Last night, the Academy of Art’s School of Interior Architecture & Design graduated another class of creative minds. These are professionals who, I hope, will be reshaping how we feel when we walk into everyday spaces like cafes and special occasion spaces like theaters. As much as I loved seeing the expansive ideas of the larger scale designers, what appealed to me the most was some of the graduates’ applied textiles and furniture design work:

The kind of versatility that I want every stationary thing in my life to have.

I could see an entire resort decked in Gabriela Meneghetti’s “Dig In”.

Wouldn’t you love the regularly surrounding panels around you to be draped in those patterns? More pics here.

On top of all the visuals to take in, Interior Design Editor in Chief Cindy Allen received an honorary doctorate from the AAU. Last month’s book was the fashion edition, chronicled with an awesome paper art cover.

I’ve been lucky to wander through some real homes recently, and cannot wait to graduate myself out of the renter’s plight. (Although, with that 15% increase in Bay Area rental amounts, that won’t be any time soon.) Until then, here’s to adding to my mental vault of design inspiration, and the aspiration of finally living at that scale one day.

Say what you will, but it's really impossible to not be floored by @jessicaalba and her pursuit with @honest instagr.am/p/Kq_R6XMbqT/—
Mayka Mei (@mayka) May 16, 2012

Knowing that mine is a long-term pursuit to unlearn feminine competition, last night was a tremendous opportunity for me. In a room filled with fabulous women who are equally well- and poorly acknowledged for their work, I walked in with assumptions, met them to create genuine first impressions, and finally listened to them to get more complete perspectives (even if one-sided).

"Underestimate me all you want." -@hillary_kerr on being an entrepreneurial woman. Go, girl!—
Mayka Mei (@mayka) May 16, 2012

"Fast fail. Do it often." -@mgardnernd, CEO of @plumdistrict #startuplife—
Mayka Mei (@mayka) May 16, 2012

Perhaps, more than how she “chooses” between clothes or ballsiness, it’s about how a woman brings a certain brightness to her life, industry, and people around her. (and not in a pejorative perky way)

Team Yellow! Ibi Oluwole, @randizuckerberg @morinoluwole @hillary_kerr instagr.am/p/Kq-hCZsbp8/—
Mayka Mei (@mayka) May 16, 2012

P.S. No, I did not get a photo with Jessica Alba. Or Jolie O’Dell. Or Kelly Sawyer. Or Hillary Kerr or Katherine Power. Or Sophi Rossi. Or Mira Lee. I was either being classy or just being in major sponge mode.

One such persons doing inspiring things is Kate Burgess, mother of real-life Podling Penelopants. Tomorrow she’s showing her artwork at Seesaw in Hayes Valley. My favorite pieces from Kate are her pencils. They’re the work of someone with intricate and big ideas in her head, and this is the one in my home office:

Kate’s blend of mechanical and fantasy is so appealing. It’s not industrial the way you’d think it could be. A fan of good fiction, I think Kate is really good at injecting realistic elements into mythical worlds. The level of detail is something to marvel at. I barely know how to avoid smudges on a graphite-covered piece of paper, and here comes Kate, covering sheets in right angles and tentacles.

Art Reception: “Stacks in the Fog” by Kate Burgess
Friday May 11, 2012
6:00-9:00 p.m.

Seesaw
600A Octavia Street
San Francisco, CA 94102

Check out her show while it’s in the city. If you are lucky, you may also catch a glimpse of Penelopants.

P.S. I just love how this blog post looks right now. The fish featured image, the tonal pencil sketches, black and white and teal highlight text. Love it!

Firstly:

Meet Loakal, the new collab from fiftyseven-thirtythree and East Bay Express. After taking our new shirts for a test drive the next day, Bill and I concluded: The tees are perfect for grilling and the tanks are perfect for Free Comic Book Day. 510!

Second off:

Dear Occupy Oakland,

I have just this to say:

I canNOT stand behind any movement that hosts a dance party to Kesha. Looking atchoo, #occupyoakland. http://t.co/7xuZVT8N—
Mayka Mei (@mayka) May 05, 2012

Thirdwhile:

Back to the positive, another favorite part of last week’s Art Murmur? A peek into Alex Pardee’s evil-filled world. The walls of ZeroFriends were completely covered in small interpretations of Purdee’s favorite monsters, creatures, evil villains, and et ceteras.

