CHAPTER 14: The Sunflower Mural
One year after the fateful night at the Grand Palais, the Clara Vance Waterfront Cultural Park held its grand opening.
There were no velvet ropes. There were no VIP guest lists. There were no five-thousand-dollar tickets.
Thousands of families poured through the open timber gates. Street musicians played brass horns along the boardwalk; smell of roasted corn and fresh pastry filled the breeze. In the central pavilion, classic oil paintings from the Vance Archive hung behind protective, non-reflective glass at eye level, allowing children and elders to stand inches from brushstrokes painted five centuries ago.
On the main brick wall facing the bay, Maya—now eight years old—stood on a low scaffold next to Julian, putting the finishing touches on a massive, twenty-foot-tall mural of an oversized sunflower.
“Mister Julian,” Maya asked, holding her yellow paintbrush like a magic wand. “Is it big enough for everyone to see?”
Julian looked up at the vibrant, golden petals catching the afternoon sun. “It’s big enough to be seen from the middle of the ocean, Maya.”
May you like
She beamed with pride, splashing one final burst of yellow paint against the sky.
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