The Story Behind: Infatuation

Art can be many things—a mirror reflecting the artist’s soul, or a map leading to something the artist didn’t even know they were searching for. Lucid Wet Dreams: Infatuation was absolutely the latter for me. At a time when desire felt like a distant memory, this project became a way to thaw out the ice that had taken hold of my passions. It was deeply personal, yet I made the bold choice to put my private thoughts and cravings on public display.

But let me back up, because this project didn’t exactly start out this way. Like most things in life, it had a rocky and somewhat chaotic beginning.

The first iteration of this project was supposed to be a modern twist on my earlier watercolor series, Her Lips, His Eyes. The concept was simple: I’d revisit past experiences with partners, crafting each piece as if it were a text message written directly to them. To accompany these “modern letters,” I planned to create art inspired by scenes from various adult films, with fully painted women contrasted against sketched-out male figures. It was raw, provocative, and, in hindsight, doomed from the start.

Why? Because social media loves drama, and I underestimated its power to twist narratives. When I teased the project with some mock text messages, they looked a little too real. People thought I’d actually sent these biting, emotionally charged messages to unsuspecting women. Some got it—art is art—but the internet doesn’t do nuance. The backlash was swift, and my carefully crafted narrative spiraled out of control.

To make matters worse, the art itself didn’t sit right with me. The painted and sketched figures clashed in ways I couldn’t resolve, and my personal life complicated things even further. Reconnecting with an ex and starting a new relationship made revisiting old flames feel, well, awkward. So, I scrapped the whole thing and moved on—or so I thought.

Fast-forward to the end of that relationship, and I found myself in a dark place. My sex drive was nonexistent, and I lacked the emotional maturity to figure out why. I just knew I wanted to feel something again. A conversation with someone I’d once shared a fiery connection with lit a small spark, and I realized I needed an outlet. That’s when I stumbled upon the remnants of my failed project.

This time, things were different. My skills had improved, my painting style had evolved, and I had a clearer vision. I decided to rebuild the project from the ground up.

The art took center stage this time. I drew inspiration from women who had stirred that intense, undeniable feeling of lust in me. The sketches of adult scenes became the background—an idea sparked by the women in the paintings, rather than the main focus. The painted figures now took precedence, with a splash of color nodding to my previous projects. Suddenly, everything clicked.

The writing, too, shifted. It wasn’t about past experiences anymore; it was about the raw, unfiltered desires these individuals inspired in me. No sugarcoating. No holding back. I set the mood—images of these muses on my TV, dim lighting, a clear mind—and let my feelings pour out. In those moments, I wasn’t crafting a project; I was confessing truths I’d never dared to speak.

I even invited anonymous submissions and included a few pieces written about me. It added another layer to the project—desire as both giver and receiver.

Once the writing was done, I paired it with the artwork. Some pieces reflected the same person; others combined different desires that fit together like puzzle pieces. The result was stunning. It didn’t reignite my passion in the way I’d hoped—many of those desires faded before the project was even finished—but the process was cathartic, and the final product was beautiful.

To this day, Lucid Wet Dreams: Infatuation remains my favorite project. It wasn’t perfect, and it didn’t fix everything, but it taught me something invaluable: art doesn’t have to solve your problems. Sometimes, it’s enough for it to just exist—and to remind you that you’re still capable of feeling something, even when everything else feels numb.

View the entire project HERE

The Story Behind: Sorry

Let’s get one thing straight: Art isn’t born from Pinterest-perfect moments. It’s forged in chaos. Think dishonesty, bad decisions, and the kind of heartbreak that makes you blast sad songs until your neighbors bang on the wall. Let me take you back to the messy, cringe-worthy, weirdly beautiful storm that birthed two of my most iconic paintings—and the personal revolution they forced me into. 

Picture this: a cramped Brooklyn apartment. Fall leaves outside, frosty silence inside. My (now-ex) girlfriend sits on my bed, arms crossed, as 6lack’s East Atlanta Love Letter oozes from my speakers like a moody soundtrack. We’d just had the fight—the kind where “I’m sorry” feels useless and every word digs the hole deeper. Our issues? My immaturity. My sketchy choices. My art—which she called “avoidance,” and I called “therapy.”  

Normally, painting while she read or scrolled was our thing—”parallel play”, cozy as sweatpants. But that day? The vibes were radioactive. So, what did I do? I started painting a man drowning. Subtle, right?  

Every brushstroke screamed what I couldn’t say aloud: ”I’m sinking.” Between us? A minefield of white lies, half-truths, and my desperate attempts to “keep the peace” (avoid accountability). The more I layered blues and grays, the more she unraveled. By the time the canvas dried, she was gone. And honestly? Good for her.  

But here’s the plot twist: That angsty painting blew up. Like, ”Can I Venmo you for a custom drowning guy??” blew up. It sold prints, got featured, even stolen at a show once (shoutout to the chaotic art thief who lowkey validated me).  

Funny thing, though—I hated it. To me, it wasn’t art. It was a receipt for every time I’d failed—as a partner, a man, an artist. A reminder I wasn’t “talented enough,” just trauma-dumping in watercolor.

Life’s weird. That ex? We’re cool now—actual friends, no toxicity. The drowning man painting? Still hangs in strangers’ homes, still haunting me. But six years later, I finally faced the canvas again. This time? No lies. No sinking. Just growth.  

I remade the piece with sharper lines, bolder colors, and a figure not drowning but rising—still flawed, but fighting. This version? I hung it in my room. No shame, no cringe. Just pride. 