So cool. If I wasn’t superstitious about such demonic beings coming alive at night, I’d buy a number of these and post them up as an army of art.

The Academy of Art University’s School of Fashion turned out some amazing talent this year. Thursday’s graduation fashion show was my first time visiting an AAU Fashion event, and I was genuinely, thoroughly impressed. These students were educated in a city known for innovation but not at all celebrated for its influence in style. Seemingly they’re at a disadvantage. Yet one of San Francisco’s greatest strengths – its international blend of inhabitants – made its own huge presence in the show, permeating through each collection with levels of global refinement and inspiration that could only be achieved by people who really know how to travel and process ideas from multiple places. Judging by the major fashion houses these students are headed to for internships and work, San Francisco won’t be overlooked for fashion much longer.

So many students who showed their work deserve accolades, but my personal favorites were the collections from:

Zhangchi Wang – Amazing geometric wools. The shapes seemed embossed while still maintaining rigidity and volume. Unsurprisingly, Wang earned a scholarship that night. Oh, and an internship at Alexander McQueen. NBD.

Hely Nguyen – Looove his structured stuff! Tailored but light. There was a brushed metallic sheen to his fabrics, but it wasn’t industrial, just extremely chic.

Ethan Yang – More amazing. Totally made me think of Alexander Wang. Also, he was born in Taiwan but grew up in Athens, Greece, which sounds like a really interesting upbringing.

Julie Seltzer – I cannot get over the textiles she created for partner Jacqueline Rabôt’s collection. Ryan from Astonish got a hold of the sketches. Check these out, but imagine them in person:

Fashion Design and Animation and Visual Effects Collaboration – Well this was just amazing. Stop motion puppetry and couture-level costuming at a doll’s size. Kudos to Maria Azucena Romero, Travis Weaver, Victoria Simiele, Mierya Francoso, Dorthy Thielsen, Federico La Tona, Benjamin Arthur, and Luke Night.

“Sarah Button?”

For me, the biggest pull to the show was seeing Sarah Burton. Not having been in the recognizable Bay Area fashion crowd in 2006, I did not get to see Lee Alexander McQueen receive a doctorate from AAU. I very rightly saw this go of it as my only chance to be (even somewhat) in the presence of his successor as she accepted her own doctorate from the school.

San Francisco fashion fun fact? Simon Ungless, the Director of the School of Fashion, introduced Burton to McQueen, and it was through that meeting that she earned an internship in the AMQ fashion house. How amazing is that! Ungless himself tutored Burton at St. Martin’s and worked exclusively for Alexander McQueen as well.

I’m telling you. In San Francisco, you’re either sitting next to Mark Zuckerberg for sushi or you’re lining up for coffee behind the guy who identified the current director for Alexander McQueen.

But I don’t know her name.

Philip Treacy, ridonkulous milliner extraordinaire, also attended and received an honorary doctorate from AAU that night. But the best Treacy moment was when he awarded one of the AAU students an internship. According to the AAU staffers behind me, he completely surprised the school, the teacher, and its students when he asked to drop in on one of the hatmaking classes. He went from student to student, surveying each of their works individually. So when he took the podium, people were antsy to hear what he had to say.

He bumbled about for a bit, and then he admitted “I don’t know this student’s name.” After conferring with the instructor for a minute, he returned to the mic to announce his chosen intern.

There’s something incredibly refreshing about a powerhouse name behind a mic who simply liked someone’s work but didn’t prepare a fancy speech to announce her. Or catch her name.

Anyway, congrats to that intern, the Alexander McQueen interns (one of them is Zhangchi Wang), and everyone who completed an amazing feat of work for the Academy of Art. I can’t wait to see where you all land so I can get my hands on some amazing pieces.

You probably knew that at one point I was in charge of the social strategy at an independent fashion etailer named Moxsie. You probably know that now I work with a larger breadth of clients at an agency called Red Magnet Media. What you don’t know is how I went from Moxsie to Red Magnet Media.

Just like that situation in the summer of ’09 where I was promoted, hired, and moving in with my boyfriend all in the same couple of weeks and that other situation in the winter of ’09 where I was discovered for a new job through Twitter, I’ve had really ridiculous, unheard-of job transitions. But even with all that, how I got here, in my opinion, takes the cake. It was at once convenient and ugly, depending on who you talk to. For me, though, it was serendipitous. A sopping wet Sloppy Joe.

