In “Social Exhaustion,” Mihai Mârza orchestrates a visual crescendo of tension, where pop-outlined figures clash and collapse into one another, forming a crowded portrait of contemporary fragility. Saturated colors collide with distorted expressions, turning the canvas into a feverish echo chamber of overstimulation and emotional depletion. The figures—bright, cartoonish, yet visibly unraveling—seem caught mid-performance, their exaggerated features contorted between smile and scream. Faces overlap like browser tabs left open too long, each one demanding attention, none given the space to breathe. The repetition is not rhythmic but relentless, a symptom of presence without intimacy, of expression worn to exhaustion. Mârza’s palette is synthetic and searing: electric pinks, harsh yellows, anxious blues. These colors don’t soothe—they buzz, they glare, they press against the eye like too much screen time. It’s beauty pushed to burnout, charm weaponized by repetition. “Social Exhaustion” isn’t just a commentary—it’s a confession. A reflection on how identity splinters under constant exposure, how the need to be seen becomes the reason we disappear. In this painting, Mârza captures the moment where the mask doesn’t fall off—it melts. With this work, he delivers a striking meditation on performance, presence, and the silent ache of always being “on.” It is a painting that doesn’t whisper its message—it radiates it, pulsing with the kind of fatigue only those who've smiled too long will truly recognize.