BY SHALEEN DESTEFANO
With sweeping lines, layered textures and a color palette that refuses to whisper, Olive Moya’s work commands attention, while inviting introspection. A muralist and studio artist based in Denver, Moya merges her graphic design roots with her fine art intuition, using abstraction as both a visual language and a means of storytelling. Her compositions move with rhythm and vulnerability, engaging with themes of identity, place and process. Whether painting a wall along the Cherry Creek Trail or preparing for her upcoming solo show, Moya continues to push her boundaries, always evolving, always in motion.
Your work is bold, abstract and unapologetically vibrant. How did your visual language develop and how does it continue to evolve?
I had a hard time picking a lane in art school. I started in the fine art department but switched to communication arts/illustration halfway through. Because of that, I think you can see a mix of those different influences in what I make now. I was taking photographs and painting, but learning how to hand-draw typography and create more graphic illustrations. For years, I slowly drifted from drawing and illustrating towards abstract work but was too afraid to abandon the style I had worked to develop. My drawings gradually shifted focus from figures to color, and eventually the figures disappeared altogether. But my line-work always referenced lettering or the graphic nature of my earlier work. Recently I’ve been diving into more painterly, textured mark making. Like the earlier shift, it’s terrifying and exciting at the same time. I still incorporate photos by way of collage and drawing is beginning to find its way back into my process as well.
Much of your work explores movement and the non-linear nature of storytelling. How do those themes show up in your murals and studio work? Do you typically start with a story in mind, or does the meaning reveal itself as you paint?
I often think about how Frank Stella talked about abstract storytelling, and his ideas resonate deeply with my own approach to making work. The energy and movement of the lines and forms guide the viewer’s eye, interact with one another and suggest progression in the way that a narrative would. The story itself is intentionally not specific. In my most recent work, I’ve created a collection of linear forms on tracing paper which I reuse and rearrange in different configurations, like letters in an alphabet. While I’m making the work, I think of them as aspects of my identity. Using them differently in each painting and tracing them until they are worn is a reflection of the inner-dialogue that shapes my self-perception. Through that process I’m questioning whether these narratives still hold truth or should be discarded. In this way, my paintings and drawings engage directly with storytelling, yet they neither begin nor end with a specific experience.
In your collaboration with Amy Lisojo, your abstract art became wearable through Amy Lisojo’s poetic, fashion-forward lens. What was it like to see your work come to life in that format and on moving bodies?
It was so interesting to see Amy integrate my process into hers. Not only did my lines feel more dynamic on the moving form, but Amy let the fabric flow off the silhouette so that they had a life of their own. The models did such a great job embodying the energy that I try to bring to my work, and it was pretty surreal to see it all come together.
Several of your murals incorporate text or titles that hint at personal narratives. Do words often come first for you, or do they emerge later in the process?
I’m continually collecting words. I’m interested in language; books and poetry and lyrics and phrases that emerge from conversation or thoughts in dreams. I’m curious about how communication can be clear or murky, shifting with tone of voice, music, or the mood of the listener. I write snippets in my sketchbook or on my studio wall as they come to me and am thrilled to rifle through them when it’s time to title a piece. I enjoy taking lines out of context or collaging two thoughts together. Back when I was illustrating, words were the impetus for the drawing and I typically paired it with a hand-lettered phrase. That continues, but in my titles. It offers viewers insight and playfully hints at my thought process.
You’ve created murals at sites like Illegal Pete’s on East Evans, along the Cherry Creek Trail and inside the Vail Transportation Center. How does designing for very different environments influence your sense of flow and pacing in your compositions? Do you have a favorite mural location?
One of the most alluring aspects of painting murals is how the work interacts with the context of the space it inhabits. When I can, I like to break beyond the allotted rectangle to let the piece wrap around a corner, extend down onto the floor, or climb up the ceiling. I want the work to merge with its environment, rather than sit neatly on top of it. Of course, that applies to the forms in the piece as well. The mark making on the Cherry Creek Trail is open, flowing and meandering like the creek itself. The Illegal Pete’s line-work transitions from color to color and winds tightly around itself to reflect the personal journey in the message “It’s Ok Not To Be Ok”. When my forms interact with photographs, like in the Vail mural, they pick and choose what to highlight, obscure, or imitate. It’s impossible to pick a favorite – each one presents it’s own challenges and interest. They become memorable for me based on who I interact with or how the work resonates with people.
Public art often lives in spaces with complex histories or uses. How do you navigate the expectations of a community while still staying true to your own visual language?
The beauty of working in abstraction is that anyone can engage with it. We all have emotional connections to color and form, and abstract work invites viewers to make their own associations. The passerby can’t feel left out by imagery that may not reflect their experiences. That being said, sometimes it can still be a complicated arena to make work in. I try to take projects that feel integrated with and welcomed by the community. If possible, I want to engage with those people while designing and certainly while I’m painting.
You work at a scale that’s physically demanding and logistically complex. What do people often misunderstand about what goes into making a mural?
As you said, painting a mural is incredibly labor-intensive. I don’t think most people realize just how much physical work goes into it. It’s hot—or freezing cold—you’re standing, climbing, lifting heavy things. You’re dragging ladders, climbing scaffolding, or operating a lift. You get up early to beat the sun, and you’re scrubbing brushes late at night. Carpal tunnel makes your hands go numb.
It looks like such a fun job (and it is), but it’s definitely not for the faint of heart.
Your color palette is a signature in itself. Is color instinctual for you, or do you plan it out strategically for each site?
Color is instinctual for me. Often I start pieces with a color craving- feeling the need to mix and put down a certain color that I can’t stop thinking about. I am drawn to using similar colors very close to one another like a marigold yellow next to lemon yellow or pink next to a slightly cooler purply-pink. If it’s a public or commissioned work, obviously for public or commissioned work, I consider the emotional tone and cultural connotations of color. Sometimes I have to work in a client’s preferences too, but limiting my palette has never felt natural—even though I really admire work that does.
Your art often balances abstraction with emotional storytelling. How do you know when a piece is “done”?
It’s a very unsatisfying answer – it’s just a feeling. It’s definitely not a science. Sometimes that feeling is wrong and I overwork a piece. Other times I get afraid to touch something that is close to being done but isn’t quite. Embarrassingly, I often don’t have much patience or interest in dialing it in and usually just end up moving on to the next thing.
What’s next for you—any upcoming projects you’re excited to explore?
My solo show titled Where You Really Are, And Where I Really Am at Bell Projects opens August 16th and is up through September 28th. I’m also really interested in exploring sculpture for my show at Understudy in 2026.
Moya’s work doesn’t seek to tell one definitive story, it invites us into a conversation, shaped by movement, emotion and our own interpretations. She blurs the line between personal reflection and public experience. One thing remains constant: her fearless exploration of what it means to shape space and self. To learn more about her work, visit olivemoyastudio.com