Bring a napkin.

When you are unhappy, you are unhappy.

The time, early 2010. I had been working at Moxsie for a year, and I was earning a solid reputation for myself. I had fallen into my calling (at least for the twenty-something phase of my life, anyway), and found that doing digital and social marketing was something I naturally excelled at and really enjoyed doing. I was incredibly lucky to be doing this type of marketing in an industry that personally interested me, indie fashion.

But I wanted to branch out. The solo commute was getting to me (Berkeley to Palo Alto. It even has its own Quora thread.), and while working at a startup allowed me a lot of freedom to experiment in campaign tactics, marketing indie brands had its own set of challenges that made me crave an opportunity to try these tactics on larger names. The reasons were completely natural. I just got an itch.

I didn’t put out any formal feelers for new work. I met with an ad agency once, but that intro came through a friend and I used it more for practice in interviewing than for something to seriously pursue. I casually looked up listings online in my spare time, which was very seldom. I stayed awake at night trying to formulate the dream position that would be the perfect next step for me. Nothing called out loud or clear.

A couple of months into the year, my boss at Moxsie, the one who had originally found me through Twitter, was offered an excellent opportunity at WePay. She left Moxsie and I was promoted. Considering that my LinkedIn resume looks like I have MPD, I decided that the extension of my role at Moxsie was as good an excuse as any to stay at the company for at least another year. Maybe I could make more of an impact. It’d at least help me look more consistent in my rather-peppered track record.

“Let’s grab some coffee” is the new “We are interviewing you.”

The promotion at Moxsie kicked off the bane of all my current habits of mind, a complete inability to turn off my brain at night. It’s persisted for over a year since. I fall asleep easily, then my mind wakes at midnight, 2 a.m., 4 a.m., or whenever it feels like, and it whirls around useless concerns like a machine pulling salt water taffy. I’ve done guided breathing exercises. I’ve seen an acupuncturist. The bitch about it is it’s not straight insomnia. It’s completely reactive to stress from work and interpersonal conflicts (more often than not it’s the former), and it all started with all the new responsibility I had assumed at Moxsie.

One day I got a quick email from my old boss that two people in the industry would like to meet me to talk shop. Considering that I had only been in my revamped role for a short while and all my recent nights of interrupted sleep, being able to talk to real life people about the nuances of social success sounded pretty good. Heck, maybe I’d be able to sleep through the entirety of an evening after a long, healthy discussion. I agreed. Let’s talk it out.

I planned our meeting for a day when I’d be in the area, and met the two co-founders of the two-person agency. We talked about social media and who was doing it right, and at some point I said I hate gurus and how sick I was (am) of the social media networking scene and how it’s the same “gurus” over and over again. I wasn’t rude or unpolished, I was just very forthright with my thoughts. They held similar views and worked with big name clients, so they knew precisely what I was talking about. The reason I agreed to meet with these people was so I wouldn’t have to sugarcoat my words or paint social media as a more magical approach than it is. Proverbially speaking I let my hair down. It was refreshing.

Before our hour was up, they asked if I’d be available for contracting. Shit. Did not realize that this was an interview. Not only did I not bring a resumé, but I had already cussed a couple of times, and I had already rattled off how ridiculous it is for companies to monitor their employees’ personal social media for swear words. Seemingly non-disastrous first impressions aside, I was interested. Moxsie allowed me to contribute writing to non-Moxsie outlets, so I’d just have to see what the agency would need. Unfortunately, realistically, I wouldn’t be able to do shit for them.

This came out in their follow-up question. They asked how much time I’d have for outside work. I had to get school-of-hard-knocks real on my own schedule and communicate it to them: “Honestly, not a lot of time,” I said. “I can maybe do three-to-five hours a week. Maybe.” I made it clear that if they wanted something turned around in a day, I was not their girl. Still, their work was interesting to me, so if they could think of non-time-sensitive writing that needed to be done, we could probably work something out.

Things fall apart.

The next week, I met up with my new clients, Red Magnet Media, to go over the project they had scoped and sign necessary paperwork. I strategically started at their San Francisco office first thing in the morning so that I could get to Moxsie in Palo Alto at a reasonable hour without throwing off my day.

