Laura Thomas Makes Art That Hurts—And Heals

Let’s start with the obvious: Laura Thomas makes beautiful things. Her murals explode with color and emotion. Her chalk art breathes on asphalt and disappears with the rain. And yet, she’s the first to tell you—this isn’t just about aesthetics.

“It can truly be physically and or emotionally exhausting creating a piece of art,” Thomas says. “With chalk art, I do feel it is probably one of the most painful forms of art to create. I’m on the ground, usually cooking in the sun and dealing with extremely hot pavement… there’s a level of strain and pain on the legs, knees and back that you don’t get doing other forms of art.”

And that’s before you account for the emotional labor.

Thomas, who lives and works in the Tampa Bay area, is one of those rare artists whose work doesn’t just show you something—it makes you feel something. Her latest mural is no exception. “I was inspired to create something that wasn’t just a beautiful portrait,” she explains, “but that also portrayed a level of emotion and wonderment. I wanted the person looking at her to wonder what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling.”

It’s that emotional clarity—call it softness, call it depth—that runs through all of Thomas’ work, even when the surfaces couldn’t be more different. Murals and chalk: each medium has its own lifespan, its own context, its own demands. But for Thomas, it’s all connected.

“Honestly, creating art itself, in any medium, feels like home to me,” she says. “Styles and design layouts I’m used to doing in one medium I will often see similar elements of in other mediums… I love learning everything I can in one medium because I know it may somehow play a role in another type of medium I am doing down the road.”

That adaptability isn’t just a skill—it’s a philosophy. Thomas calls herself “100% the definition of a Libra,” constantly seeking balance between permanence and impermanence. Chalk art washes away in days. Murals live somewhere in the middle. And yet, she’s learned to love the letting go.

“There’s something truly therapeutic about putting everything you have of yourself, your emotions, your time and energy, into a piece of art, taking that final photo of it, and walking away from it,” she says. “For me, embracing the fact that we take nothing with us when our life ends helped me progress as an artist… All that matters is that it’s out there, I did my best, I’m proud, and I am working on my next piece.”

Up next: a new house mural in Clearwater, a couple of chalk gigs, and a soon-to-be-announced collaboration with a major national client for Hispanic Heritage Month—plus a larger project with them next year. Thomas isn’t just busy; she’s building. And every project, no matter the scale, comes with heart—and a little fear.

“If it doesn’t scare me just a little, give me that feeling in the pit of my stomach,” she says, “it’s not worth doing or I need to change my design somehow so I do get that feeling. This is how I push myself to do more, do better, to learn, to grow as an artist.”

At a time when algorithms flatten everything and digital filters can’t stop replicating themselves, Thomas is chasing something else: connection. Real, human, gut-punching connection.

“I’m drawn to the human connection. What makes each individual person who they are. And what can be seen just by looking at the external,” she says. “I myself have always struggled living in a world based around social media. I’ve noticed less and less actual connection people have with each other.”

Which is why her art feels so necessary right now. Whether it’s a giant wall, a fleeting chalk piece, or a portrait that stops you in your tracks—Laura Thomas is asking us to slow down. To look. To wonder. And to feel something we didn’t expect.