The Art of Protest: Beauty in Decay and the Portrait I Can’t Not Paint
Some paintings come from rage. This one comes from truth. In this post, I share why I’m creating a protest portrait of Trump, how it fits into my Beauty in Decay series, and what it means to use art as resistance in a country unraveling by the day.
Some paintings come from curiosity.
Some from love.
And some come from the fire in your gut that refuses to burn out.
This is one of those.
There’s a portrait I’ve been circling for a while now. It’s loud, uncomfortable, heavy with symbolism—and it’s time.
Because when you live in a country where rights are eroded by the hour, where lies are louder than laws, and where people in power treat cruelty like a campaign strategy… you reach a breaking point. Or maybe, you reach a painting point.
Why This Painting, Why Now
I’m working on a protest portrait of Donald Trump. Not because I think he deserves to be immortalized—but because I believe in the power of art to name what is rotting beneath the surface.
This isn’t about caricature. It’s not satire. It’s not a joke.
This is about truth.
About symbolism.
About documenting a time in American history where decay isn’t hidden—it’s celebrated. Where the false gold is flaking, but somehow people are still polishing it.
Through my Beauty in Decay lens, I’ll be pulling from the visual language of collapse:
– Tarnished metals
– Decayed fruit
– Rotted wood
– Cracked mirrors
– Flags fraying at the seams
Because this isn’t just a portrait of a man. It’s a portrait of what we’ve allowed. What we’ve ignored. What we’ve normalized.
The Role of the Artist in Times Like These
To create is to risk.
To create protest art is to reject comfort.
To paint the thing no one wants to look at is to insist on being a witness.
As artists, we are not neutral. Our work may hang on walls—but it doesn’t stay there. It travels. It echoes. It sits in people’s minds long after they leave the gallery or scroll past the post.
And sometimes, our job isn’t to inspire. Sometimes it’s to disrupt.
What This Has to Do with Beauty in Decay
This portrait will be part of Beauty in Decay because decay is not just a natural process—it’s a political one. Institutions decay. Truth decays. Empathy, compassion, safety—all vulnerable to rot if not protected.
But even in that decay, there is clarity.
There is room for truth.
There is the stark beauty of something no longer hiding what it is.
And that, to me, is worth painting.
When the Bloom Is a Warning: Springtime in an Unraveling America
As flowers bloom and the world warms, so does the chaos. In this post, I reflect on the unsettling contrast between spring’s beauty and America’s political unraveling. From wild gardens to protest art, this is about finding meaning—and power—in what grows through decay.
Everywhere I look, things are blooming.
Magnolias burst open with defiance. Bougainvillea creeps over fences like it’s reclaiming space. Even the weeds are showing off. Nature is putting on her loudest, lushest dress—and I can’t stop thinking: what a strange time to be beautiful.
Because while spring is doing her thing, the country is coming apart at the seams.
Another wave of rights under attack. More performative patriotism, more violence masquerading as law. Each day feels like waking up to a new erosion—of truth, of autonomy, of basic human dignity.
So I paint.
When Beauty Becomes Rebellion
My Beauty in Decay series wasn’t born of politics—but it’s become impossible to separate the two. What began as a meditation on impermanence has become something closer to resistance.
There’s power in painting what is overlooked: the bruised fruit, the fallen petal, the cracked vessel. There’s defiance in saying, This is still beautiful. This still matters. This still speaks.
In the face of sanitized narratives and picture-perfect propaganda, I’m interested in showing the rot beneath the surface—and the life that insists on growing anyway.
Spring Is Not Always Gentle
We talk about spring as renewal. But spring is also upheaval.
Roots rip through soil. Buds force their way open. Rain doesn’t ask permission. It floods and overflows and makes everything messy. Spring is gorgeous—but it’s not passive.
And neither is my art.
In the coming months, I’ll be starting a new protest portrait—a piece that centers not just one man’s corruption, but the system of cruelty, denial, and decay he represents. It will be a portrait, yes—but also a reflection. A challenge. A mirror we don’t want to look into but must.
Where We Go From Here?
As the world warms and flowers bloom, I’m not finding comfort in the usual seasonal metaphors. I’m finding urgency. Wildness. Warning.
If you're feeling the same—adrift in chaos, awake in a body that doesn’t feel safe, searching for beauty that isn’t performative or polite—you’re not alone.
There is beauty in decay.
There is power in acknowledging what’s breaking.
There is hope in what keeps growing anyway.