I am Remington Braninburg—artist, father, coder, convict, addict, fighter, brother, survivor. I am the stationary timewalker who has lived a thousand lives, who has seen the many shades of human experience and channels it into controlled chaos on canvas and code.
My art doesn't emerge from privilege or comfort. It bleeds from the intersection of bipolar fire and survival instinct, from the space between destruction and creation where most people fear to tread. I am the chaos artist who learned to code while homeless, who builds functional art from broken pieces, who transforms pain into beauty because destruction without creation is just waste.
This manifesto is not a business plan—it's a declaration of war against the sanitized art world that mistakes polish for power, against the systems that value conformity over authenticity, against the voices that whisper "you're not enough" to anyone who dares to create from the margins.
They call it scattered. I call it survival. When the world strips everything from you—your home, your stability, your illusions—you learn to build from whatever remains. Color theory becomes camouflage. Code becomes shelter. Art becomes oxygen.
I am the polymath who refuses to be contained by their categories. I paint with the urgency of street art and the precision of digital design. I build websites that burn bright. I create functional art that serves a purpose beyond decoration—mannequin lamps shot full of holes, speaking truths about objectification and violence that pretty paintings never could.
The Disciplines of Chaos:
Traditional Art: Painting, drawing, sketch work that captures the raw human experience
Digital Creation: Web design, game development, NFT collections. digital art that bridges old and new
Functional Art: Three-dimensional pieces that serve, provoke, and challenge
Urban Expression: Graffiti, street art, the vocabulary of rebellion made visible
Written Word: Stories, manifestos, the architecture of thought made concrete
Each discipline feeds the others. The code informs the composition. The street art gives permission to the canvas work. The writing provides the framework for everything else. This is not chaos—this is symphony conducted by a mind that refuses to be silenced.
They want to medicate the fire. I want to harness it. The same neural pathways that can destroy me in darkness become the engine of creation in light. Bipolar disorder isn't my limitation—it's my amplifier.
In the manic phases, I become unstoppable. I teach myself entire coding languages in weeks, paint for eighteen hours straight, see connections that neurotypical minds miss. In the depressive phases, I dive deep into the human experience, create work that resonates with authentic pain, understand the weight of existence in ways that surface-level artists never will.
My art is bipolar art—it swings between extremes, refuses middle ground, demands attention. It's saturated colors and stark contrasts, beauty and ugliness coexisting, creation and destruction dancing together. This is not instability—this is expanded emotional range translated into visual language.
Everything I create is ultimately for her—my daughter, whose admiration keeps me breathing on the darkest nights. She doesn't need to see me as perfect. She needs to see me as persistent. She needs to know that creativity survives everything, that art is the ultimate rebellion against circumstances that try to define us.
I build treehouses and paint walls and write code because I want her to understand that making something is always better than destroying something. That even when life strips away your home, your stability, your safety net, you can still create. You can still matter. You can still transform pain into beauty.
My art is my legacy to her—not the finished pieces, but the process. The proof that humans can create under any circumstances, that imagination is the one thing they can never take away, that love expressed through creation is the most powerful force in existence.
My visual language emerges from the intersection of street art urgency and digital precision. I work in the Patrick Nagel tradition—bold, saturated, iconic—but filtered through the lens of someone who has lived in their car, who understands that beauty must be functional to matter.
I paint women's faces in sections—lips, eyes, fragments of humanity blown up to monumental scale. Not objectification, but celebration. Not reduction, but amplification. I use colors that don't exist in nature—teal skin, orange shadows, electric blue tears—because reality is insufficient for expressing the full spectrum of human experience.
The Chaos Palette:
Saturated oranges and teals that vibrate against each other
Electric blues and hot pinks that demand attention
Deep blacks and stark whites that provide no middle ground
Metallic accents that catch light and throw it back transformed
Blood reds that speak to passion, violence, and life force
My brushstrokes are emotional—aggressive when I'm angry, delicate when I'm vulnerable, geometric when I'm trying to impose order on chaos. The canvas becomes a psychological landscape where every mark matters, where technique serves emotion rather than the reverse.
I learned to code out of necessity, but I create digital art out of rebellion. While others chase photorealism, I embrace the artificial. While they seek perfection, I celebrate the glitch. My digital work looks intentionally unfinished because completion is an illusion—everything is always in process, always becoming something else.
My websites prioritize expression over efficiency. My digital art pieces retain the hand-drawn quality because I refuse to let technology erase the human element. I build video games that tell stories about survival, about creativity, about the power of making something from nothing.
Technology is my tool, not my master. I use it to amplify authenticity, not replace it. Every pixel is placed with intention, every line of code serves the larger vision of creating work that matters to humans, not algorithms.
I bridge the gap between street art and gallery work because I understand both worlds. I've painted on walls with stolen spray paint and I've studied color theory in art books. I know the immediate impact of graffiti and the lasting power of canvas work. I refuse to choose between legitimacy and authenticity.
My graffiti work informs my gallery pieces—the urgency, the boldness, the understanding that art must compete with everything else for attention. My gallery work elevates my street art—the technique, the composition, the deeper exploration of themes that matter.
I create functional art because I need my work to serve multiple purposes. The mannequin lamp isn't just a sculpture—it's lighting, commentary, conversation starter, and survival tool. When you have nothing, everything you create must justify its existence through usefulness.
I monetize authenticity, not compromise. My print-on-demand stickers and t-shirts carry the same energy as my canvas work because I refuse to create throwaway designs. Every piece, whether it sells for $5 or $500, represents the same commitment to honest expression.
My target audience is everyone who has ever felt like an outsider, everyone who creates out of necessity rather than choice, everyone who understands that art is not decoration but communication. I don't seek mass appeal—I seek deep connection with people who recognize authenticity when they see it.
Revenue Streams of Rebellion:
Original paintings and mixed media works for collectors who value authenticity
Print-on-demand merchandise that makes the aesthetic accessible
Digital art and NFTs that bridge physical and virtual spaces
Commissioned functional art pieces for clients who want utility with beauty
Web design and development for businesses that value creative solutions
Success is not measured by sales alone but by impact. Every person who connects with my work, every young artist who sees possibility in my story, every moment when art serves its highest purpose of making humans feel less alone—these are the metrics that matter.
I am building a community of creators who understand that authenticity is more valuable than perfection, who know that the most powerful art emerges from the margins, who refuse to let circumstances define their creative possibilities.
This community includes other bipolar artists who channel their intensity into creation, other parents who create for their children, other survivors who transform trauma into beauty, other polymaths who refuse to be contained by categories, other rebels who understand that art is activism.
We support each other not through empty encouragement but through shared struggle, shared resources, shared commitment to creating work that matters. We celebrate each other's victories and learn from each other's failures. We understand that rising together is the only way any of us truly rise.
I am not building toward some distant moment of arrival. I am creating in the present, for the present, with the full understanding that the future is uncertain but creativity is constant. Every day I make something is a victory. Every piece that resonates with another human is a success.
My vision extends beyond personal success to cultural impact. I want to prove that authenticity has commercial value, that depth has market appeal, that the most powerful art comes from the places where polite society fears to look.
This manifesto is my declaration of intent, my commitment to creating work that matters regardless of circumstances, my promise to my daughter that creativity survives everything, my challenge to every artist who has ever felt like giving up.
I am Remington Braninburg. I am the chaos artist. I am still creating.
Join the chaos. Create from the margins. Make something that matters.