The Boulevard of my Brain

Every thought at once, and none of them waiting their turn. Neon pinks, electric blues, greens and orange collide across the surface in brushmarks, spray, splatter and ribbons of white that cut through the noise like headlights.

Sprayed circles surface everywhere, the same thought coming round again. Black splatter falls across all of it, the static that never quite switches off.

It is not a chaotic painting. It is an accurate one. This is the traffic inside a mind that does not idle, rendered at full volume and refusing to apologise for it.

Symbolic language

• Neon collision, overstimulation held as colour rather than complaint.
• Sprayed circles, the loops, the thoughts that keep returning.
• White ribbons, the through-line you follow to stay on the road.
• Black splatter, the static underneath everything.

Some minds are quiet streets. This one is a boulevard at rush hour, and it is glorious.