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THE MARTIAN from Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day by Ben Loory. "The three of them sit down to dinner. Halfway through the soup course, a Martian enters the room. It takes the astronaut’s napkin and lays it across his lap. Then it turns around and walks out. I thought you said you didn’t see any Martians, says the woman. Not on the moon, says the astronaut, no." https://www.instagram.com/p/CgwTsoXOVln/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzyJOln6GqE&t=499s CLICK LINK TO SEE THE CARTOON FAIRYTALE ABOUT HER AND OTHER CHARCTERS IN THE MAGICAL LAND OF NORNWAN !

And they say that the elves in the Wilderness had no names for their gods , perhaps that is why they have all been forgotten . They did not call them gods , the elves liked to call them "spirits" . The unknowable primal forces granted them abilities . They could implore the trees for aid . And call upon mighty winds to defend them . And ask the rivers and rain for healing and comfort . And in return, they tended the garden of the great spirits , ever watchful and protective of the many lifeforms that lived within the great circle. We are all part of the great circle, the only way to escape it is to cut yourself off form everyone and everything , it is a hard path ... . . . . thank you

I'm finally back home (I arrived on the 17th) even though it was stressful,I'm finally here after staying almost half a year abroad (i drew this on the plane lol)

13 young, Indian adults, struggling with mental health issues, explained what colour represented her/his fear and which represented hope/happiness. The left half of the face has all the colours associated with fear, while the right shows hope/happiness.

Another half-assed attempt at doing SOMETHING "underground- like". Meh. Magic marker on sketchbook paper. (I still like the name, though.) Late 70's...

i actually really like this almost-Viking girl .... Coming soon to TAPAS ! https://tapas.io/series/Orki-n-friends

One half is a tiger while other half is a human skull a sign of death

For this one, I hate drawing hands so they are awful but mostly I figured out how to make things glow. Recently we had a Worm Full Moon, I layed outside and watched the moon for like a half an hour.

#1 #inktober #ring “Inside of a ring or out, ain't nothing wrong with going down. It's staying down that's wrong.” ― Muhammad Ali . First one down. I was so looking forward to these...fyi...for artist (in my opinion) it seems that we enjoy the first challenge, inspiration pumping...ideas flowing... others are so supportive...then about halfway through.. we start doubting... support dwindles t the same time...ideas do not flow as easily... this is when we need support... so mid-month check in with us and wham all of us with support to continue to the end.

Where do I begin with this one? This is a drawing of my dad and I; the picture was taken back in 2006, a happier time, I suppose. I don't commonly think about my dad, I don't necessarily think about how much I miss him or how I wish I could see him again, so it was odd for me to sit and look through old photos. I don't really know my dad; I do, but I don't. My dad was physically part of my life for 10 years, the second half of those were not the best. Mental illness, self medicating for years, debt, heroin, arguments, threats, uncertainty. I feel like I remember the negative more because I was older, my parents couldn't hide it from me like they used to. At the same time, when he was sober and stable, life was good. Life was great, things felt complete. So here I am, 6 years since he died. I don't want to say his image is fading, but I know less of who he was than I did before. I see the good from some (the ones who praise him, who act like he was a saint), and I see the bad from others (the one who felt the pain). I suppose I no longer see my view, my memories aren't there anymore. I don't necessarily feel sad, the anger has faded, and I can't say I'm happy. Maybe I'll figure it out one day, but, for now, it is what it is.

(Gel Fineliner on A5 paper) One of the age-old responses from dog-owners: “He won't bite you” along with “He's good with children.” He's a dog, and like all dogs, they're bred from wolves. Given half the chance they'd revert back to their natural pack instinct. The only reason they don't is that they see you as the pack leader who regularly feeds and pampers them. “Oh, my little darling isn't like that!” I hear you say, as if you're talking about a child. “He gives me kisses by licking my face. It's his way of saying how much he loves me.” He licks his balls and arsehole with that tongue, so what's he really saying there?

Another dress up exercise. This time is @finalfrantasy (on twitter)'s OC, Annette.

Top half to my most recent sketch.

Mixed media piece. This is actually just one half. Watercolour, gouache, acrylic marker, coloured pencil and papercut.

"It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Polka dots on a pitcher. She could picture the summer picnics and alfresco lunches. But autumn was here and the buyers remorse was real." - Tammar Stein

(half rice half chips)

Ink and coffee on paper

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.

I figured it'd be a while until I draw (in full detail) ALL of the Altitone band members, so I made each one a sprite. Their names are (from left to right): (The first one is a base), Elizabeth the hot pink cat, Preistor the sky blue rabbit, Altor the golden bear, Bruce the green mouse, Lexibo the violet elephant, Mary the short red fox, Dexter the blue-gray Racoon DJ, and the three cheerleaders: Rosette the crimson mouse, Oopsie the russet fox, and Pastelle the cotton candy short-eared rabbit. On the very bottom are the instruments. In order, they are Elizabeth's mic, Preistor's guitar, Altor's drum set, Bruce's mic, Lexibo's piano, Mary's oil drum (not an instrument, but Mary hides her bottom half in the oil drum, sort of like Looney Bird from The Rock-afire Explosion (which is why she has no legs)), and Dexter's DJ board. The last three are cheerleaders, and their hands have been replaced with cheerleading pom poms. On stage left, we have Dexter and Mary. On the center stage, we have Preistor, Altor, Lexibo, Elizabeth, and Bruce. On stage right is Rosette, Oopsie, and Pastelle. Made with Piskel. (If you're wondering where Jester and Dellusion are, they aren't band members --- but rather seperate attractions (and Jester doesn't even perform.))

(Gel Fineliner on A5 Paper) Words that are used by the halfhearted artist to someone who asks far too much and pays far too little!

I get to marry by best friend, Lindsey tomorrow. I spent a year and a half writing and drawing my very first comic book. It was about our life together and how I proposed to her. This strip is an excerpt from that comic.

I was scared of cows when I was small and felt nothing special after I grew up, but I realized how they are cute when I traveled in Laos. I was so surprised to see cows were walking freely without any human on a quiet street in the outskirts of the city. A calf one of them looked us curiously but avoided eye contact shyly. It was really cute

*windows error sound* (Drawn with FireAlpaca)

Digital illustration

That time when Tyrion, Hand of the King, had to lead the troops at King’s Landing to fight against Stannis’ forces! Since King Joffrey was too cowardly! So he picked up his axe and the troops around him yelled, ‘Half-Man! Half-Man!’

Cover for my fanfic i writing for "Batman: Zero Year" comic. After Zero: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63498001 "I bloom, a flower fair and bright, A needed thing, for two, a light. In hearts' soft garden, breezes play, I grow in strength with each new day." The Riddler nodded patiently, his eyes half-lidded in boredom. Amber devoted almost all her energy to keep reciting this stupid rhyme that she had composed and practiced until she turned pale from exhaustion. The remaining part of her energy was spent on NOT clutching her jacket. "But then, a worm, with wicked bite. Gnawed at my grain and dimmed my light. A spreading blight, a change so foul. Cursed my existence, took its toll. My two companions, caught in strife. Began to gnaw and hurt their life. Absorbing poison, bit by bit. They both grew sick, they couldn't quit." "…" “Who am I?" The Riddler lazily raised his eyes to the sky and just as slowly raised his hands. "Love!" His voice was full of theatrical reverence. He didn’t even pretended that the riddle made him ponder over it. "To be more precise — twisted love. Am I right?"