Orléans artist Manuel Murillo brings Mexican muralism tradition to Ottawa's streetscapes

Manuel Murillo works at his studio in Orléans, a half-finished Doberman waiting on the easel beside him. The painter, who grew up in Mexico painting walls as a kid, has become a fixture on Ottawa's streets, creating murals for businesses and homes across the city.

Murillo started painting on walls as a child in Mexico, much to his mother's frustration. He mostly painted animals then, a habit that stuck. What changed over time was his sense of scale. Walking the streets of Mexico as a child, he'd pass buildings covered in enormous murals. "I thought that they beautified the environment so much," he says. "It was always my dream to be able to do that."

Today, Murillo paints across Ottawa. One of the pieces he's proudest of is inside his own house—a mural blending Mexican culture, words that inspire him, and a Doberman. "In Latin America, we're not afraid of colour," he says, contrasting that with what he sees in Canada. "Here in Canada, in the Western world, many times there's this notion that everything has to be very neutral. That's why it's nice, not being afraid of being a little bold, a little bit out of the norm."

His influences run through Mexican art history: Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, and Rufino Tamayo. He admires how Kahlo channelled her health struggles into her work and her refusal to be anything other than a painter. "She was really determined. I'm going to be a painter, I'm going to make it," he says. "That's kind of me too, to be honest." In Rivera, he sees a model for what public art can do at scale. Both artists centred their work around Mexican people, Indigenous communities, and those outside the elite—a resonance Murillo feels deeply. He says murals become accessible to those who don't have access to private collections and galleries.

The Doberman taking shape on his easel is part of a personal vocabulary Murillo has built over years: bold colour, botanical elements, figures between realism and expressive form. He had Dobermans growing up and admires them deeply. "I really admire these dogs because they are, for me, graceful and powerful," he says. They mark a more abundant chapter of his life and a hope that someday he'll have the space and means to have one again. That vocabulary shows up whether the piece is a commission or something for himself. "There's no right or wrong," he says of his process. "What feels right for me, it feels like freedom."

For now, Murillo is happy if people simply like what they see. But he's thinking about the long game too—a point where his name carries as much weight as the image. "Who's Manuel, the person behind this brush, behind this canvas?" The bigger goal, he says, is to use his art the way Rivera did: to put a message into it, one that might actually help the people around him.