"The sky is the daily bread of the eyes."

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

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The Giant Cloud That Could

Amy Lynn Johnson, Communications Manager, Sunset Ridge Collective

I was sitting in my office here at Sunset Ridge when I got the call from the San Antonio River Foundation: my proposal had been selected for their 2026 Art in the Open program. Other than a couple local group shows, this was the first time I’d had such a large proposal greenlighted—and it was a wild one.

I had proposed building a giant recycled cloud sculpture with community-sourced materials for a temporary exhibit at Confluence Park. I work primarily with recycled materials already and have created many smaller-scale cloud sculptures, but I’d never attempted anything at this scale, never collected materials from the community, and never created a public art piece. I was nervous and over the moon.

The collection drive took a few weeks, and by the time I could start on the sculpture itself, I had about a month—from start to finish—to make it to the park for the opening. I worked on it in some capacity nearly every day. I counted over 2,500 pieces of donated post-consumer plastic. I piled them up and secured them with tape and cardboard on a large homemade dolly my partner Sid helped me build. I spent my evenings after work (often into the wee hours) and most of my weekends spinning the recycled materials into a cloud in my very small, very old garage. I bought a giant shop fan to fight the heat and humidity. Sid and I made a million trips to the hardware store for supplies. I blasted music on late nights to stay energized. I brought my teenagers out for show-and-tell each week they came home from their dad’s. I met a baby possum and her mama living in the rafters (they eventually moved once they realized I wasn’t going anywhere).

In an ideal world I would have encased the plastic bags in my handmade recycled paperclay— but time wasn’t on my side. Instead, I covered the formation with plaster strips and joint compound, smoothing it out like icing under my wet paintbrush—deeply satisfying. But the cloud kept getting heavier. By the week of the show, I had to face a hard reality: this beautiful sculpture was going to be nearly impossible to transport. So I had to make a call. Stay the course and hope for the best—risking not being able to deliver anything at all—or figure out how to recreate a lighter cloud in just four days.

I chose the second route.

I used the original cloud as a mold for the new version, then dismantled it completely, restuffing the small mountain of plastic bags into the lighter shell. Sid helped me waterproof and paint the new exterior. I worked late into the night, right up until it was time to haul it onto the trailer our friend Clay let us borrow.

The final sculpture in its temporary home at Confluence Park.

On show day, it took hours to maneuver the sculpture onto the trailer. But eventually we were ready to drive it out into the world. I followed behind and watched this giant creation slowly make its way from my home to Confluence—one of the most stressful 10-minute drives of my life, including all four of my kids learning to drive. When we arrived, a police officer on patrol stepped out to help us unload. Two more men, one out for a jog, one who’d been fishing, appeared out of nowhere to help, too.

After I made some small repairs, Sid and I had just enough time to clean up and eat before heading back for the opening reception. It was an evening I’ll never forget. Friends were waiting when we arrived, and more came throughout the night. Stable Hall and KRTU sponsored live music and DJs, a projection artist lit up the park’s beautiful columns, and artists and community members came out in droves to celebrate the web of music and art and nature that could only be experienced there in that moment, in that place.

This gigantic undertaking didn’t turn out quite like I imagined, but I succeeded in creating an incredible piece of art that will eventually be transformed into even more pieces—and I couldn’t have done it without the community around me. Here’s to dreaming up big, crazy ideas and having the courage to take each next step that will bring us closer to tethering them into reality—and carrying what we learn from them into the next wild dream.