Mixed media artworks. Created in conjunction with each other, on a single piece of paper. As the colors of marker or watercolor bled through, so I worked with the motifs on both sides. It is no secret that i absolutely love birds and they feature so heavily in my drawing/illustrative work.
Really enjoying experimenting with soft pastels. This piece was the first time I used Pastelmat. It's an amazing surface to use with pastels as it takes loads of pastel, the colour stays vibrant, and there's minimal dust
This piece consist of 2 sheets, the bottom sheet is painted by my four year old daughter, on top of that is a orange paper which I cut the kitchenware out of.
deep in thought and under attack from extra terrestrial beings that are harvesting his mind. with added tape on nipple to protect his dignity and censorship. ( although its a man nipple so it should be ok )
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.
“By all means grow old, but don’t mature. Remain childlike, retain wonder, the ability to be flabbergasted by something.” - Billy Connolly.
Happy new year Doodle addicts!
