I think I might've gone overboard with this cat armor! I couldn't help but make it pink/magenta; I would think that color would make a wonderful armor color! :D Check out my IG @dittofunkysketch123 for up-to-date (completed!) Inktober posts!
Alright , people, who here remembers a brilliant show by the name of Samurai Jack ? Just me ? C'mon now ! Don't be afraid ! Say it loud and proud ! Samurai Jack is A W E S O M E !
People click pictures to remember and tell stories of their adventures on the trip. I want to tell my travel stories through doodles. This is my first attempt at them, and looks like i would stick to making these on my travels. This one is for the 4 day trip to Dharmashala, Himachal Pradesh, India. A 4 day trip of adventures captured in form of a doodle comic strip.
An article/rant/annotation to an illustration. A #Hackney bar and its flies.
This picture is not as sad and blue as it might at first seem, I promise.
It is early in the week and the pub becomes the territory of the most outspoken drinkers. Raised somewhere between Churchill and Harold MacMillan, a night such as this is time for them to spin out a yarn of nostalgic fantasy. Encouraged by the lack of a crowd and with space to fill, statements start to fly.
In the opening rounds the barman athletically hits back with factual blocks and reality-check haymakers; statistics and personal experiences are given. Two histories cross examined, one where 1982 means Thatcher and the Falklands, the other renders Reagan and the AIDS crisis. Stoicism and national pride vs mental health and realism.
In the latter rounds the barman is fatigued, swaying on the backbar, glasses begin to stack up as form begins to drop. The older men seem stronger than ever.
The barflies come in close now, they scrutinise his generations work ethic and make wild political comments on poverty, immigrants and the minimum wage.
The barman is close to sheer bloody despair, he maintains his defence and focuses on breathing while maintaining his professional stance.
But at the end of the night the barman knows HE will ring that bell, they will politely leave and they will return again in a week and maybe, just maybe there will be a change, common ground or maybe at least polite silence.
But what these interactions have given despite the salt in the eye is community and an exchange between generations, culture and class of those participating. No home is ever straight forward, no relative without their good and bad traits and in a world where we often slide into echo chambers online or in our physical environments, the pub is still a place where society is family, face to face, pint to pint. Or maybe it's just a room with alcohol on tap?
Creating a doodle mural on wall with craft paint and brush. For more details, visit my blog here http://dharmakarmaarts.blogspot.com/2017/01/art-on-wall.html
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.
This piece captures the essence of country life. The detailed lines and shading bring out the rustic charm of the countryside, with a cozy home nestled amidst lush greenery.
Spring has sprung and Peter is enjoying the warm weather. How have you been enjoying the break from winter? Any activity suggestions for Peter and his friends? They’re thinking picnics and lawn games...
April has truly started off on a high note: 3 days of warm weather (a rare occurrence in an early Chicago spring), I finally did double-backs to the floor at gymnastics, found out I won a few art contests, and I got my first COVID vaccine! It's nice to have things starting to work out, even if it is just temporarily.
Remember when Billy Shears showed up to replace him? Nah, me neither. I wasn't going to wreck my record to hear them say it either. I know the prompt was warm colors, sadly if I did the jacket in pink or red it would've been George or Ringo. Anyway, a quick but fun sketch. "See the worst thing about doing this, doing something like this, is I think that at first people sort of are a bit suspicious. 'You know, come on, what are you up to?'"
Being the guitar geek I am I decided to draw one of my favourite fuzz pedals...Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you, the Electro Harmonix Big Muff!
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.
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.
