I painted arrows on a parking garage floor at Pittsburgh International Airport. Why? Because I was the paint charge for a Netflix show and they asked for it.
I didn’t paint it with paint, exactly. It was a heavy-grade adhesive—basically a giant sticker—cut into shape, laid down, and then painted safety yellow. Bright enough to read instantly. Then aged, so it didn’t look new. It had to feel like it had always been there.
That was the goal.
We had 24 hours.
I installed it early in the morning, knowing it would be driven over all day—golf carts, crew, equipment. There wasn’t really a way to test it at that scale. At some point, you just have to commit.
I remember watching the first cart roll over it.
Waiting.
To see if an edge would lift. If the illusion would break. It didn’t. It held.
For a few hours, those arrows directed traffic like they belonged there. Like they had history. Like they had been part of that space long before we showed up.
And then, just as quickly, they were gone.
Sometimes you don’t know if something will work until someone drives right over it.
