We didn’t have the proper party we were hoping for when we finished the mural today. The tall, sturdy ladder we needed to reach the top half of the wall was in use at the prison hospital most of the day. I had brought with me a change of nice clothes for the event, but someone spilled black paint on the blouse while it was poking out of my purse on the ground. We actually were painting up until the moment we left.

There were four guys who saw the mural through to the end- two marathon painters and two detail artists. The tall ladder was eventually available to us and the marathon painters picked up the pace with their painting- using larger and larger brushes, a sign of proficiency. We found a working system where they would stay high on the ladder and call down to me what colors and brushes they needed.

The resident tattoo artist is apparently a classic artist type. We had been waiting for him to paint tattoos on the prodigal son like he said he would. After the whole mural was finished he appeared and began his finishing touches- with time and space to himself. Across the back of the prodigal he painted an amazing B-E-S-T (Barrio Eighteenth St.).
On the right shoulder he painted a face, then he left again. Another man stood up and painted over this one with skin-color. He said onlookers complained they didn’t like it. The angered artist took his bat and went home, so to speak, and wouldn’t join our group for our final photograph.

So that’s how we finished our project-painting out a small, black tattoo. Markings are an important part of the culture. There is a mint-green hill in the painting, pink flowers on the bushes, and multiple proportional errors throughout the mural- but nobody said anything about that. There was more interest in making sure white socks were painted around the prodigal’s ankles, and in the four-inch BuildaBridge logo I drew in the bottom corner to sign and date the piece. The tiny logo was a big hit. The men instantly recognized it as my sign and started asking questions.

There were babies crying in the ward today. A couple of them were visiting their fathers and one was our chaplain’s baby boy. The chaplain brought his wife and four year old daughter to celebrate as well- along with a table, orange soda, and ham sandwiches for everyone. The men were excited to see the kids, who brought a nice change from the restless, “Never Land” atmosphere that dominates the hall.

Our mural has two significances- one is the message of the accepted prodigal that will illustrate discussions to come in studies with the ward’s chaplains. The ex-gang member chaplain said he believes people join gangs out of a lack of love. Now there is a six-foot embrace between father and son, painted by the men, standing in the center of their hall.

The other significance is the therapeutic value of physically spreading paint. You could see the satisfaction of the marathon painters in the method, goal, and results of brushing chosen colors around leaves and weaving between lines.
Some men called a chaplain early this morning to see how I was doing. Truth is I was really stomach sick. The men called back to say they had prepared one of their bathrooms for me to use when I arrived. The chaplain could not believe they had done such a thing. For several years he has done the work to build respect and relationships. He’s invested in the men body and soul. Nothing says welcome like true hospitality. The chaplain was never happier about a prison toilet.

We left all the paints and brushes in the prison. There was some talk about extending the mural over to connect with one of their existing murals of three crosses. Maybe they can do that this summer. We talked again about preserving the mural with a varnish. I think that is necessary because when I can home, I washed the dried, black paint out of my blouse with only water.

Some who know the story of the prodigal son asked about the whereabouts of the older son. There needs to be another mural project, in a local church perhaps, about the conversion of the other prodigal son, who needs to be persuaded to join the party in a way the younger son does not. The older son would look like someone in the church. It would be nice to photograph each mural and share them with each other- both parts of the story bringing prodigals together by the same God.