After finishing the stadium wall, I packed my bags, filled them with cans, and set off toward a new destination: Santa Fe. There’s a unique kind of energy that comes with moving from one wall to the next — that mix of exhaustion and anticipation, of closing one chapter while opening another.

The new wall stood at the site of an old zoo — a place steeped in forgotten stories and the quiet echoes of the past. Its cracked concrete and overgrown edges carried their own kind of poetry, and I knew instantly that this surface would give my colors a different life.

The wall faced a busy road, alive with motion — cars rushing by, people slowing down to watch, the hum of the city blending with the hiss of the spray. There’s something deeply grounding about transforming neglected spaces; it’s as if each layer of paint breathes a little more life into what time had left behind.

In Santa Fe, surrounded by noise and movement, I found a quiet rhythm again — one line, one color, one gesture at a time. Every wall has its own pulse, and this one reminded me that art doesn’t just belong to the artist. It belongs to the streets, to the people who pass by, and to the stories that unfold in between.

Stay tuned for Part 3…