man on the moon collection
I’ve always lived among the stars. As a neurodivergent dreamer, I’ve used imagination as escape—and now, as an artist, as liberation. Through this collection, I channel daydreams and nightmares into digital odysseys, translating emotion into form and canvas into cosmos.
Man on the Moon II: Stargazer is a continuation of my exploration of Black identity through the lens of afrofuturism. At its root, afrofuturism is the unfettered belief that there are Black people in the future, existing in every form of who we are. Each piece invites you to navigate wonder, grief, joy, and possibility mapped across constellations of lived and inherited memory.
This exhibition is both a mirror and a launchpad. A space for reflection, transformation, and healing. A reminder that digital art is fine art. That our stories deserve the stars.
In the words of Caesar Cruz:
Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.
Welcome to Man on the Moon.
strings of adam
This piece is the prologue to the entire collection. Inspired by Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, I wanted to imagine what it means when one story ends and another begins. The fragile thread between divinity and humanity is where rebirth lives. With just the touch of God, we are reminded that life is not only creation but renewal. This is what life means—falling, reaching, and finding ourselves reborn in the spaces between.
spirit of optimism
This piece represents the first leap we take when entering a new world. For me, that leap was escapism. As someone living with neurodivergence, I found refuge in building alternate worlds when my own felt too heavy. These places were vast and beautiful, mirrors of the futures I longed to see outside of my reality. This journey begins with that leap—traveling to new worlds together, facing our fears, learning our truths, and embracing the futures that shape our present.
the sons of abraham
This piece is my ode to the Black man’s journey across time and history. I carry my grandfather within me, who carries his grandfather, who carries the greatest ancestor before him. Our DNA stretches beyond generations, moving through time and space. Within that journey there is struggle, but there is also tenderness. We are warriors and we are nurturers. We are explorers and we are dreamers. We are celestial beings, moving with our own kind of rhythm and style. This work is about holding all of that truth at once, about honoring the pain and the beauty that make us whole.
girl with the opal tooth
This was the first piece in the Man on the Moon collection, born in the stillness of the pandemic in 2021. At a time when the world felt quiet and uncertain, I wanted to create something radiant. Her smile, framed by a grill that holds an opal like a small universe, became a declaration of joy in the midst of darkness. She is a digital siren, illuminating a muted world with beauty, resilience, and light.
breathe deeper
This piece is my love letter to house music, to dance, to love, and to freedom wrapped in the spirit of femininity. I imagined two intergalactic DJs channeling light into a dark world through rhythm and joy, while celestial beings lift their voices in praise. It carries the pulse of garage music, the soul of futuristic Chicago ballroom, and the kind of beat that demands you let the music take over your body. I drew this listening to Breathe Deeper by Tame Impala, a song that reminded me to move without fear, to live without regret, and to always breathe deeper.
kaleidoscope
This is the hymn and the dance floor. The blur of queer joy and Baptist praise, once framed as opposites, now turning together like glass inside a scope. We praise in ballrooms. We clap in the pews. The church fan flickers like a scorecard for the walks of our life, while peonies bloom from our eyes at the sight of God. Stained glass bends light over the beat as bodies move in devotion, a baptism of rhythm. And then the signal stutters, the frame glitches, silence drops. For a moment we are suspended in color, waiting for the next note to return.
the arch that connects us
This piece was born from the space between grief and grace. Inspired by the Pieta, it reimagines that sacred moment of a mother holding her son after loss. A young man kneels over a mosaic of a Black mother cradling her child, surrounded by cardinals and yellow tulip petals, both symbols of guidance and renewal. Healing often feels like death before rebirth. When I began my own journey, it felt as if my inner child had died, and my mother mourned the version of me she once knew. Yet, within that mourning bloomed something new. The falling petals remind us that beauty still exists in the healing, and that gentle and divine help is always on the way.
viola atlantis ii
This piece is a reimagining of the first Viola Atlantis piece from my 2021 collection, AfroCare 2178, and revisits the idea of femininity through the lens of a cosmic diva surrounded by the women who shaped her. I think about the beauty rituals that kept the women in my life grounded: the hum of dryers, the smell of oil and heat, the laughter that filled the salon. Watching my mother, my sister, my grandmother, my aunts, and my friends transform through braids, twists, locs, and blowouts felt like witnessing small acts of rebirth. The salon has always been a temple of care, a place where I’ve witnessed Black women breathe new life into themselves and into each other.
newfoundland
This piece marks the beginning of a new journey. A young man crash lands on an unfamiliar earth, awakening to a landscape that feels both strange and sacred. Around him stand guardians inspired by the Mbuti tribe: children who guide the lost toward where they are meant to be found. They are led by a mysterious astronaut, a quiet force moving forward through uncertainty. From the grass, we see him rise like a giant in a new world, unsure yet ready. The air feels different and something about this planet feels alive. What we know for sure is that somewhere beyond the unknown, peace is waiting. Where do we go from here?
