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Ply Head - Spraypaint on Wood

Added some black to this one...

Lindsey's prompt: Mermaid

Oil, Faith illuminates

Pencil and parallel pen.

Perched between silence and song, the blue jay waits—half mischief, half mystery.

Caitys prompt: Scorpion

Against the weight of a storm-dark sky, tender stems lean forward—some bending, some breaking, some still reaching. They hold their fire at the tips, waiting to bloom, waiting to burn, waiting to belong to light. Perhaps this is all of us: stretching through shadows, searching for the thin, golden line that divides earth from eternity.

It’s Edinburgh Festival season again, and the title of this one is very relevant!

Rest in power Ozzy Osbourne!

Acrylic painting Abandoned buildings

Neighbor's old barn

To draw is to notice. To notice is to pause. And sometimes, all it takes is a barefoot boy in a camping chair, chasing the drips of a popsicle, to remind us what it means to be here. This is Popsiclence—a sacred kind of focus. It’s where observational drawing leads us: out of the swirl, into the now. And in that now, we heal.

Years ago, I sketched Gibby at work—pencil in hand, bold strokes alive with motion. I caught them from over the shoulder: just the back of their head, the soft curve of their face, and that focused arm bringing something into being. They were 9 or 10 then, already showing the spark of creativity and concentration that pointed toward who they’d become. Now in their mid-20s, Gibby is thoughtful, insightful—quick to listen, slow to speak, and wired to process the world with care. Their path has been remarkable: two degrees in 2.5 years, no debt. That didn’t happen by accident. It took grit, German immersion schooling, 16 college credits earned in high school, and testing out of 24 more once at university. That’s Gibby—quietly determined, resourceful, and steady. But their story isn’t just academic. Gibby’s always been gifted with their hands—drawn to set design, locksmithing, welding. Trades they wanted to pursue early on, and still feel pulled toward. They’re at a bike shop now. It’s not the dream, but it fits: their hands know how to build, repair, and reshape the world. There’s been frustration—maybe even anger—that we didn’t let them follow the trade route right away. I get that now. Life veers, and sometimes the path chosen isn't the one imagined. But Gibby’s resilience—their ability to adapt and press on—is what I admire most. They’ve embraced their journey with honesty, stepping into their identity as a they/them person, unafraid to define success in their own terms. That takes courage. I’m proud of them—not for a résumé, but for who they are. This old drawing isn’t just a memory—it’s a thread connecting past to present. A reminder that the creative spark, the steady hands, the deep soul I saw back then is still shining. So here’s to you, Gibby: the kid who sketched with fire and the adult who still shapes the world with quiet brilliance. Your value has never been about the path you’re on. It’s about the person you are. And I’ll be here, cheering you on—every step of the way.

Lino cut print over pastel. The story goes: The bird fell in love with the whale the first time she saw him break through the ocean’s surface, sunlight dancing on his back. From high above, she sang to him, and deep below, he answered with a song as old as the tides. She longed to dive, to join him in the rolling blue. He wished to rise, to fly beside her in the endless sky. But air and water would not trade places. So each day, at dawn and dusk, they met at the edge of their worlds—she on the wind, he in the waves—singing a love song carried by the breeze and the tide, never together but never apart.

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

As I reflect on my past experiences, I am accutely aware of how often I have spoken from opinion rather than from experience. I have made mistakes. This makes me think of the Mark Twain quote -"Good judgement comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgement." Let's go out and get some experience, shall we?

Into the electric elements…

Another one of these tiny canvas doodles. I stenciled out the eyes and teeth and used acrylic makers to color. Then finished up with a brush pen. These are a fun challenge

These two are stills from animations that I made. Check out my IG if you want to see them come to life (link in profile).

My painting professor drew this diagram on the board and suggested that it is a diagram for a painting. "Begin with large areas, covering the canvas with general colors and shapes. Refine the shapes and begin adding details. Refine the details and work with smaller brushes. When you are adding marks that your viewers would not notice, be done." There is more, but that is enough to ponder for now.

Sega flavoured fan art time! Of course I had to go with my favourite character from the Sonic games, heheheh :-)

I first started this oil on canvas painting at a conference in Lexington Kentucky. Transporting the wet canvas was a challenge

2nd project for a portrait collage course. Made in Rebelle

Return of the space whales (yet again)!

I call this work Lost Koi because I painted it in the 1990s. Gave the original to a friend who was terminally ill and thought I would never see it again. Then I found it on a old computer. I had to work a lot with the image. I hope it loads.

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.