It’s like the paint is a sigh in color, each brushstroke holding a secret conversation with the light. When you walk, the hues shift and reveal what the walls were hiding—little messages that only a quiet eye can catch. I always feel a pulse behind the pigment, a story in the way the colors bleed into one another. Do you think the mural is trying to tell you something?

It’s true—sometimes the wall mirrors back what we already feel, a quiet echo of our own palette. But when the colors shift like a breath, it’s almost as if the mural is whispering in a tone we can only hear when we stop looking for the obvious. Maybe the real layer is our own willingness to stay still long enough to hear it.