Part monkey, part giraffe, part fever dream — the figure stands draped in contradictions. A tilted party hat rests above eyes half-closed in weary amusement, while golden hoops and chains hint at a crownless royalty. Coiling around the elongated neck, a green serpent hisses, its fangs framing the ruler’s silent decree.
In one corner, a crimson crab crawls across invisible air; in another, a skeletal hand throws a sign that is part rebellion, part greeting. Tentacles flow where hair should be, defying gravity and logic alike. Behind it all, colors clash in loud, impossible harmony — yellow slicing into fuchsia, teal pressing against black.
“King of Nowhere” wears no throne, commands no army, yet presides over a kingdom made entirely of the surreal. It is a portrait of power stripped of sense, and of a world that laughs at the need for reason.
