I didn’t anticipate just how much of an emotional rollercoaster this mural would be for me.

It made me realise that painting in public is a form of live performance art in itself. There was a lot of interaction between myself and the people passing by. I have come to see this as a crucial part of the job, which I often enjoy; however, I have never worked in a place so humming with humans before, and it did test me on some days.

There was just so much activity.

I came to recognise the strange-looking trucks with doors on the sides and no windows as the prisoner transport vehicles. Certain prisoners would be allowed to walk handcuffed into the hospital for treatment, whereas with others, the guards would make them sit down in a wheelchair, and they would cuff their ankles and their wrists. Most would have their shoulders and heads slouched as I saw them wheel past. Strange to witness a person in such a powerless, undignified state. I tried not to wonder about what they did.

Then there was the constant movement of the patient transport vehicles, which move patients between the hospitals and back to their homes.

People being wheeled in and out on tiny white raised beds. People sick, injured, missing limbs, -one man looked dead, which unnerved me. I had to look again to make sure he was breathing.

Visitors coming in and out to visit their friends and family members in hospital.

“You’re still here?” some would say.

“Yep.”

I received some of the funniest questions I’ve ever had at a job:

“Are you painting this wall?” Asked of me as I’m holding a paint brush (asked of about 4 people)

“Who painted your van?” Yep, also me.

Even my “do not disturb mode” attire of safety earmuffs, a full-face mask and my hoodie up did not deter the more enthusiastic passersby who wished to tell me about the war, their family, art in South America, and Marxist–Leninist socialism etcetera.

I’ve been working wearing my safety earmuffs, but I’m listening to nothing on account of my 3-month digital minimalist challenge. I find I can’t work with music or podcasts regardless when I’m concentrating, except for when I’m doing something that requires less constant decision-making, like painting blocks of colour or priming a wall.

Some of the standout characters from this job were Jane, Tommo, Eric & Victor (*names changed for anonymity).

Jane was my first heckler.

She’s about 85 and clearly doesn’t give a f*** about holding back her opinions.

Good on her. She walked up to me looking rather pissed off and frowning.

“Where are the crayfish and craypots?”

“Oh, umm, I haven’t got any.”

“Well, Fremantle has a history of crayfishing. You must put it in. It’s not right otherwise.”

She gruffly walked away and was back a few hours later to exclaim her further disdain for me—that I still had not painted it in.

The following day I reconsidered her suggestion, and I decided to include a small crayfish and pot to reflect this aspect of Fremantle’s history. She softened when I asked about her family, who were all migrant fishermen. She went on to tell me that she was visiting her husband in hospital who had broken his leg, had dementia, and that she was his carer and had little support.

No wonder she’d been curt with me.

Tommo from Mandurah made me laugh with his tales of fish and chips and pub fights. He was getting treatment for an infected hand due to a self-defensive pub punch-up.

His opening line was, “Hey, do you know where I can get some chips around here?”

He told me that he works at a chippie in Mandurah, but no, he’s not sick of fish and chips yet.

He went on to tell me that on his first week on the job, he got to take home $240 worth of fish and chips, which “covered the dining room table.”

He must have taken my laughing as a sign of keenness, as he invited me to visit him in his hospital room, which made me laugh even more. There was something rather endearing about him, but I did also have to turn down the fish and chip date offer he made me the following day.

He was unaware that I’m a vegan, among other things.

Eric appeared out of seemingly nowhere one evening and told me that the energy of my painting had brought him there. Smooth. He was good-looking with dark curls and dazzling eyes. I had a strong craving for chocolate moments before his arrival, and he magically produced half a packet of oreos from his backpack, which I needed no encouragement in devouring.

We talked about art, and then next minute, he whipped out a VR headset from his bag. He put it on, and then I did too. Expecting to be transported to a different world, the battery immediately went flat. Eric took the headset back, and amusingly wore it on top of his head for the rest for the conversation. Then he played me some songs on the public piano nearby. He told me he was homeless, and I realised how beautiful and comical it was that he had given me all his oreos.

Victor was nearly totally blind due to an adverse reaction to a new cancer trial drug he’d received in the last 4 months. He still managed to somehow find his way out of the main hospital and outside to sit by the bench next to me to have a cigarette. I found this navigation impressive.

He told me he’d been battling cancer for over 7 years and that he’d rather live being blind than not be able to spend time with his grandchildren. I spoke with him each time he came out to have a smoke. The hospital was trying to see if there was a solution for his eyes—possibly removing the lenses and adding new ones. I met his family on one occasion, and it was nice seeing them all there for him.

I thought about him a lot, and it made me ponder how life would be losing my vision…

I hope the treatment works.

After a particularly difficult day of heavy stories and a record number of interruptions, I picked up a bottle of Pinot Noir on the way home and came home to silence.

However I didn’t greet the silence favourably and wanted an escape from the “podcast of Lora” in my head. (The digital minimalism challenge I’ve taken on means that I can’t listen to music or podcasts or watch videos unless it’s with a friend (one caveat is that listening to music on an iPod is fine when jogging).)

I have to admit that I broke, went to iTunes on my computer, and put on an album(when it was just me there alone!). It felt amazing, and I really appreciated the ability of the music to shift my mood. (It also felt like a naughty transgression.)

Emotionally this mural was my hardest one yet, but I’m glad for all of the characters I met (there are too many to write about them all).

This mural is for them, and I really hope that they enjoy it.

The mural features:

• Blue ringed octopus, Herring, a sea hare, western rock lobster, leafy sea dragon, nudibranch, and stylised versions of Turbinaria reniformis and other highly stylised corals.
• Marcus Canning’s iconic Rainbow Arch, Dingo Flour, Freo Port.

Thanks to Fremantle Hospital and The Department of Health for funding this project.