Vine Charcoal and Oil Pastel make for a messy, smudgy experience. A certain amount of messiness can make a process feel more real and human. When things aren’t perfectly polished, it reflects a genuine effort, imperfections, and growth. In personal life, letting go of the need for everything to be tidy can promote a more authentic existence. The hat is a Stormy Chromer. It also evolved out of a mess. More on that later. Peace.
I love creating work that starts from a point in nature and develops into something more abstract, something that can be interpreted in many different ways. It’s interesting to hear what people see, what connection to their own life they bring when viewing a work.
Health matters. A healthy person can have several goals. A sick person has one goal. Make good choices, because they will make you. Easy to say. Not always easy to do. Eat well. Move with intension. Read to learn. Meditate and pray, and receive from that. Do what I say, not what I do. This writing is for me, not you.
Day 6 #inktober2017 - Sword. Yikes! Someone is feeling some aggression after what him through on day 2. You can follow me on http://instagram.com/jimbradshaw to see the all of my inktober posts and more.
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.
And now the Worry Wolf can stick by your side and bring ease to your everyday worries. A doodle, turned into a weatherproof clear sticker, cloaking lonely water bottles worldwide. Thanks for looking!
A handful of Brit flicks have been showing up on Disney+ lately, and one of them I watched recently had Luke Perry of all folks in it... the film in question is called ‘The Beat Beneath My Feet’ in case you’re curious.
In all seriousness though, British films with American actors in them as a lead/central character will forever and always fascinate me, much like Luke Perry’s birth name did! Rest well good sir and thanks for everything.
“In Caribbean mythology, the lusca or luska is the term given to one of the most feared sea monsters in the region. A deadly creature that prowls the deep and feeds on the unsuspecting. A being or a pod of beings that scour the Gulf eating up all in its wake. The lusca is a chimera; a mismatch of animal parts. A conglomerate of some of the Caribbean’s most feared creatures. It is a cryptid that said to hunt and prowl the Gulf and areas near the Mexican shore. Luscas are one of the lesser known cryptids of the deep. They are also one of the most fascinating not only on account of its fearsome symmetry but of the mystery that surrounds them...”
As we approach the end of winter, who knows where we’ll end up next? Still cautiously optimistic here...
As long as there’s stuff to inspire us all, it can’t be all that bad?
Five 40 foot + trees went down around my house back in October 2012. Since 1994 I have lost as many trees on my property as there had been present when I bought the house. Sheesh.
Digital is great -- for composition and color. But for line art? I don't think I can ever give up the fountain pen. This was drawn with a Sailor King of Pen (M) and Sailor 1911L (EF) fountain pens using Pilot Black ink. Yes, sacrilege. Pilot ink in a Sailor. But I have some Kiwa Guro arriving soon!
Playing around with drawing with the ink dropper, I really like this guy. And you can tell I took the pic before the ink dried because you can see the shadow on the page.
A Brief Pause at the Edge of Becoming
It seems I am always seeking a place to sit—
not just to rest the body,
but to settle the soul.
Yet even in stillness, Gary Brecka’s words whisper:
“The quickest way to old age
is the aggressive pursuit of comfort.”
So I do not stay long.
I walked until I found a picnic table
beneath a canopy of bare-limbed trees,
branches like open hands waiting for green.
The blue spruces nearby—
stoic, unchanged, whispering that some things endure.
I sketched.
Not perfectly. Not for anyone’s praise.
Just a mark to say: I was here.
Alive in this in-between.
Waiting. Listening.
Not for leaves—
but for something truer than comfort.
Thank you for joining me in this small noticing.
A moment borrowed from the rush.
A table. A tree. A thought.
A gift.
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.
Part of a personal project I'm working on right now, to experiment with unfamiliar art styles and practice lettering skills by drawing animals. This one I limited myself to a 100 pixel x 100 pixel canvas.
Wasn't sure what to draw. Anxiety can be a real creative block sometimes. I looked up the date and noticed it was Mojito Day. Mojitos have a pleasant vibe. Please, go easy on me. I am a digital artist but really wanna draw traditionally for these Monday doodles. Much respect everyone.