Papers signed and assignment in hand, I was starting my car to head to the Peninsula when I received a text from a coworker. Five people had just been laid off at Moxsie.

Five people out of thirteen.

I chose a helluvatime to have new, even part-time, work fall into my lap.

Of course that day at Moxsie was tough. The next day was even harder. We were all doing our best to commence work, but almost every department had lost a chunk of its personnel, support, and friends. The sadness was palpable. One coworker’s significant other knew the mood we would all be in, and filled a plastic bucket of homemade cake for her to take to the office. It was our “Happy Bucket,” but eating out of it was the most pathetic attempt at being positive and focused I have ever experienced.

That day, like a sick live enactment of “The show must go on!”, we had a photo shoot. The team was milling around without any bounce in its step attaching accessories to ears and steaming wrinkles out of dresses. I was on my laptop in the darkened studio, tweeting and Facebooking and taking my turn at Happy Bucket Cake.

I clicked over to my personal inbox because I loved (still do) my Gmail teahouse foxes and just generally didn’t want to be pulled into the depression associated around the work inbox when a third of the people who email you is gone.

My jaw dropped at my newest item. The women I met with, the ones I just signed with the day before, were interested in bringing me on as Red Magnet Media’s first full-time employee, could I meet for breakfast the next day and talk? The email read as quickly as the shock that ran through my body. Here I was, this foul-mouthed I-hate-gurus git, a guilt-ridden survivor of a proportionally massive company layoff, and someone wanted to breakfast me into a new role.

I met with them the next day, but everything was moving way too fast. They didn’t ask me formally, and I couldn’t have answered anyway. Reeling emotions aside – Flattery! Treason! Excitement! Complete and total trepidation! – I enjoyed my first meal at Plow.

Get me the fuck outta here.

Fortunately for me, before any of this happened – before my boss moved to WePay, before I met with Red Magnet Media, before my coworkers were let go – Bill and I had planned a vacation. Italy! It being our first international excursion together, the trip was a bit of a stressor of its own.

The countdown to our flight out was only a couple of weeks, just enough time to not actually get any meaningful work done for Red Magnet Media while simultaneously be courted heavily by Red Magnet Media and still feel massive pangs of responsibility and guilt for anything that could possibly happen at Moxsie. I didn’t want to go to Italy just to travel anymore. I didn’t even want to go to Italy to “clear my head”. I just wanted to go to Italy to be braindead and completely overwhelmed. If I survived the voyage, then I would switch the life-changing decision maker back on in my head after my return.

Sleep be damned. Just get me to Venice.

On the afternoon before our flight out of the country, two of my coworker friends were pantomiming how much pasta and pizza I should eat when I got a call on my cell. Rachel and Athena, Red Magnet Media’s Co-Founders, were calling to formally offer me a position as their Senior Strategist and first full-time employee. The sun was beating in my eyes and I looked at my friends. They were smiling, it sounded like Rachel and Athena were smiling, and my mouth was just kind of vaguely open because the moment had found me completely torn. I thanked Rachel and Athena for their call and their offer, but asked that they give me a couple of weeks to vacation, get back, and think about it some more.

When in (almost) Rome…

Getting to Italy was a little rocky. I got sick on the plane. We missed our connection into Venice. I got classically duped and booked our hotel forty minutes outside of Venice. We ponied up for an overpriced and gawd-awful Euro hotel. Bill got electrocuted on the first day. Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was brush my teeth because all I’d had to cleanse the airplane vomit from my system was airplane water (Yeah.) and a bottle of iced tea at Charles de Gaulle.

Aside from everything related to the trip in, we had survived, and this vacation had nowhere to go but up. Indeed, it was amazing. I was in an inspirational country with the love of my life. Relics and art were waiting around every corner. There was so much to take in. But I couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t jet lag. Going east doesn’t give me jet lag, and in my version of jet lag, I just sleep off schedule. No, my restless sleep complex had followed me across international date lines and would not let me close my eyes without worrying about Moxsie or Red Magnet Media.

I had foreseen this happening. In a bold move of separation, I turned off Moxsie work communications on my wireless devices before I left the States. I would receive no work emails that trip. I would check no Tweets or Wall posts. I needed this vacation and took all necessary precautions to be in it 110%.

