We were lucky to catch up with Hunter Silvey recently and have shared our conversation below.

Hunter, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. Are you happy as a creative professional? Do you sometimes wonder what it would be like to work for someone else?

I often ask myself how to measure happiness in a creative field. Some of the most successful moments in my career have also been some of the most mentally challenging.
When I was 24, my career had just started to gain momentum. I landed my first large-scale mural commission, painting a mural for Clio in downtown Omaha, while also exhibiting with a museum for the first time through an installation project at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City. At the time, those opportunities felt like everything I had been working toward.
What I didn’t realize was that this was also the beginning of learning how to navigate the realities of a creative career. I was spending weeks at a time working out of state, sending sketches and revisions to interior designers, meeting with museum staff and creative directors, applying for future opportunities, and still working part-time as both a studio assistant and a bartender to support myself.
There was a period where I genuinely wondered if I had made a mistake. Was I really cut out for this? Looking back, I can barely remember parts of that year because I was spreading myself so thin. I wasn’t sleeping enough, I wasn’t taking care of myself, and I was constantly moving from one deadline to the next. What I regret most isn’t the hard work, it’s that I wasn’t present enough to appreciate those moments and recognize how much I had accomplished.
Ironically, those two opportunities ended up changing the course of my career. They helped me build a practice where murals, painting, and installation can all coexist and support one another. They taught me that success doesn’t automatically create happiness, and that sustainability is just as important as ambition.
Today, I’m incredibly happy with what I do. That doesn’t mean there aren’t mental challenges, there absolutely are. But I’ve realized that every career comes with its own difficulties. The difference is that even during the hardest periods, I still wanted to create. I never stopped thinking about new projects or ideas. That made me realize that it wasn’t being an artist I was questioning; it was how to be an artist in a healthy and sustainable way. That’s a question I’m still learning from, but it’s one that has ultimately reaffirmed that this is the work I’m meant to be doing.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your background and context?

I’m an interdisciplinary artist based in Kansas City, Missouri, and currently a resident at the Charlotte Street Foundation. I graduated from the Kansas City Art Institute in 2022 with a BFA in Painting, and shortly after graduation I launched my own creative business.
My career began to take shape through a combination of studio work and commissioned projects. Early on, I worked with Flagship Restaurant Group to create custom paintings and murals for their restaurant concepts, Memoir and Clio, in Omaha, Nebraska. Since then, I’ve collaborated with companies such as Hutch Contracting and A View Venues, designing and executing large-scale murals and site-specific artwork. Many of these projects begin with conversations about a client’s vision, followed by custom sketches and proposals that allow us to develop something unique while remaining true to the identity and aesthetic of their brand.
At the same time, my studio practice was gaining momentum. I began exhibiting installations and paintings with museums, galleries, institutions, and private collectors, allowing me to develop a body of work that is more experimental and exploratory in nature. While my commissioned work focuses on creating meaningful experiences for specific clients and spaces, my studio practice gives me the freedom to investigate material, color, memory, identity, and transformation through a process of experimentation.
What sets my work apart is my approach to materials. I often work with recycled and found materials such as hand-dyed vinyl, cellophane, plastic sheeting, bubble wrap, and other unconventional surfaces. Much of my process involves hand-dyeing transparent vinyl to create custom colors that are later assembled into large-scale suspended textile collages and installations. As light passes through these materials, color is projected onto surrounding architecture and viewers, transforming the space itself into part of the artwork.
I take great pride in maintaining a practice that exists between fine art, public art, and design. Whether I’m creating a mural for a client, developing an immersive installation for an exhibition, or producing paintings in the studio, I’m interested in how color, material, and scale can shape the way people experience a space. The ability to move between these different disciplines has allowed me to build a career that is both creatively fulfilling and professionally sustainable.
What I am most proud of is creating a practice that doesn’t fit neatly into one category. My work continues to evolve, but at its core it is driven by curiosity, experimentation, and a desire to create experiences that people can physically and emotionally engage with. I want viewers, clients, and collectors to know that every project I take on is approached with care, collaboration, and a commitment to creating something that feels meaningful, memorable, and uniquely its own.

Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?

One of the biggest lessons I’ve had to unlearn is the idea that creative work should happen as quickly as possible.
During my time at the Kansas City Art Institute, we were constantly working toward the next critique. Every few weeks there was another deadline, another body of work to produce, another presentation to prepare. For four years, I became accustomed to creating within a cycle of constant production. While that environment taught me discipline and helped me develop as an artist, it also trained me to prioritize making work quickly rather than giving myself time to fully understand what the work was trying to become.
After graduating and moving into my own studio practice, I felt surprisingly disconnected from my work. For the first time, there were no professors setting deadlines and no critiques waiting around the corner. I realized that I had spent years creating on a schedule, but I hadn’t yet learned how to slow down and trust my own process. I felt lost for a while because I thought I should always be producing something new.
Over the last three years, I’ve intentionally developed processes that force me to work at a different pace. Hand-dyeing fabric and vinyl, sewing, and hand-beading all require patience and repetition. There is no way to rush those processes without sacrificing the work itself. They have taught me to be present, to pay attention to small decisions, and to embrace the time that meaningful work often requires.
What I’ve come to understand is that some of the most important parts of making art happen before anything is finished. The thinking, experimenting, reflecting, and even moments of uncertainty are all part of the work. Learning to slow down has not only improved my practice, but it has also changed my relationship with creativity. Instead of constantly chasing the next outcome, I’ve learned to appreciate the process itself and be more present in the moment.

Have you ever had to pivot?

One of the most significant pivots in my career happened during my undergraduate studies at the Kansas City Art Institute.
At the time, I was primarily working in oil and watercolor painting. Painting was all I had really known, and I was focused on developing technical skills within traditional formats. Early in my third year, a professor gave me feedback that completely changed the course of my practice. He told me that the paintings I was making felt boring and lacked a sense of life.
At first, I struggled with that critique. It was difficult to hear because painting had always been my primary language as an artist. For a while, I wasn’t sure how to respond. But instead of dismissing the feedback, I began asking myself a different question: What if painting didn’t have to exist only on a canvas?
That question led me to completely rethink my approach to making work. I became interested in material experimentation and process-based practices, exploring how I could paint with materials through installation, sculpture, and dimensional forms. I started taking classes focused on textiles and fiber processes, learning techniques such as resist dyeing, sewing, and felt-making. Those experiences expanded my understanding of what painting could be.
Rather than applying color to a surface, I began working directly with materials such as cellophane, plastic sheeting, bubble wrap, theatrical lighting gels, and hand-dyed vinyl. I became fascinated with transparency, light, and color, and how those elements could transform a space. Through layering, dyeing, stitching, and suspension, I discovered ways to create work through a painter’s lens while moving beyond traditional painting altogether.
Looking back, that critique was one of the most important moments of my education. What initially felt like a setback became an invitation to take risks and explore new possibilities. The material-based installations and dimensional works that emerged from that pivot ultimately became some of the most recognizable aspects of my practice and opened doors to exhibitions, commissions, and opportunities that I never would have imagined if I had stayed within the boundaries of traditional painting.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.huntersilveystudio.com
• Instagram: @hunty_702

Image Credits

head shot- Brennen Zerbe