The Sunbeam and the Troll. Illustration of famous Finnish song. I draw three versions of it. Top of the drawings is last and then second and first one. I try to catch idea that Sunbeam fairy is more made of light than materia. Pretty tricky to me ;)
”When sun had ended its mission,
The last Sunbeam
Was left behind her sisters for a moment.
The dusk was settling on the grounds,
A Sunbeam with golden wings
Was just about to fly before it,
But she saw a small Troll come across:
It had just risen up from his cave.
See,a Troll before the twilight
May never live on earth.
They were looking at each other
The Troll in his chest
Felt an odd flame.
He said:"You are burning my eyes,
But never in my life
have I seen something so wonderful!" It doesn't matter that your brightness will make me blind
It's easy to wander in dark.”
It’s always good to find some drawing time on vacation. We went to some weird random small towns in Washington and a ghost town called Burke with some particularly interesting history. I had Cheers playing on my phone while I drew this but no similarity is intended. It’s a classic show but it would have been better without the distracting laugh tracks.
Often I am given to making marks on paper that reflect the objects I see coming towards me as I gaze out the front car window. I do this exercise as a passenger of course. The goal is not the end product, but the process of connecting what I see with motor control. The product is an indication of movement and energy. Give it a try!
I do generally put pen (or some kind of tool), to paper (or some kind of surface), every day, but I'm really TRYING to do it purposefully in one singular location (journal). Here is a successful attempt from that particular day.
I'm also super lazy, which means I never go up to my actual studio and only use what's out on my computer desk.
I'm not sure how this happened,
And neither is this peep:
A beach vacation for his wife
That he bought on the cheap.
He wanted to surprise her,
So this is what he got.
Turns out his wife prefers a beach
With water over not.
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.
This portrait of Mr. Joshua Anderson—our resident Shakespeare whisperer—was drawn by student artist Covey Garrett as part of a school-wide tribute to our teachers. Students photographed, gridded, and drew 18x24” posters of their teachers, each paired with a favorite catchphrase. Mr. Anderson’s? A classic:
“Hint, hint. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.”
We think the Bard would approve.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely teachers..."
(okay, we may have paraphrased a bit).
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.
