R'homan Skin Elements

This ain’t no “maybe one day” moment.
This ain’t no “I hope people like my art” moment.
This is real, it’s documented, it’s public, and it’s stamped.

Life Is A Game of Chess by K.M. Lewis
📚 Copyrighted.
📚 Registered.
📚 Library of Congress.
📚 Google-searchable.

My name.
My story.
My blood on the page.
My art in the world.

For years, life took and took and took from me — homes, cars, people, love, stability, peace.
But this right here?
This is the part of my life NOBODY can take.
I wrote my way through trauma, rebirth, heartbreak, confusion, silence, and survival.
Now it lives in the world as proof that I made it out loud.

And while all of THAT is happening…

I’m officially opening:

THE DIGITAL VAULT: R’HOMAN PRINTS FOR THE SOUL.

Visuals I created during my healing.
Textures pulled from my spirit.
Colorwork born from nights I didn’t think I’d make it.
Afro-surreal, emotional, vibrant, spiritual, intimate — all downloadable for you to print, altar, frame, or keep close.

And on December 14th, I’ll be at Trans Art Mart
selling:
✨ new resin pieces
✨ new scents
✨ new prints
✨ my self-published books
✨ and the work I’ve quietly been building behind the scenes

The water has been moving LONG before the splash.
Every night up working, creating, crying, healing.
Every whisper, every sketch, every scent blend, every page.
And now it’s rising to the surface.

I’m tired. I’m overstimulated. I’m overwhelmed.
But I’m still showing up for my art… because my art keeps showing up for me.

This is more than a book.
More than art.
More than a moment.

This is legacy.
This is rebirth.
This is K.M. Lewis, fully claimed.

Shop the vault.
Watch the journey.
Witness the work.
And if you feel led — support the artist.

Google me. The story’s already out there.
Now watch the next chapter unfold.

🖤♟️✨

Lately, I’ve been creating just to keep from breaking.
Resin, smoke, silence — whatever holds me long enough to breathe through another day.

Yeah, I got things to celebrate… big things. But truth be told, I don’t even feel like celebrating me right now. I’m just existing. Trying to survive. Trying to keep showing up for a life that keeps testing me.

I pour out into art because it’s the only space that listens back without interrupting.
It don’t ask questions. It don’t judge. It don’t disappear when I need it most.

So if you see me posting my work, just know it’s not about attention — it’s about healing in plain sight. I’m still grieving, still exhausted, still here.

**kItImHere