Roughly two years ago, Antonio Brown started working on a canvas of grievances.
It was a wildly abstract and unquestionably messy passion of the mercurial NFL wideout, with social media contours aimed wherever his jarring bursts of emotion took him. It was almost a form of attack art — rarely aspiring toward the deft precision of Michelangelo but always leaning into the all-angles aggression of Jackson Pollock.
Through it all, one undeniable interpretation emerged about Antonio Brown: His residue of anger was unpredictable, capable of splattering critics, allies, friends or strangers. On Twitter and Instagram and any digital spotlight in between, he recreated himself as an indignant expressionist who was both martyr and muse.