bad

Black and white line drawing of two little badgers having an explore, celebrating my personal love for wildlife.

"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.

My second ever attempt at charcoal.

The Toast of the Town. Too bad the weather had to turn just when things were heating up.

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?

It's crazy to think that we've been in a pandemic for a year or to think we could ever get used to this new way of life. March 13th, 2020 was the day everything stopped for me: it was the last day I went to school and the last day I went to gymnastics for 5 months. The promise of two weeks' time, something I somewhat desperately held onto. Going into this, no one knew what to expect, it was the first time many of us saw life as we know it stop. Quarantine has definitely taught me a lot emotionally, mentally, and how to reach out and work through (and what bad panic attacks feel like :) ). I think it also goes without saying that I got through most of this because of the people around me, and I can't say enough how grateful I am to be surrounded by such amazing people. So, here I am. Life is still pretty rocky, but it's a process. Thank you to everyone who's been along for the ride so far ❤

Everyday with Aspergers is a storm of overwhelm - some good, some bad, and some painful. This was an "intuitive" painting with tons of layers, and no preplanning (what?!). I used acrylic paints, post markers, and pencils - I think it shows the exhaustion and overstimulation really well.

The big bad wolf... hear me roar!

I think lionfish are very pretty , too bad they are a damaging invasive species in so many areas .

This drawing was done as a request for someone, the horse that I drew is an award winning show horse named Black Prince. This was my second attempt at realism using black fine liners and pencils, personally I think I didn't do too bad.

Did you ever have a page in your sketchbook that was so bad and so embarrassing that you tore it out and chucked it? This was one of those pages that made me cringed every time I came to it. So today I said to myself, "ENOUGH!" and ripped it out of my moleskine. But something wouldn't let me throw it in the can. Now, I'm not one of those artists that can't bring himself to throw away any of his stuff because each and every piece, good or bad holds some kind of sentimentality or sense of importance. This particular page was a result of a crappy angst filled day and stuff poured out of me. For some reason, it felt like I was throwing away some piece of my soul. There were parts that were overworked and others that were painfully too personal. So I decided to cut it up and put it back together in no particular order, however it seemed best. As I was pasting the pieces down it occurred to me that this had a comic book feel so I scanned the final and added the black borders in photoshop which I really dug. I like that it is cryptic and jumbled up like my brain can so often be. This reminded me of the awesome @johnhendrix who said something in his book, Drawing Is Magic that stuck with me. He said, "Don't worry about doing anything wrong. If you're hoping your sketchbook turns into a glossy display of only your best drawings, you are not carrying a sketchbook, you are carrying a portfolio." In other words, explore, take chances, loosen up and have fun. Try your best to go at it like an uninhibited child. In so doing, you will stretch as an artist by avoiding repetition and predictability. We all know how to do what we already know. To sum up, I created a bad page, and whether or not I was able to fix it, it expanded me. So, follow your pencil, pen, or whatever and let them take you to places you never imagined when you started. Then, maybe you will end up staring happily at the final and with childlike wonder, say, "man, where did that come from?"

BEING GREEDY CHOKES ANANSI From Favorite Folktales around the world by Jane Yolen. One time, Anansi lived in a country that had a queen who was also a witch. And she decreed that whoever used the word five would fall down dead, because that was her secret name, and she didn’t want anyone using it. Now, Buh Anansi was a clever fellow, and a hungry one too. Things were especially bad because there was a famine, so Anansi made a little house for himself by the side of the river near where everyone came to get water. And when anybody came to get water, he would call out to them, “I beg you to tell me how many yam hills I have here. I can’t count very well.” So, one by one he thought they would come up and say, “One, two, three, four, five,” and they would fall down dead. Then Anansi would take them and corn them in his barrel and eat them, and that way he would have lots of food in hungry times and in times of plenty.

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.

I've spent recent lockdown days watching far too many Youtube videos about attachment styles and honestly it makes a lot of sense. Here is a little message for my anxious preoccupied self

The Charminar was built in 1591, part of it is a mosque

Sometimes naughty can be cute.

“You learn to rise above a lot of bad things that happen in your life. And you have to keep going.” – Lauren Bacall⁠ Morning doodle 431 ⁠

a live painting I made at the fire, durring summer when I was looking after some scout teenagers.

The result is not as good as I imagined. But anyway I want to share it, because: - others may find it great, - art taste is subjective, - even if it's bad, you can receive a constructive critique or tips on how to improve it. Don't be afraid to share your failures. They push you forward. You can learn a lot from them.

The first three Inktobers2021 Procreate. Not sure how well regarded this still is as an event. I know it has gotten a lot of bad press and hubbub, but I'm going to try and stick to it this year.

Four legs good, two legs bad.

A Civics class arm doodle, a fitting place for a tattoo design. Today was the wrong day to wear a white long sleeve though. This weekend was interesting...good, bad, and very personal. It's currently 8th period though, and here's to the fact that I get to end my day in art.

I have made my first attempt on drawing my home for the Home Sweet home competition. I am so badly on this competition, so this is my first attempt and will be replaced soon. Since I hope to come up with a true home star drawing.

The Badger

Bad Cat gets the woven blanket treatment. circa 2019

Some time ago, I injured myself. This inspried me for this little drawing. Acylic ink and pastel on watercolor paper.

Just some drawings that I wasn't sure about posting or not. They did not come out bad but not amazing either.