Graphic Design

Tears builds worlds, not images. Across nine pieces, the same universe keeps appearing: the same face, the same name, the same hand. Every piece feels like it was pulled from one continuous place. Because it was. That's the world-building: not a series of artworks but a single mythology under construction, where each new piece adds another room to the house. You don't look at these pieces. You walk into them.

The color is the first thing that hits, and it's deliberate. High-contrast grounds, black or bare paper, with one hot accent committed all the way. Red most of all: blood, the heart, the name itself. But the range is real. Burnt orange for the loud pieces, deep green for the confessional ones, purple-pink washes, acid yellow tags. Never muddy, never timid. One hue per piece, pushed to its limit. The color isn't decoration; it's the emotion made visible before you read a single word. Pick any piece. The color tells you how to feel before the image tells you what you're seeing.

And there's no fear here. One piece is a chaotic sticker-bomb with Mickey Mouse and a dragon; the next is a quiet, mostly-typographic letter set like scripture. Watercolor bleeds sit next to hard graffiti tags. Japanese kimono florals share space with parental advisory stickers and Supreme logos. Portraiture, poetry posters, night-drive cover art, editorial spreads. New modes get tried constantly. What keeps it from scattering is the system underneath: the distress, the palette discipline, the confessional text. So every experiment still reads instantly as Tears.

two confessions, same hand.

then, the heart.

Because underneath all of it, the work is deeply, almost recklessly emotional. The letters, the poems, the accusations. Vulnerability isn't a theme here, it's the material. Grief, devotion, love as permanence, death carried openly. The pieces bleed because the artist does. That's what holds the world together: not a style, but a feeling too big for one body, built out into a universe big enough to hold it.

A decade plus in the Adobe suite, and this is what it buys: a piece composed like a studio job. The grading, the type, the finish, every tool in the kit firing at once. But the hand behind it is still restless, still the same kid who learned the software just to break its rules. That is the testament here. Not a style perfected, but a style constantly recut. Ten years of curation. The tools got sharper. The hunger never dulled.

taking a feeling too big for a body and building a world big enough to hold it.