Fat little birds make me smile! The Eastern bluebird is a North American migratory thrush. My subject is a male with the most luxurious neck rolls! Drawn in Prismacolor soft core colored pencils on toned tan sketch paper.
I drew a cute Easter bunny! My neighbor's bunny inspired me to draw her. I used a different name because the owner didn't feel comfortable having the name on her. She has taught me how to draw a few years ago and now since I am older I wanted to share it with you guys. Thank you!
I’m often asked about my Bic pen drawings and how I do them. It starts with a good foundational drawing, the ballpoint pen part is just trying to colour within the lines. I try to do my best to explain the process, but the best way to show my progress is by posting my efforts to master pen drawings over the span of 3 or so years. I have been doodling/drawing with ballpoint pens as far back as I can remember - they were cheap, readily available and always lying around the house. It wasn’t until I was bored during a particularly long team meeting-conference call (around 2016-17) that I started to think about the possibilities of ballpoint pens as serious portrait illustration tools. My first experiments with full colour ink portrait drawings were rather crude, but that’s the point of learning new techniques—as long as the curiosity and the love of drawing is there, you can transfer that skill and passion into any medium. Remember, the most exquisite drawings and paintings you see didn’t materialise fully formed, they started out as failed experiments. Failure after failure after failure. It’s important to remember this when you get discouraged (I've failed spectacularly over the years). The only difference between the accomplished artist and the beginner is hundreds of hours of practice. Talent can only get you so far. It’s the hard work that you do behind the scenes that makes your work look effortless. Keep doodling. Keep learning. Stay curious.
I thought I would play with crayons this morning. The bird with the cute hairdo is a Livingstone’s turaco from the family Musophagidae. Found in the subtropical lowlands of southeastern Africa. This bird’s plumage is the color of spring. Crayola crayons on toned tan sketch paper.
Fineliner scribblings on a back ground of paper... . . . ... . . . . . . ..... . ... . . . . . ...... ... . . A rabble of sozzled birds on a tightrope of joy heading towards the puppet master up above. . . .... . . ... . .... .. .... .. ... . . . . Prints are available (16 out of 20 at the time of going to press) . ..............................
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.
Daily Draw Challenge Prompt #boom #mar2022 Boom! Look at the pretty colouration in this Lilac Breasted Roller, which can be found in Eastern and Southern Africa. #sketchadayapp ❤️
I haven't done a still life since highschool! I was finally motivated to make one after finding this black conch shell on the beach of Rimini. In the past I found one but it was broken, i feel like i've been on a healing journey and was delighted to find a complete full shell. In a way I took it as a sign of the healing graces God is pouring out on me. I also found the coral thing floating on the waves of the shore. I felt the presence of the divine through His creation that day. I picked up the other scallop shells and the red rock there too. The big snail shell I found outside the monastery, there are some big snails here! So yeah, I wasn't trying to be too precise in this still life but I wanted to jot down the idea and my thoughts from that day. Peace be with you all
It's Easter weekend, Passover, which means spring! Time to buy flowers plant gardens and enjoy this wonderful time of year.
pen, ink, watercolor, colored pencil on arches 140 gram hot press cotton rag paper.
Not a beautiful work of art I know. I hope I paint better. But 70 hours of my life made from materials and techniques utilized by those who crossed our nation in covered wagons. I made this for the Episcopal Church in Prestonsberg. The bishop is retiring and 36 Churches in Eastern Kentucky are all making quilt squares for a quilt for him. The material is doubled so it insulates well.
Imperfect Lines, Honest Presence
This sketch is not perfect—and that’s exactly why it’s alive. The bold figure, the dissolving hat, the tilted chair: all of it feels unfinished, fleeting, caught in motion. It’s what the Japanese call wabi-sabi—finding beauty in the imperfect, the impermanent, the incomplete.
But there’s something deeper here too. A quick sketch is not just what the eye records. It’s what the soul permits. To draw without fixing, without polishing, is to admit the world will not hold still for us. Life slips past. The lines break off. And yet, somehow, the essence remains.
When you sketch this way, you are not the master of the moment—you are its guest. The pencil does not carve permanence; it pays attention. The act of drawing becomes an act of being present, of honoring what is already vanishing.
So here’s a challenge: grab a pencil and sketch someone near you in sixty seconds. Do not erase. Do not perfect. Let the lines falter. When you finish, ask yourself: What truth did the imperfection reveal?
Perhaps presence itself is the real art.
There’s a lot of waiting in life.
Waiting in lobbies.
Waiting on answers.
Waiting for braces to tighten, kids to grow, hearts to heal, or prayers to be answered.
I sat at the orthodontist, watching dollars tighten on tiny wires, and made this sketch. A tree. A house. A street. Color helped the moment breathe.
I remember once hearing a chess master say, “There is no waiting in chess.”
It confused me—wasn’t there always a turn to wait for?
But he explained: “There’s no waiting. Only planning. Plotting. Analyzing. You’re always thinking.”
I once repeated that to a FIDE master. He got mad.
Maybe because waiting and patience aren’t the same thing.
We can be still and deeply active inside.
We can pause without being passive.
And then there’s Lindsey’s voice in the back of my head:
“That sounds like a first-world problem.”
“Speak life.”
“Be thankful. Rejoice always.”
And she’s right.
So here’s to filling waiting time with something creative.
Something kind.
Something that turns a delay into a doorway.
