Dean C. Graf's Uploads

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.

A quick sketch from a memory of an encounter on a visit to Maine.

After family dinner - tired or not - a ten minute self portrait is our current family activity. Families who draw together, stay together.

It called to me on a rustic fall day. Doodling with watercolors.

Observational pencil sketch of bananas.

I used soft charcoal and a large sheet of newprint to depict this model in a life drawing class. He exuded a deep sadness and his poses seemed natural to his countenance. He was also very thin. “The bright side of the planet moves toward darkness And the cities are falling asleep, each in its hour, And for me, now as then, it is too much. There is too much world.” ― Czesław Miłosz, The Separate Notebooks

A quick gesture of a friend pouring over the financials. He epitomizes Ben Franklin's observation that "well done is better than well said."

I drew my school using vector tools in PowerPoint.

He helped me publish my first article. He encouraged us to be quick, light, and meticulous. He was a good soul. Sketched during lecture.

Drawing to see. Seeing in parts.

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

Health matters. A healthy person can have several goals. A sick person has one goal. Make good choices, because they will make you. Easy to say. Not always easy to do. Eat well. Move with intension. Read to learn. Meditate and pray, and receive from that. Do what I say, not what I do. This writing is for me, not you.

Color Pencil over Gesture. It was a contemplative day in the art classroom. Students were drawing self portraits and I had time to join them. Our discussion was on 'Reflection'. The image we see of ourselves in the mirror is not what people see when they look at us. They see the reverse. The mole on my cheek is on the other side of my face, if you were to look at me in person. This leads to discussions of perception and reality. It can be fun and humbling. We cannot live only by sight. We must have a faith of some sort. This reminds me of the Michael Feldman Public Radio Program called: "Whad'Ya Know?" It opens with the audience shouting: "Whad'd Ya Know?" and Michael replying: "Not Much! You?". We do not know much, I think, as much as we like to pretend that we think we do.

What happens in your life that causes you to be surprised? I have a friend who told me that no one is blind-sided. I also have a friend who tells me: 'The greatest lies we tell are the ones we tell ourselves'. It is easy to filter in a certain kind of lie that support these ideologies. I have a very valued friend who tells me that we live in an upside-down world. What is real? What is upside-down? Draw what you see. draw what you know. Be authentic. Peace.

Thank you Elaine for your input and expertise. You are a rich source of wisdom and possibilities in connecting art to wellness. I will let you know how this develops. -Dean Graf

4 year old Henry engaged fully with thick applications of watercolor and oil pastels. He said it was a stormy sea with a small boat. This was at the onset of the pandemic, when we were all a bit uncertain and confined to our homes. I was reminded of an insight by Kierkegaard written in the early 1800s: “When the sailor is out on the sea and everything is changing around him, as the waves are continually being born and dying, he does not stare into the depths of these, since they vary. He looks up at the stars. And why? Because they are faithful – as they stand now, they stood for the patriarchs, and will stand for coming generations. By what means then does he conquer changing conditions? Through the eternal: By means of the eternal, one can conquer the future, because the eternal is the foundation of the future.”

I have given my students the problem of creating 100 self portraits in 20 days on 5x7 in paper. The challenge is to create something other than an image that depicts a 'dead-pan' stare. When the brain is given a problem, it goes to work immediartely to solve that problem. I have seen some wonderful solutions. This is a tall order for teens who are sensative to judgment and still developing in thier perception. It has generated wonderful discussions of self-awareness, world view, and judgment. Those who engage in the exercise in an authentic manner have only good things to say about the experience. It is not an exercise for everyone. We are on a journey. Be Bold! Be Honest! Draw what you see. Draw what you think. -Peace

Lighthouses offer a plethora of possibilities for metaphors. This was an exercise in composition and uses for watercolor.

Learning to see through drawing. It is a form of therapy.

I am an art teacher with a master’s degree—trained by brilliant professors who believed that art could do more than decorate walls. I offer safe spaces for teenagers to grow—nourishing soil where their imaginations can take root. And yet… I am assigned to hallway duty. This is compulsory education, after all. So I sit—posted like a sentinel—watching young lives stream past. “Get to class,” I say with a smile and a nudge. The system wants attendance; I’m hungry for presence. Armed not with a whistle or clipboard, but with a pen— my scribble’s soft insurgency. The hallway stretches out like a geometric hymn. Columns and corners chant structure. Teenagers swirl past—half-formed galaxies of limbs and laughter— their orbits chaotic, their gravity pulling time forward. I begin to draw. Not their tardiness, but their motion. A shoulder. A blur of sneakers. A tilted head chasing freedom. Feet flickering like seconds. Each mark a pulse. Each smudge a breath. My paper becomes a seismograph of seeing— trembling gently through the mundane. This isn’t about making art for a frame or a feed. It’s about refusing to leak away in the fluorescent hum of obligation. It’s a quiet mutiny against the clock. I do this on long car rides, too (passenger side, mind you). Letting the lines grow wild, jagged, and unapologetic. Not for polish— but for presence. This is how I remember I’m still alive. Still growing. Still watching. Still choosing to see. Because sometimes mental health looks like a piece of scrap paper, a moving pen, and the simple, sacred act of marking time with wonder.