A jester crown sits crooked atop Hoodie Boy’s head—not in triumph, but defiance. Bruised but unbowed, he stands at the center of a chaotic chorus of pop culture ghosts and childhood echoes. Charlie Brown’s “Good Grief” floats nearby like a sigh too familiar. Inspector Clouseau stumbles through the margins, clueless to the cruelty. Keith Haring’s radiant baby beams in contrast, a symbol of innocence lost.
This painting is a riot of color and commentary, channeling Basquiat’s raw energy but swapping royalty for jesters, heroes for survivors. Scribbled phrases, fractured symbols, and cartoon fragments swirl around Hoodie Boy like the noise of a thousand taunts. Yet he remains—scraped, scuffed, but still standing.
Bullied is not just a portrait. It’s a protest. A memory. A mirror.
