White and sanguine conte pencils on toned paper. These ruins captured my drawing itch with the quality of the light filtering brilliantly through the tangled growth outside, and the open shade within. At a metaphorical level, the image is about the sense of having a laborious path set in stone for me by custom, convention, and culture, while way is wide open to the chaotic fertility of nature, should I choose to follow my own feet and heart.
He loses himself in his own fur, when he’s utterly relaxed. Touch that fluffy belly so casually exposed, though, and you’re likely to get punctured. He doesn’t know he’s irresistibly soft.
For any of you missing the outdoors: Picture yourself sitting on the edge of the lake, dipping your toes in the cool water. Feel the wind whisk around you as the sun goes down. You can hear the birds chirping as they settle in for the night. And if you listen close enough, you can hear the old pines whispering tales and stories of the forest long ago. :)
Hello, my name is George Scott, 