Not sleeping when you’re packing in days of walking and not being native is awful. After a couple of restless nights in Venice, a couple more restless nights in Florence, a few harried journal entries, and a number of existential crises discussions with Bill, I came to a point where I simply needed to decide to decide. My gut was pulling toward Red Magnet Media, and that I couldn’t deny. The problem was how to leave Moxsie. I didn’t want to be that jerk who came from vacation and put in two weeks’ notice. That just seemed like a dick move. The company was clearly not doing well, but at the same time I was in a position to make big changes. I felt so invested in the company’s culture that I couldn’t picture getting home and immediately peacing out on my coworkers and friends.

Perhaps merely to feign a sense of closure to myself, I wrote to Red Magnet Media, asked if we could schedule a time to meet when I returned, and firmed up a date and time in a manner of hours. Already, it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulder. I was breathing better. Putting a date on things will do that for an OCD person like me.

That night, I slept!

The day after, Bill and I had planned a day trip to the Cinque Terre. Getting to the area required a really early start in the morning, so we dutifully went to bed at 8 or 9 (Man that sounds delicious.), and the shit show began! My restless passenger had returned. I stretched my arms and knocked over a lamp. I stretched my leg and smacked my shin into the bunk bed overhead. I sneezed really loud multiple times, which is not unusual, but jerked Bill awake along with all the other shenanigans my body was planning against our rest. He handed me a pillow, saying, “Sneeze into this. Or sleep on the top bunk. Or something. I can’t sleep!”

Hopped up on self-induced stress and this sudden case of allergies, I decided the best thing for me to do was to quarantine myself. I gathered up my journal, pen, and iPhone, and locked myself in the bathroom (which was private, thank you AirBnB). It being a European bathroom (piccolo) and it being, well, a bathroom, the only place to sit was the toilet. So I sat on the toilet. I jotted out another spell of what we had done and seen that day, ending inevitably on more projections for what I should or shouldn’t do about my current and potential jobs.

I had written all I could write with my brain no more settled than when my pajamas first met the cold porcelain, so I turned on my iPhone. I didn’t pay for an international plan, but our room had Wi-Fi, so the Maykaphone chugged along to update who-knew-how-long of a slew of backlogged messages.

The first thing I got was an alert that my Moxsie password was not working with my account. I expected as much. My mailbox settings were confused ever since I unsynced my email.

I stared at the screen as my personal messages started loading in, when one of them caught my eye. It came from a friend who was let go from Moxsie a few weeks earlier. It read “Did you know Moxsie went bankrupt and laid everybody off?”

Shut the what the fuck now?

I read more. A couple of cryptic messages came into my personal inbox from other once-Moxsie employees saying thank yous and good-byes and listing their contact information.

What the fuck was going on?

The floor gave out from beneath me.

I was sitting on a toilet in Florence when I learned my company didn’t exist.

I was unemployed.

I was in Italy.

Against better judgment, I barged out of the bathroom to share the news. “Bill! Bill! Moxsie went bankrupt!”

Bill, who had probably just gotten in about forty continuous minutes of sleep, muttered out, “What?”

“Moxsie went bankrupt! I don’t have a job!”

“Well, that’s good, I guess,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s crazy. Oh my god. What the fuck.”

It was 1:40 a.m.

Like so many nights before, there was no hope for sleep that night. Having unsynced my emails before my trip left a gaping hole where the official announcement for all of this lived. Now that the entire company’s emails were shut down, I’d never be able to read whatever landed in my inbox. I spent a few more hours plugging away on my iPad trying to piece together what happened. I wouldn’t get the full story until well after my return to the States, but the main point was clear: I didn’t have a job.

But then…I did have a job.

The Cinque Terre was amazing, by the way.

At twenty-eight, I know I haven’t seen all the world has to offer, but that day trip to the Cinque Terre solidly remains the best day of my life.

The Aftermath: How I got over.

Bill and I got back to the Bay Area on a Sunday. Our luggage went on its own two-day bender in Amsterdam and our hot water tripped itself while we were away, so our noble aspirations to wash our clothes and selves quickly slipped into passing out for fifteen hours.

On Monday I dilly dallied and ultimately did nothing.

On Tuesday I drove into the city, signed on to officially join Red Magnet Media, and picked up the box of effects my coworker retrieved from my desk.

The next week, I was in LA for my first client meeting with Incubus’ management.

The end.

I am one lucky fuck.

