leap of faith has ushered both uncertainty and adventure into my life. One of the most remarkable installments from this past year was my work at University Trail, just outside of Dallas. In total, an assistant and I painted 2 murals and 12 columns near the entrance to the 3.5-mile trail, a major thoroughfare spanning Richardson’s western boundary and a connection to the 1.9-mile Renner Trail with direct access to University of Texas at Dallas.
Aside from the real service of public art, my biggest takeaway from the whole project was that it kicked my ass. Painting on that scale is an extreme sport. This year, a friend suggested I propose a mural through the University Crossing Public Improvement District. The city accepted my proposal, and I immediately set to work on my designs by considering what they’d blossom amongst in the natural community space. One underpass we painted incorporates foliage, building on the botanical imagery I’ve experimented with lately. The motif grows of its own accord, in harmony with the pollination garden coming soon yet juxtaposed against a background of dynamic movement–an ode to the cars whizzing above and the bikers and runners speeding through the tunnel.
Like many cities marking new chapters, Dallas is strategically assisting nature’s push against decaying society. Metropolises are learning a few aesthetic tweaks can yield a huge material impact. Our mural on the underpass exists by virtue of the structure’s inevitability, a silver lining for new kinds of beautification. Popularized by Manhattan’s iconic High Line, sometimes the urban renewal trope provokes jokes about hipsters and strollers. The phenomenon never comes without its nuances. Still, this work has a positive impact. When I arrived at the underpass, I found my site riddled with hypodermic needle and a shank fashioned from duct tape. Through the city’s efforts, this area will become a destination. Utopia hopes those who found salvage here will enjoy equity from the improvement.
I began work by priming the walls myself. Brutal. That task marked another chapter in my quest to share the burden. Inspired to stop doing everything myself, I quickly put out a call for anyone capable of and interested in assisting with my mural. That led me to Armando–an impressive and hungry artist on the rise here in Dallas. Armando has a great style all his own, and I was grateful for his assistance in executing my vision. This exchange is at the core of graffiti and street art culture–an intergenerational communication of learning from everyone at work around you. Millennials get a bad rap, I think. It’s cool to see people like Armando proving that.
Decades of painting in the streets have taught me that most famous rule of showbiz: anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Fortunately, I’ve learned to incorporate room for force majeure into my itinerary. At the underpass, my first problem came on day one: how could I even get at this wall, separated from the trail by a muddy chasm? I needed a boom lift with four wheel drive–business in the front, party in the back. One day the lift got stuck and I had to call the rental company to tow it out. They brought multiple trucks and tried to charge me for the ones they didn’t use. Boy, did my Brooklyn come out.
There’s a requisite heckling period at the start of any public art installation. Murals in their early stages look more like featherless baby birds than peacocks, and it arouses an animal reaction in passersby who all stop to ask what you’re doing and if you’re allowed to do it and when, by god, will it start looking better? I even set up barricades at the underpass’s entrances and it still didn’t stop ‘em. All at once, as outlines ossify and details add dimension, those complaints turn to praise. Like clockwork–that’s why it’s no use getting attached to any one part of the process. Right as rain, Armando and I ran off compliments like cups of coffee.
Of course, you’re not popping if you don’t have haters. A stranger started chatting us up while we worked. At first I wasn’t sure what he was saying until I put together “is this some kind of gay pride mural?” I asked what he met, hoping the benefit of the doubt might come through. Thwarted again. “There’s so much pink,” he huffed, “this is ridiculous. Who told you that you could do this?” As his episode intensified, I approached. Boy, did my Brooklyn come out. Guys in the eighties were taught to fight for themselves. Unfortunately, I still have no witty middle.
Maybe public art can create a world where bright colors are a simple pleasure above all else.
Another day, some kids ambushed my spot while I was working alone. We painted these artworks in exterior paint, and I returned from replenishing some supplies at the paint store to find the vandals knocking over full buckets and using rollers to tag over my work in progress. I was, frankly, startled at first. I entered the gated area and encountered two… guys. They paused to return my stare before bolting through a hole in the fence. I chased them a bit before getting back to work. In the moment I felt rattled, violated even, but calmed down over time. They were just kids, after all. However, I couldn’t sympathize with their impulses, which seemed bent on pure destruction. If their tags intended anything other than chaos, they should practice more.
Yes, working on this grand scale is an extreme sport, but like all exercise, it can produce immeasurable endorphins. Some days were a breeze, with the sun shining and everyone smiling. Others were rainy, windy, pure labor. On the whole, I felt a great appetite for the creativity sweeping Dallas right now. Our murals at University Trail are just one part. This is a world-class city, a cultural center shifting with the times. It’s a blessing to make a living by beautifying overlooked spaces, leaving a positive mark in my own community. Painting this expansive series of public works made a bold statement to conclude this landmark year in my practice. Judging by the inertia, I think it may actually be an omen.
