arm

My answer to this week's drawing prompt.

"Flying in the sky with a lady in its arms, The Platform's heading fast out to the farm. She was harmed unknowingly and now she will become a seed, From which the platforms now will feed until they breed." -- Drawn with fountain pens, colored with my iPad using Procreate.

Some crazy Moleskine doodles for the day. I haven’t been doing enough of these and really need to kick my butt harder. Not sure why because it’s so dang enjoyable.

Acrylic on cabinet door

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

In July of 2022, Brianna Grier died falling out of a moving police car while having a mental health breakdown. Since Brianna passed, I have been heartbroken for her twins and family but also reflecting on my struggle with mental health. Mental health needs compassion and empathy, not police and punishment. The brunch strokes are purposeful, but I completed them with empathy in mind. I want to keep the composition simple but filled with meaning. The color theme represents vastness and loneliness, but also kinetic energy found in warm orange tones.

"If MF DOOM was a fox, he’d pro’ly steal a kid and lock it up in a box. But not to do it harm... More to save it from a life of working on a farm. He’d do that kid a favor. He would save her. Just what you would expect from a friendly rapping neighbor."

It's Weinerman Sam with his weiner schnitzel fam, Putting sausages to bed like a good fam-i-ly man. Doing ev'ry thing he can just to get them into bed, For a restful night of sleep in a warm bun made of bread.

I have been watching a lot of sci-fiction lately. Like so many others my age or younger, the weight of global warming sits on my shoulders constantly. I imagined the final trek through a wormhole as someone sees their new solar system for the first time. I enjoy the bright colors and such but wish I conveyed a more bittersweet emotion.

trying to create a warm, cozy campfire feeling.

I wanted to capture an introspective feeling and show the Detroit River's expansiveness. I went with a late summer sunset vibe with lots of warm pinks and cool blues.

Markers 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.

A landscape that I did about my father while he was alive. He was a sheep farmer and he planted tress on his hill farm.This is done in memory of him as he died from cancer.Its a finished piece and based on sketches I did. Its an acrylic painting and 1/10 in a body of work.

a different kind of Christmas pattern

bright, hand drawn flowers in warm colors

bright, warm colored floral pattern

Micron pen and colored pencil on paper

Imagine trading your soft bed for a deflating mattress. Imagine food cooked under ash, a fire that smokes more than it warms. Imagine waking at dawn with stiff muscles, yet finding yourself strangely alive. This sketch is not just about tents, cars, and campfires. It is about the in-between—where inconvenience and beauty wrestle, and something deeper sneaks in. Camping reminds me: comfort is overrated, but presence is priceless.

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.

Just some warm up doodles. Bic pen in my sketchbook!

Charcoal on gessoed sketchbook paper

Something to warm things up… or, more narwhals.

The cow really likes him

My son went to feed the cows some pellets and got an unexpected thank you

Something warm coloured for the incoming spring. Also befitting of the feelings a lot of folks in my life (and myself included) seem to be feeling right now! Much cobweb detangling figuratively speaking this month past, that much is true...