King Charles from New Orleans is photographed by Nixon in this series published by PSB #projectskinnyboys

King Charles doesn’t ease into a room—he arrives. Even in stillness, there’s a kind of rooftop energy to him, like he’s one step from climbing the fire escape just to feel more sky on his skin.

Across this series, his body moves from coiled to expansive: knees braced on a chipped chair, spine arched over the rug, hands pressed into the floor like he’s testing just how far his frame can radiate. The ink across his chest and arms reads like its own testimony, prayers and names stretched over lean muscle, turning everything he’s carried into visible scripture.

The window shots feel like the place his story has been walking toward for a long time—a Black boy the world once told to shrink now standing high in the frame, fabric whipping around him like a flag he stitched himself. There’s no mistaking him for background here; the room, the light, the city line all bend around his outline.

For anyone ever told their body was “too much” and “not enough” in the same breath, King Charles offers another option: climb up anyway, claim your corner of sky, let your ribs, your ink, your wild posture spell your own crown. Stand tall. Let the room adjust to you.