Mural Project: Environmental Murals at AMNH

by Trenton Jung

Through my three-year journey with this project, I added large-scale watercolor painting techniques to my repertoire, learned the process of working with a large institution, and tested my resilience as an artist.

From the Winter of 2021 through the Spring of 2024, I embarked on my most extensive and fulfilling science illustration project to date. I was challenged to turn my desk-sized watercolor paintings into four classroom murals for the American Museum of Natural History’s new Gilder Family Learning Zone. Through my three-year journey with this project, I added large-scale watercolor painting techniques to my repertoire, learned the process of working with a large institution, and tested my resilience as an artist.

AN ACCIDENTAL DISCOVERY 

My journey into science communication through art happened by accident in 2007, during undergraduate biology studies. Wanting to become a physician, I was balancing heavy science courses with art classes. For an advanced art portfolio, I needed to develop as an artist. Since I also needed to study anatomy, I thought, "Let me combine the two courses by drawing the human body." 

I created a series of pastels overlaid with India ink and white acrylic. This wasn't just about academics—I had an issue to address. When I left my village for undergraduate research in Oakland, naysayers said, "She's been assimilated. She'll forget who she is, her language, come back city-like and disconnected from our lifeways." 

I took great offense and channeled my response into art. I called the series "What Makes a Zuni" to show that when you open me up, look into my veins, bones, and arteries, I'll always be Zuni (Fig. 1). You cannot undo what has been created. Everything is etched inside us down to the spirit and flesh. 

UNEXPECTED COMMUNITY IMPACT 

Our community in New Mexico relies on one clinic—the Zuni IHS hospital—for 13,000 people. It's underfunded and underutilized because our community has a distrust and fear of doctors. My art (Fig. 2) was present in the clinic, and a physician once told me: "People are asking me, 'Is that what my stomach really looks like? That looks cool. Is that healthy? How do I keep it that way?'" 

I wanted to become a physician because I didn't understand why community members waited so long to seek care. Diabetes meant losing limbs, going on dialysis in their twenties. We had high rates of kidney disease and diabetes, but why couldn't we catch these early? Historically poor interactions with western medicine and language is part of the answer. 

We needed better health education and proactive healthcare, encouraging people to get involved in their health journeys. But they struggled with dialogue due to language barriers— Zuni is a language isolate spoken only by us—and cultural barriers, since we're one of the most traditional Pueblo communities.

THE ENVIRONMENTAL HEALTH CONNECTION 

Years later, the Community Environmental Health Program director visited the clinic after meeting with the Navajo Nation about abandoned uranium mines and heavy metal exposures. The community had said, "We appreciate your science, but we have no idea what you're saying. We're visual learners. Maybe share art.” When the director saw my anatomical series, we began working together. 

CREATING ART WITH PURPOSE 

Now, I create art to help communities understand environmental health and science. My most popular pieces help communities understand DNA and what occurs from mixed metal exposure—DNA damage, repair, and structure

(Fig. 3). 

Every time I hear researchers share science findings, I ask: "How would I tell my ninety-year-old grandmother this? How would I explain uranium hazards to someone with an eighth-grade education?" Or: "How would I tell my middle-school children about uranium and radiation?" 

I dig deep into my roots and the communities we work with, considering their worldview. How do they see their environment? How are they related to it and each other? Native communities are not a monolith—each is different from even their closest tribal neighbor. Among New Mexico's nineteen Pueblos, each one is unique. Information must be tailored for each specific community. 

Three Goals in My Work: 

1. Translate scientific information while collaborating with researchers. 
2. Bridge bidirectional communication. This means talking with, not at, communities while involving government entities and policymakers. 
3. Create inclusive environments and rebuild trust with and across institutions. 

CULTURAL SENSITIVITY 

Our science operates at the cellular level but we must include healing aspects. In many Indigenous communities of the Southwest, it is considered inappropriate to begin conversations with bad news—death, dying, war, chronic illness. We can't just say, "You could have cancer. You're radiated." Instead, we can tell our communities that our bodies naturally repair DNA (Fig. 4). 

I talk about DNA as beads on a string, like a necklace. We wear many necklaces; each is beautiful and unique. When necklaces break, we don't discard them—we repair them. 

My palette is turquoise-heavy. Turquoise is a protective stone for Southwest tribes. We wear it constantly and include it in ceremony, making it central to my art and communication.

Figure 4: DNA Repair. 2017. Acrylic on Paper. 16 x 20 in. 

TRADITIONAL ECOLOGICAL KNOWLEDGE 

I communicate through lived experience—which requires actual living, not PhD study. Coming from a traditional community, I talk to elders about things they already know. This is traditional ecological knowledge (TEK), or Indigenous ways of knowing. 

TEK represents the lived experience of people close to the land who utilize natural resources and maintain land relationships. It includes a holistic worldview where we don't see ourselves as separate individuals. We understand ourselves as extensions of one another, including clouds, mountains, water. We are not separate from our environment. We are part of it, without dominion over it. 

Our ceremonies, language, beliefs, and healing are tied to land in countless ways. 