Oh! P.S. I also got a free computer out of it. As it turns out, when your company ceases to exist, there is no one to collect company property like laptops. Plus I got that New Trent charger that I love so much, which I specifically purchased for Moxsie’s use at overnight conventions. Win some, win some.

420 Friendly is a three-episode Web series whose summary ends with the tantalizing tagline:

They’re high.
She’s loaded.
Time to even the score.

I don’t know much about being high* or loaded** but revenge arcs thrown into either situation sound like fun! Two episodes have rolled out so far (Huh huh, I worked in a “rolling” joke. GET IT!?), with the third to be unveiled tomorrow. Catch up now on 1 and 2, so that you’ll be prepared for The Big Reveal tomorrow!

Just so happens I get a little shout-out in Episode 2 for insisting Derek and his filmmaker partner Ian film at Candy Bar and connecting them with Eddie Colla of fiftyseven-thirtythree. The slate reads “special thanks [Other People] Mayka Mei [Other People]“. Easiest film credit I ever got.

* Me getting high involves eating really good dinner in Hong Kong. Really. That’s all it takes. I may be a cheap date, but if bliss is contagious, I am the pusher!

** I just am not.

Inconsequential Note: I dunno what it is but I am totally enthralled by “Kevin’s” eyebrows.

Here, have some food porn:

Cakeland by Scott Hove

Why then, to use an absurd media like fake cake to describe such a story? We all love cake and what it signifies. Celebration. Important occasion. Indulgence. Reward.

(Just wrapped up its exhibition at La Luz de Jesus Gallery.)

Shay Aaron’s Super Mini 1:12 Scale Foods

Please tell me this crossed your desktop at some point last week! These are amazing and I want them all plus the skill to make my own. It’s about time Stitch got some new recipes to try out.

Mike’s Amazing Three-Cake Cake

Three of the world’s best men are celebrating their birthdays in the nondescript thirty-day span of “this” month. In celebration, one of the men (Mike) made a three-cake cake:

I’ve got this cake in mind that I’ve been trying to work out the logistics on for 4 years now. It’s a carrot cake on top of a cheesecake on top of a chocolate almond torte. I think I finally have a plan to make it work so this year, it’s totally going to happen.

My friend Sara Barz has launched Spokespeople, a cyclist-loving organization that loves its stories, with two of her friends Rebecca Stievater and Emma Bailey. Once a month since this past winter, animated speakers and active listeners have been gathering for largely extemporaneous rounds on loose themes like Red, Touching, and this weekend’s In Transit.

Sara interprets Red.

As the weather gets better (which may be any minute, since Global Warming has the Bay Area believing that seasons come in three-day packages and swapping climates every half a week), Spokespeople will be organizing unified charity cycling trips. Did I mention these three founders have each ridden their bicycles across the country? (Methinks my Mixie would not make the journey even part-way.)

The story sessions are fun! They are typically hilarious, sometimes gory, but live and engaging. At Red earlier this year, we heard about one of Sara’s first dates (ended in blood), one woman’s insane ex-girlfriend (involved blood), and Bill’s redheaded childhood friend (Ian. Contains blood.). Interpretations of the nightly topic may be loose or literal, but it seems that no matter who is at the mic, they are entertaining. It’s a completely comfortable setting, too, hearing a fellow local talk about a possibly universal or possibly niche topic.

Tomorrow’s theme is In Transit, for which I have about twenty-five years of random bits and pieces to string together why I love/hate BART. Or someone could talk about transitions. Or someone could talk about a different version of Point A to Point B.

If you’re interested in checking out Spokespeople, I highly recommend heading out to the Mission tomorrow night. Donations are welcome as the group gets going, and stories even welcome-er!

Spokespeople #4: In Transit
Saturday – April 28, 2012
7:00-9:30 p.m.
Email Sara at skbarz (at) gmail.com for the address.

Yes, there is food and drink. Also feel free to bring your own!

Check out the Facebook event for more information. Full lineup below the cut.

Estria Miyashiro is not the menace to society that typically comes up with descriptions of graffiti artists. His reach is international and driven by social justice. The Foundation’s Water Writes installed ten murals across ten cities throughout the globe, each created by the surrounding community. He does a mean octopus:

If I were in town, I’d get excited for larger-than-life artwork and a feel-good vibe. Take pics if you go!