The procession
I grew up watching Black women carry the weight of the world, always holding everything together. With this piece, I wanted to imagine a different kind of journey. One where that weight transforms into something lighter, something cosmic. The pearls they carry transform into planets, no longer a burden but part of their orbit, their own universe. It’s a vision of freedom, of honoring their path while also releasing them from what was never theirs to hold. I drew this listening to A Seat at the Table by Solange and Sault, letting their music shape a softer, more liberated procession.
The burning of Charleston
This is one of the most personal pieces I have ever created. It began as a reckoning with my roots and the soil that shaped my family. A couple sits in a bed of pink sand, facing one another quietly, surrounded by time—both what has passed and what remains. Behind them stands the Palmer Plantation home in Charleston, South Carolina, a place I once saw as grand and beautiful before I understood the pain buried beneath its land. Now it burns, flames tearing through its pink walls as history meets its undoing. The fire frames the shadow of the old hanging tree that once stood near my grandmother’s house, a reminder of how close the past always is. Above them, an eclipse hovers, rare and breathtaking, freezing time as their love and resistance rise from the ashes.
Why are you running my love
This piece comes from the deepest corners of my memory. It is a conversation with my younger self, a return to the moments when I closed myself off from the world without knowing why. The painting shows a young boy running naked into the arms of the spiritual guardian from Newfoundland. He is not only running away—he is also running toward something greater. The fire behind him is not meant for destruction, but for purification. It represents the heat of healing, the burning away of shame, fear, and silence. This piece was hard to create, but necessary. It is a reminder that sometimes the fire we fear most is the same fire that sets us free.
moonwater
In MoonWater, love is no longer soft or singular, it is a collision. Two lovers, mid-motion, embody the duality of intimacy. This is the space where yearning meets resistance, freedom clashes with closeness, and forgiveness hovers beside forgetting. Souls captured in obsidian mineral shimmer like water under moonlight, while golden fractures hint at the beauty in breaking. Like the moon pulling the tides, love is a force. Relentless, tender, and turbulent. The push is as steady as the pull because just like the moon stirs the ocean, love stirs the soul.
Anchored angels
This piece is dedicated to my late grandparents, whose lives, although beautiful, were shaped by mental illness and addiction. They carried a weight they were never given the tools to release, and like many families, that weight echoed through generations. Through therapy, I began to understand my own neurodivergence and my struggle with alcohol—realizing how deeply our stories intertwined. For years, I felt as though I was drowning in the same ocean that once held them. But somewhere in the depths, I felt their hands find me. They released the anchor and helped me rise back toward the moonlight. This piece is about generational healing, about recognizing that even in our pain, we are never alone. We are anchored to our angels.
COME BACK
This piece is about reflection. After emerging from the ocean of my grief, I find myself standing on the shore. The super moon rises above me, and in its light, I see my own reflection being the man I was, the one who fell, the one who drowned. For the first time, I can look at him with understanding. I realize that the Man on the Moon is me. The waves feel softer now, the water no longer heavy but healing. This is the moment of return, where pain becomes peace and change begins to show itself in the reflection of who we have become.
man in the garden
This piece was inspired by Kendrick Lamar’s Man at the Garden and imagines what comes after the war within. The child who once fought so hard has laid down his armor. He sits at peace atop the Thinker’s stone throne, resting in the fountain with the weight finally lifted from his body. There is no crown here because he is not a king, not a warrior, not an alien, but a man. A soul who has been freed. In the garden of Eden, beneath the eternal moonlight, he holds the fruit of God in his hand. The air feels still, the water feels gentle and for the first time, he feels no pain.
angel’s prelude
A dedication to my mother. This portrait captures her as she waits for me at the end of healing. Her serene smile glows soft and luminous, the most beautiful sight I know. She reminds me that I can come home now. Now that the inner child is healed, the journey back begins. The sound of cardinals fills the crisp air, their song guiding me closer. I reach out, take her hand, and return home.
homecoming
Homecoming captures the final descent and return to earth. A man falls through the sky, no longer lost but guided by grace. The journey home is peaceful, joyous, like an angel returning to God’s throne after the work is done. Blue and pink skies bloom around him, speckled with Olympus clouds. With his Nike Blazers laced tight, he takes flight once more, ready to return to life carrying all that he has learned.
umdali (Sankofa)
The gift that is waiting when we get home is the love we have always known but maybe could not see. Umdali “the creator” is a dedication to my heart and what helps keep me going—my God kids. In a field, a beautiful family stands, love in their eyes, hope in their hearts, and power in their body. They represent everything that is dear to us and everything that we fight for. As you consider doing the work to heal, remember your Umdali, the things that create happiness and love for you. Because when you return home, that’s who’s waiting for you.