ART AS CULTURAL TRANSLATION 

I've established visual concepts for DNA and human cells. For cells, I use wedding basket designs with medicine wheels at the center—something to protect, surrounded by turquoise. Inside each section are animal totems with power, healing, and protection: buffalo, war pony, bear with sweat lodges and arrowheads. The concept illustrates protecting cells from foreign invaders, like macrophages, T-cells, and B-cells in immune systems. When these animals fight each other, that's autoimmunity (Fig. 5).

Communities want diagnoses, to know why they're sick. But our science operates cellularly—we discuss how metal exposure disrupts immune function and cascades, breaking proteins and DNA. We're health science researchers, not physicians. As researchers, we've built up story maps and a visual language over time, hoping to inform medicine. 



BIDIRECTIONAL/MULTIDIRECTIONAL COMMUNICATION POWER 

One painting that I frequently discuss during cultural humility training helps Navajo Birth Cohort Study participants understand placental transfer—how mothers share ingested and absorbed substances with babies (Fig. 6). Our studies have found that babies born to mothers living in proximity to abandoned uranium mines have traces of uranium in their first urine (Erdei et al).

This same painting teaches policymakers and new researchers why we hold the land sacred. In Pueblo and Navajo communities, when umbilical cords dry and fall off, there is a ceremony in which they are returned to land. We bury them in specific locations, asking for babies' strengths. 

A seemingly insignificant juniper tree or stone pile might be the site of such a ceremony. We tell new researchers, "sample with care and respect" because these ceremonies occur on nearly every inch of our lands. The practice promises eventual return to the land—our umbilical connection to Mother Earth never severs—we might separate from birth mothers, but never Mother Earth.

This practice instills our stewardship of lands we inhabit. Much is at stake for these sacred lands—often subjected to environmental issues like mining, fracking, and oil extraction—and the Native peoples advocating for them. . 

Figure 6: Placental Transfer. 2019. Acrylic on Canvas. 16 x 20 in. 

Figure 7: Gut Microbiome. 2020. Acrylic on Canvas. 30 x 40 in.

COMMUNITY-DRIVEN ART 

Our research is community-concern driven. During listening sessions, I watch the crowd as the scientists speak and I wait for glazed eyes or thousand-mile stares. I ask, "What wasn't clear? How can I improve this?" One painting at MIT was created for their bioengineering department describing probiotics, prebiotics, and gut microbiome health, using beadwork concepts where assembled beads help communities thrive (Fig. 7). I avoid using symbols from programs like Canva or internet sources. I want art tailored for community understanding and appreciation. 

COVID-19: THE CRUCIAL TEST 

COVID-19 provided the biggest test for community communication. I was never busier, working constantly. Returning home, I saw people in store lines ignoring distancing and mask requirements. 

When I asked why they weren't following posted signs, pointing to CDC posters with general icons, one gentleman said "Because I'm not a stick figure." 

That's when it hit me—despite CDC's reputation, they couldn't communicate with my community. I created PSAs and COVID-19 communication tools. I began to paint mRNA vaccine function in real time, likening spike protein recognition and messages to “bear”, “pony”, and “buffalo” (symbolizing our immune system) so my community could see and know the roles of their immune systems, vaccines, and COVID- 19 (Fig. 8). 

This revelation led me to share with other artists. We have reputable institutions and information sources hat need assistance communicating effectively, but they can't address every community or pocket of this country or world. That is where we, community members and visual communicators, contribute. We are already storytellers, visionaries, record keepers. My community records history through paintings, petroglyphs, cave art—documenting history and mapping through time, travels, and migrations. 

Figure 8: mRNA Vaccine. 2021. Acrylic on Canvas. 16 x 20 in.

RECOGNITION, CURRENT CHALLENGES, AND LOOKING FORWARD 

My work with CEHP has been featured in travelling exhibits with the Institute of American Indian Art, Museum of Contemporary Native Art, and has been shown in places such as the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, National Hispanic Cultural Center, Duhesa Gallery at Colorado State University and others. I am also grateful for the recognition that my art has received outside of science communication work. In 2021 I was fortunate to create a Google Doodle that celebrated another artist from my community’s history. I have had artwork displayed at New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art alongside the "Grounded in Clay" exhibition. 

My recent piece, Merciless Laws of Nature, pays homage to Dewankwin K’ya’batch’u Yalanne or Mount Taylor, a mountain in Grants, New Mexico that is sacred to five local tribes (Fig. 9). The mountain is currently under threat of uranium mining near sites considered Tribal Cultural Property. People live in this mountain's shadow, and have been suffering since 8 Cold War-era mining began and exposure to mine waste and mill tailings has not yet been mitigated.

This painting shows the mountain's potential mercilessness. Though considered a dormant super volcano, we don't consider her to be dead. We believe in climate change and environmental dynamics. What surprises others doesn't surprise us—Mother Earth can be merciless. 

I bring arts and crafts to science fairs and feast days, hoping to spark creativity and community dialogue. Addressing difficult topics is challenging, and art helps create healthy dialogue and healing pathways for all. This art isn't decoration—it's a bridge honoring both Western science rigor and traditional knowledge wisdom. It builds trust, creates understanding, and ensures scientific research truly serves the communities it aims to help. 

Figure 9: Merciless Laws of Nature. 2025. Acrylic on MDF. 48 x 48 in.



This member-only article appears in the Journal of Natural Science Illustrators, Volume 58, no. 1 / 2026