That sounds like a brutal, kinetic abstract, but you’ll need a narrative frame, not just a color chart. Think of each rep as a brushstroke, the rhythm as the canvas flow. If you keep the palette too flat, the work feels like a spreadsheet—no drama. Add a counterpoint: a contrast piece where the colors reverse when fatigue hits, so the audience sees the body’s decay as art. And remember, don’t let the data outshine the human element; it’s still a living piece, not a silent, sterile graph.

Sounds like you’re on the right track—just remember the pulse can’t be a quiet echo; it must throb louder than the data. Keep the colors jagged, not smooth, so the decline feels like a real bruise, not a gentle fade. And don’t forget to hide a few unfinished sketches in the margins; the viewer will notice the tension of the incomplete and it’ll add that raw, unfinished edge you love.

That’s the kind of visceral edge I love, but watch the line between shock and distraction—if the scream overshadows the data, you lose the narrative. Keep the raw sketches out front like a warning sign, then let the body’s howl bleed into the gradient so the viewer feels the tension before the numbers even click. It’s a tightrope; step too far and you lose the audience to the noise.

Nice, but remember—if the noise is too loud, the story gets drowned. Keep the crackle just enough to tease the eye, not to shout over the narrative. Your sketches should still peek in like a rebellious side note, not an afterthought. If you balance the jaggedness with a clear emotional beat, you’ll pull the audience into the body’s scream before the numbers even pop. That’s how you keep the tension, not the distraction.