Dean C. Graf's Uploads

Quick sketches for the processing of incomplete thoughts. Everything is created twice, first in thought, second in form. I am still thinking and still forming and still being formed.

We know God has a sense of humor because He says 'be anxious for nothing' and then he gives you kids.

Observation

He was aggressive.

Observation of people and ideas

Church sketch

What happens if you really only look in the mirror, and not at the paper?

Observation while waiting.

Ebony. Contour Line. 4 minutes.

An exercise in observation - quick sketch. I was told that if I made a drawing a day for 365 days, that in a year, I might have a couple nice drawings.

Notes from an early teaching moment.

A quick sketch filled in later with charcoal and ebony pencil. "The sweetness and delights of the resting-place are in proportion to the pain endured on the Journey. Only when you suffer the pangs and tribulations of exile will you truly enjoy your homecoming." -Rumi

I think that sometimes 'waiting' is the hardest thing to do. If you have a place to hang your coat and you have a rich inner life, you will be fine waiting. I was waiting to be seen by my doctor. A general check-up. The prognosis is that I am getting older and I need to lose weight. OK then. Thank you.

Behold the Chair (inspired by Wendell Berry) Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. The chair does not strive. It does not speak loudly. It simply is— ready to receive, to hold what comes, to honor the silence. This drawing does not shout. It listens. It does not disturb the quiet— it joins it. Like a prayer whispered to the One who listens back, this mark is a presence, not a performance.

Sometimes, a good goodbye is also a fresh hello. As we wrapped up our "Sacred Spaces" paintings, I asked our student teacher to design a one-day project—something playful, earthy, and engaging to ease the class into her care. She brought mud. Literally. Using mud and simple stencils, students pressed images—flowers, insects, wings—onto the sidewalk behind our school. There's something timeless about making marks with the ground itself. It felt ancient and immediate at the same time. These prints won’t last long, but maybe that’s the point. A fleeting image, a shared laugh, a new hand guiding the next phase of learning. Art is about making marks. Not all of them need to be permanent.

This is no landscape you could ever stand in. No observational drawing, no safe horizon line. This chalk experiment is a dream unfolding in color: a golden field lit from within, a scarlet seam of fire at its edge, and a storm-heavy sky pressing down with ancient weight. It feels like a place between worlds—where the conscious and unconscious meet, where memory and imagination blur. Some might see a battlefield, others a meadow after rain, and still others a veil between life and death. That is the beauty: the painting does not tell you what it is; it invites you to confess what you see. Psychologists say we project ourselves onto images like these. So—what do you notice first? The light? The darkness? The burning red? Perhaps that is not about the drawing at all, but about you.

So much noise presses in— screens, engines, endless chatter. But silence is not gone; it waits in a turned page, in breath, in light, in the hush between sounds.

Sometimes wisdom comes in a joke, and sometimes laughter carries truth. Brian spoke like a sage, Mike answered like a friend, and together they held the room. We draw to remember. Not only the lines of faces, but the presence of goodness, the gift of voices that echo long after the chairs are empty.

Three trunks rising from one root, steady and separate yet belonging. The little bush at their base reminds me that life gathers in layers—quiet companions at the feet of giants. A simple contour line holds it all, the way a moment holds both strength and tenderness.