The Magic Happens After the Mess

I want to challenge a nasty little lie —

That if you’re good enough, it shouldn’t be hard.

For the last two weeks, I worked on my biggest solo mural yet.

Seven days. 80 hours. 200 square feet of blank wall transformed into a vivid Colorado mountainscape.

It wasn’t just my largest mural — it was also a love letter to my little sister, Jewels.

I know that probably sounds sweet… but in reality, it just upped the emotional stakes.
I can stay relatively unattached to most projects.

But this one hit deep — right into the center of one of my most special relationships.

Luckily, Jewels was out of town for the week…
She’d leave and return home to a completed masterpiece.
That was the plan.

I had FULL confidence. Mostly because… I had to.

The last few murals I worked on were with my mentor — knowing that any mistakes I made could be patched up by a master with 10,000 hours under his belt.

But this one? This one was all on me.

So there I was, two days into the “ugly phase” —
where everything looked like a well-meaning kindergarten class had stepped up and given it their best shot.

Single coats of patchy, off-color paint filled in sections like a bad coloring book.
I knew this was part of the process… but after 30 hours of work, it still looked bad.

Painting these mountains was starting to feel like climbing them.

And then came the text:
“I’m coming home early! I can’t wait to see the progress. I can’t wait to see your process!”

I nearly passed out.

I worked until midnight that night.
I couldn’t sleep a wink afterward.
All I could think about was how desperately I wanted her to love it.

But here’s the thing —
Even in that moment of panic, I knew it would be okay… as long as I just kept going.

Because that’s how paintings get made.

There’s the bright, beautiful vision…
And then there’s the long, messy process of wrestling that vision into existence.

Of experimenting and testing, layering and refining.
Of standing in the middle of chaos and choosing not to quit.

Trusting the process.

Because the final layers?
They’re magic.

The sharp finishing strokes can transform all those early layers of uncertainty into something that feels intentional — even masterful.

So I kept going.
And section by section, it all came together.

When I finally stepped back —
I was amazed.

Not just by how it looked, but by everything it took to get there.

And Jewels?
She was sparkling. Utterly delighted. ✨

It was more than either of us expected.

It was a love letter.
I painted mountains for her.
Waters and trees.
Rolling hills and sunlit dunes.

I poured in every ounce of love, sweat, and commitment I had.
Because that’s the kind of strength and determination we both share.

And that lie — about it not feeling hard if you’re good enough?
I think the hard is proof you’re on the right path.
It means what you’re doing matters.
It’s real. And it’s worth it.

So just keep going.

Lean into the growth edge of the unknowing…
Push past the comfort zone of your abilities…
And the blank spaces around you can become vivid worlds of color and beauty.

So… what do you think?
Do you like how it turned out?
Hit reply — I’d love to hear a story of something you made, against all odds.
Until next time —
Cheers,

Ryan Stover