All the Pretty Colors
The one thing that stands out to me most about Valparaíso is color. It’s everywhere I look. No wall is untouched—seriously. Art lives on every surface: sides of buildings, retaining walls, construction fences, doors, even stairs—the many, many stairs that carry you from one neighborhood to another.
Even the sunsets are painted in layers of pink, blue, and gold—like the one I’m gazing at now glowing over the port. To the left, the hillside neighborhood rises like a jumble of Chiclets—homes, apartments, and shops in every shade imaginable. Below, the cranes of the port echo those colors as they unload stacks of containers—bright blues, oranges, reds. It’s as if the harbor itself is joining the conversation in color.
Curious to understand what it all meant, I joined a street art tour.
The color I see is mostly street art and graffiti—overwhelming in its presence, astounding in its scale. It’s a coexistence, I learned on my Grafreeti! tour, that’s as nuanced as Chile’s history itself. To say that graffiti and street art here are political statements is an understatement. They’re part of daily life.
My guide—who once lived in New York before returning here with his Ukrainian-born wife—explained the layers within this culture: the difference between tagging, throw-ups, wild style; the evolution of an artist from beginner to signature name; even how to tell spray paint from brushstrokes—or, in the case of one artist, a Sharpie.
If you know me, you know how much I love photographing street art. The bolder and larger the mural, the better. My particular fascination? How artists create those building-sized pieces that tower over streets. My guide explained that it begins with a detailed sketch—training the hand to remember each line—before scaling up with drones to help align proportions.
And what if you make a mistake—there’s no undo button here? “You just paint over it and keep going,” he said.
Kind of like what I keep reminding myself to do as I stumble through this latest chapter of my life.
Maybe we’re all just painting over our mistakes—layer by layer, learning what to keep.
What draws me most to this kind of art is its freedom. It’s bold, defiant, rebellious. It pushes back against what’s proper or expected. It reminds me, in some ways, of my own life up to this point—so much of it spent doing what was proper and expected.
Here, that rebellion has become celebration. There’s a code, a respect among artists. And what I found most fascinating—and oddly touching—was how building owners now collaborate with artists. They commission murals not only to enliven their walls but also to protect them from random tagging. It’s expression as preservation. Some choose artists because of the neighboring wall they’ve already painted—a kind of open-air portfolio. The artists don’t earn much, but most don’t do it for money.
I loved that. How art here is both protection and offering.
Cerro Concepción — Valparaíso, Chile
That night at Casa Higueras, the restaurant was warm and buzzing, full of laughter and low conversation.
At one table, a work dinner—a scene that reminded me of my past life, when colleagues became almost friends for an evening over wine and stories. I watched them and felt a flicker of nostalgia. At another table, a family of four shared plates and laughter, passing dishes between them in that easy rhythm of people who belong to one another. All the warm colors of connection.
This was one of my last nights in Chile before I departed for my next stop—a spontaneous extension to Peru. As I sat there, I started to reflect on the many colors of Chile because I feel lucky to have seen so many. The photography workshop was its own kind of gift, bringing me to this wild, gritty, multicolored nation of contrasts—its people, flora, fauna, and art. I’ve struggled with the language, been frustrated with myself for not knowing more, and worried it will take forever to become conversational enough to live in Spain. Am I fooling myself to think I can do it?
But when I look back, color is what threads it all together.
The lush greens and spiritual blues of Rapa Nui. The silvers and snowy grays of Patagonia. The copper, sand, and salt of the Atacama Desert—life finding a way through dryness and extremes. Even Santiago, with its murals, lively restaurants, and tranquil parks, glowed in its own palette.
And maybe my favorite of them all—Valparaíso.
Guidebooks call it bohemian, which I always thought meant hippy, granola, piercings. But here, I’ve learned it means simply unconventional. And that feels fitting—I guess I’ve become a little unconventional myself.
I never used to think of myself that way. I didn’t mind being unique—but I didn’t want to be apart. Away from the safe, expected version of life I was raised to follow. But times change. We evolve. Our colors shift and bloom when it’s finally time.
Valparaíso was real, expressive, gritty, vibrant. It told its story through art and walls and people—each brushstroke a heartbeat. It embraced me in its bohemian warmth, full of life and creative energy. I felt at home here.
And I thank Casa Higueras for that, and the weather, and the universe—for allowing me to experience all the pretty colors of Chile, not just those of Valparaíso.
Follow my journey on Instagram @odiseabyemmy. For more photography, visit Emmy Photography.