That first painting wasn’t “bad.” It was raw. Unfiltered. A time capsule of who I was—so I could meet who I am. Turns out, people don’t connect with “perfection.” They connect with the ugly, awkward, “human” stuff we’re all hiding.  

So, to every artist cringing at their old work: keep it. Let it remind you that growth isn’t pretty. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and loud—like a 6lack album on repeat at 2 a.m.  

And hey—if your chaos inspires someone to Venmo you? Bonus.  

*P.S. If you see a suspiciously familiar drowning man painting in a Brooklyn thrift store…let me know, I got hands ready for someone*

The Story Behind: Natural Mess

Some paintings tell stories, but a rare few are the story. For me, Natural Mess is one of those rare pieces—a work of art that spans my entire watercolor journey. It’s a tale of triumph and heartbreak, growth and loss, pain and renewal. Walk with me as I retrace its winding path.

It began during a charity art show I’d been invited to participate in. In the chaos of setup, I decided to work on a new painting right there at the venue—a bold choice since I’d never painted in front of people before. The brushstrokes came together quickly, almost like the piece had been waiting to escape my soul. By the time the show opened, the painting wasn’t even dry, its edges curling slightly from the wetness. It was raw, imperfect, yet beautiful.

I didn’t intend to sell it. Usually, I like to live with my art for a while—admire it, learn from it, understand it fully. But as I sat in a corner with the still-wet painting, a woman approached, captivated by what she saw. She asked if she could buy it. My instinct was to say no, but this was a charity event, and her enthusiasm was undeniable. So, I named a price, and she paid it directly to the event staff. Just like that, she took the painting home, still damp with my fingerprints.

The joy of helping the cause should have been enough, but I couldn’t shake the emptiness that followed. I hadn’t even had time to appreciate the painting for what it was. All I had was a single photo of it. The loss gnawed at me for months.

A year later, I decided to reclaim that feeling. The original was inspired by a follower on Twitter, so I turned to her best friend for the new version. I wanted the second painting to have a deep connection to the first, almost like siblings. This time, I made a solemn promise: I would never sell it. This painting would stay with me until the very end of my life. That vow, as it turns out, would shape my life in ways I never could have imagined.

Fast forward two years. The world shut down as a pandemic swept through, and like so many others, I had to adapt. I moved in temporarily with my on-again, off-again partner, leaving the painting—my most cherished piece—at her place for safekeeping.

When that relationship unraveled, it did so violently. Without diving too deep into the pain of it, I’ll say this: recovering the painting became a mission. Leaving it behind wasn’t an option. I knew I couldn’t trust its safety in her hands.

What followed was a battle of wills. Ownership of the painting became a flashpoint in our final, heated argument. The painting symbolized something deeper for both of us, and neither was willing to concede. When I finally retrieved it, the confrontation turned physical. Bruised and shaken, I left with the painting clutched tightly in my hands, knowing I’d made the right choice.

In the aftermath, I learned that the other pieces I’d left behind—sketches, paintings, creative fragments of my soul—had been burned. Destroyed. They were lost forever. But Natural Mess survived. It was worth every bruise, every tear.

Two more years passed. With time, therapy, and the love of a healthier life, I healed. Now, in my new home, the second version of Natural Mess hangs proudly—a symbol of resilience, growth, and everything I’ve endured.

But the story wasn’t finished. I knew it was time to revisit the piece one final time. The first painting marked the beginning of an era. The second, created during my artistic prime, was its peak. And now, as I reflect on the journey, I feel ready to close this chapter with a new version that represents an ending.

Natural Mess isn’t just a painting. It’s a part of me, a testament to survival, creativity, and the power of holding on to what matters most.

The Story Behind: The Wink

I’m thrilled to announce a new exclusive series for this site: The Story Behind. This weekly series will dive deep into the origins of my paintings, offering an intimate, behind-the-scenes look at how each piece came to life. These stories will uncover the inspiration, process, and unexpected twists that shaped the work—and sometimes, how the world responded to it.

To kick things off, the first painting was chosen at random, and it’s one that holds a wild and hilarious backstory. Let me reintroduce you to…

Backshots: The Wink

Part of the “Backshots” duo, The Wink is also tied to a secret series I started in 2020, featuring a close friend of mine. It began with a full-body commissioned painting of her, which quickly evolved into a series capturing various parts of her body. By the time this piece came to life, I’d already painted nearly all of her. Naturally, we joked about what was “left,” and she teased that her butthole was next. A little later, she actually sent me a reference photo—and it was too funny not to paint.

I didn’t think this piece would garner much attention. My audience, largely women, didn’t seem like the crowd for something as cheeky (pun intended) as The Wink. But art has a funny way of surprising you.

One morning, I woke up to a flood of notifications—hundreds of new followers and messages across all my socials. Confused but curious, I soon discovered the source: a host on Barstool Sports’ The Yak had mentioned my work during a segment. For entertainment’s sake, he massively oversold the “wildness” of my page, but that 5-minute shoutout caused an explosion of interest.

It completely changed the landscape of my following—from 96% women to 64%—and catapulted The Wink to become my most-loved painting. Its prints outsell anything else I’ve made, and I like to joke that it’s probably the only one of my works proudly displayed in homes across middle America.

So, there you have it—the unconventional, hilarious, and slightly scandalous story behind The Wink. Stay tuned for next week’s entry, where I’ll pull back the curtain on another piece.

What did you think of The Wink’s story? Let me know in the comments—I’d love to hear your thoughts!