“Young Tre” captures a face the world came to know, but should have never had to.

This piece reflects Trayvon Martin as he was, young, full of life, and simply existing. The image references the widely recognized photograph of him in his red Hollister shirt, a reminder that before he became a symbol, he was a son, a brother, a child.

On February 26, 2012, Trayvon Martin, a 17-year-old unarmed Black teenager, was walking back from a convenience store in a gated community in Sanford, Florida, when he was followed by a neighborhood watch volunteer, George Zimmerman, who deemed him “suspicious.”
That interaction led to a confrontation, and ultimately, Trayvon was shot and killed. He was doing nothing more than walking home.

This piece lives in the Trauma section because the weight of that moment extends far beyond a single incident. Trayvon’s death was not isolated. It exposed a deeper reality, one where perception, fear, and bias can turn everyday existence into a life-threatening situation.

What makes this piece personal is the undeniable truth that Trayvon could be anyone. A son. A brother. Someone I love. Someone you love.

It speaks to a pattern that has continued over time, where Black lives are too often lost in encounters with individuals in positions of authority or those emboldened by systems that fail to hold them accountable. Laws, structures, and narratives have, at times, provided protection for those responsible, while families are left to carry the grief.

“Young Tre” is not just a portrait. It is a confrontation.

It asks the viewer to see him fully, not as a headline, not as a case, but as a human being whose life was taken too soon.

And in that recognition, it asks a harder question, how many more?