5 Days, 1 Canvas, and No Time to Flinch

This is literally what I train for

I landed back in the US from Greece with sand in my shoes, tzatziki still in my bloodstream, and a painting to do in five days. The gig confirmation hit my inbox somewhere between taxiing to the gate and dragging my carry-on through customs—and just like that, my brain went from Santorini sunsets to stage lighting logistics.

Some people ease back into work after a honeymoon. I, apparently, dive headfirst into live performance mode with jet lag and airport stink still clinging to my suitcase.

Of course, I love when I get the luxury of noodling on a concept for weeks—when I can bounce ideas back and forth with a client, push around the creative clay until it starts to resemble something real. Case in point: I just wrapped a performance in San Diego for a cardiology conference. Literal heart experts. No pressure, right?

That one involved several rounds of feedback and collaboration to make sure the final pieces—two distinct speed paintings—fit my artistic style and honored the complexity of their work in cardiology. I wasn’t going to show up and paint cartoon hearts in glitter. The process was slow, intentional, and collaborative. And it turned out beautifully.

But sometimes there’s just not time for that kind of back and forth. Sometimes, the prep time is five days—and the plane’s still descending.

That’s when this type of art becomes an elite sport.

It’s why I train.

I actually had a hunch this one might happen. Conversations had been floating around for a while, and I knew two major life events were rapidly approaching: my wedding and my honeymoon. No big deal.

So, before I left, I decided to prep—just in case. I built out a concept and practiced it a few times, filming myself to study it later. (Nothing says "honeymooning in Greece" like reviewing footage of yourself flinging paint in real time.) I didn’t know when the gun would go off—but I was stretching at the starting line.

So here’s how it’s gone since I got back:

Monday – I landed. Got the confirmation. Midnight arrival. Adrenaline and jet lag hit at the same time (wildly confusing for my brain and body). Let’s go. I locked in my videographer, confirmed which of my assistants could travel, booked travel. The canvas is still blank.

Tuesday – Jet lag is real, and I also work a day job, but I got in the studio in the evening, tweaked the concept, and did a practice run. One solid rep. Muscle memory kicked in. I could feel the image locking in.

Wednesday – Picked up my final round of paint colors and got through three practice runs. It’s a weird kind of sprint: sweaty, focused, and completely chaotic in the studio, but it’s also precise. Strategic.

Thursday (aka today) – I’ll do two more runs and prep the actual canvas for performance. Check my setup. Double-check it. Triple-check it. Make sure the lingering jet lag doesn’t let me forget anything on my checklist.

Friday – Load up the truck. Hit the road. Show time.

People sometimes ask how I pull this off with “so little time.” The answer is: I’ve already put in the time. This is why I rehearse. This is why I build designs that hold up in chaos. This is why I treat my craft like a sport. Because sometimes you have months. And sometimes you have minutes.

And either way, I’m showing up ready to flip that canvas and wow the crowd.

This is the thrill of it all.

This is what I train for.