Before the world tells him what he cannot be, he already knows what he is. I painted him because I remember being him. That age when a bedsheet or towel was a cape and belief was the only currency you needed. Somewhere along the way we learn to keep our eyes open, to check the room, to shrink to fit the doorway. But the clouds behind him spread like wings anyway, quiet proof that the sky was always making room.
This one is for every Black boy who was told to come back down to earth. Stay up there. The air is yours.
Original Oil on canvas
30×24
Framed
Signed by Artist
Certificate of Authenticity
Before the world tells him what he cannot be, he already knows what he is. I painted him because I remember being him. That age when a bedsheet or towel was a cape and belief was the only currency you needed. Somewhere along the way we learn to keep our eyes open, to check the room, to shrink to fit the doorway. But the clouds behind him spread like wings anyway, quiet proof that the sky was always making room.
This one is for every Black boy who was told to come back down to earth. Stay up there. The air is yours.
Original Oil on canvas
30×24
Framed
Signed by Artist
Certificate of Authenticity