In BOO, Mihai Marza delivers a tightly coiled burst of energy and abstraction, taking the amorphous, volatile character and turning him into a visual riddle of form, color, and emotion. Fragmented, contorted, and layered in Marza’s unmistakable style, the character’s body is disassembled and recomposed—at once explosive and restrained, playful and ominous. The palette is bold and unnatural: candy pinks and bruised reds clash with acid greens, electric blues, and stark black contours. These saturated fields fight for dominance, mimicking Buu’s own volatile nature—part child, part chaos, part catastrophe. The character’s iconic facial features and gloved hands emerge only momentarily from the tangle of lines, suggesting both recognition and dissolution. Marza compresses space and flattens perspective, drawing the viewer into a kind of graphic vortex. The titular BOO reads not only as the name of the character but also as an utterance—a jump scare, a laugh, a gasp. It’s cartoon aggression distilled to its core emotional syllable. Rather than presenting Buu as a figure of power, Marza presents him as an experience—of fragmentation, of emotional overload, of identity in flux. The painting is less a portrait and more a detonation. It refuses stillness. Even the brushwork feels like an echo of impact. In BOO, Marza continues his exploration of pop mythologies not as fixed stories, but as emotional machinery. He treats these cultural figures not as icons but as containers—for rage, for fear, for absurd joy—and then breaks them open on canvas. BOO is a punch, a prank, a panic attack in color. It’s not about what you see— it’s about what hits you. And Marza ensures that hit lands with precision.