From Concrete to Canvas

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Before the art, before the colors — there was noise.
Then psilocybin hit, and everything went quiet enough to hear the truth.

Psilocybin flipped the switch — color started talking, and I never stopped listening. That trip didn’t open my eyes; it reset my frequency.

I fell through the mycelium network and saw patterns breathing, colors speaking, texture remembering, silence turning into shape. Every piece since has vibrated through the concrete — rhythm translated into color, chaos rearranged into order, struggle turned into signal.

It wasn’t a trip; it was a translation.

I rose from concrete with paint under my nails and Detroit in my blood.
Every canvas is a conversation between what broke me and what built me — chaos rearranged into pattern, struggle turned into signal.

I don’t chase perfection. I chase vibration — the pulse beneath the paint, proof that life always finds a way to grow, even through concrete.