caught

It has been a delight to share with my students the incredible resource of people. Over the years, I’ve had the great privilege of connecting them with inspiring individuals such as Lois Ehlert, Dave Nice, Gregory Martens, Colette Odya Smith, and—as seen in this “Behind the Professor” sketch—Dr. Gaylund Stone. There’s something powerful about the presence of someone who lives their craft with humility and depth. In moments like these, my students are reminded that more is often caught than taught.

Love of my life caught in a contemplative moment in a Midtown NYC coffee shop. Ballpoint Pen on Archival 9” x 12” paper, Adobe Photoshop.

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.

I caught some waves of a lilac ocean in a vase and also painted it.

Cover for my fanfic i writing for "Batman: Zero Year" comic. After Zero: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63498001 "I bloom, a flower fair and bright, A needed thing, for two, a light. In hearts' soft garden, breezes play, I grow in strength with each new day." The Riddler nodded patiently, his eyes half-lidded in boredom. Amber devoted almost all her energy to keep reciting this stupid rhyme that she had composed and practiced until she turned pale from exhaustion. The remaining part of her energy was spent on NOT clutching her jacket. "But then, a worm, with wicked bite. Gnawed at my grain and dimmed my light. A spreading blight, a change so foul. Cursed my existence, took its toll. My two companions, caught in strife. Began to gnaw and hurt their life. Absorbing poison, bit by bit. They both grew sick, they couldn't quit." "…" “Who am I?" The Riddler lazily raised his eyes to the sky and just as slowly raised his hands. "Love!" His voice was full of theatrical reverence. He didn’t even pretended that the riddle made him ponder over it. "To be more precise — twisted love. Am I right?"

Took me very long to finally accept the fact that I can do anything, draw anthing on my sketchbook, that my sketchbook is a safe place for me to experiment, play, and explore styles, themes, mediums, and other ideas. I used to be so caught up in developing my own style, and being devoted to drawing only portraits.. Well.. now I’ll remember to “just draw!”

This week has been dedicated mainly to creating a birthday gift for my other coach (Happy 31st B-day!!). I won't ramble on for too long, but I'm so extremely lucky to have him as a coach and in my life. I can't thank him enough for all the times he's caught me/saved me from wiping out, and for being someone I can genuinely trust. Thank you to him for making the gym a safe space for me, and for letting me open up. Anyway, I really enjoyed making this, though I can't deny I got stuck (idea wise) at one point.

sitting in a japanese restaurant and these two caught my eye! pen, ink, watercolor ane gouache on paper

Don’t get caught here unawares… I don’t suggest you take the stairs. The treasure that this castle keeps, deep beneath the water sleeps. But if you’re patient with the tides, there’s another path it hides. Quickly now! Find the door! and hurry back onto the shore. For the moon, she will not wait to turn the tide and flood the gate. Don’t get caught here unawares… I don’t suggest you take the stairs.

Henry and Lucy caught these fish while fishing with Grandpa. The remarkable natural color—blue-green, gold, orange, violet, and pink—made the catch especially striking. A great subject for a watercolor study of color, texture, transparency, and reflected light.

A Female Pied Flycatcher Ficedula Hypoleuca… The Pied Flycatcher is a summer migrant to the UK. As the name suggests, it feeds on flies that are caught by making a quick dash from an obvious perch. There are around 40,000 pairs in the UK each summer. The Pied Flycatcher is a small unmistakable bird that often sits with drooped wings. It spends its winter in Africa. Identification: Adult Adult males and females share the same plumage pattern but are different colours. Male Pied Flycatchers are small and chunky,13cm in length and are black and white all over, they are quite unmistakable. The upperparts are black and white, tail is black with white base to outer tail feathers, rump is a slightly paler, back is jet black, wings are black with white wing patch (tertials) The nape and head is black except for small white patch above the black bill. Chin and throat white, extending to form a half collar. The entire underparts are white, ie; chin, throat, breast, belly and undertail coverts. Legs, bill and eye black. Females are brown versions of the male although tail is dark, no obvious white patch over the bill and the collar is less distinct. #piedflycatcher #brd #birdart #birdartist #birdsketch #birddrawing #bampidraws #birdlovers

A LITTLE GIRL HAS CAUGHT A FAIRY IN AN APOTHECARY JAR

I went on ahead to the house, crying all the way, but now it was mostly to make an impression. Daddy followed and lit a candle because all the lamps were in the theater. He showed me the pike he had caught. It's a lovely one, I said, because one must always say something when someone catches a fish. And then it was too late to cry any more. I put on my ordinary clothes again and we had a cup of tea together. Sculptor's daughter by Tove Jansson. #dailydrawing #toveJansson

Up on a hill, deep in Deadwood Lies an old shack, that fosters no good Inside this shack floats a very old being To seek it out, is to regret such a meeting A blue floating skull, who brings sweet promises of doom Sits all alone in a dark four corner room Why is the reason, this being is there Why does it beckon one to come near Its lonely and bored So it calls out to you The skull was once mighty and powerful too Causing great pain on subjects like you The beast of an age Caught by a mage imprisoned in here no longer to torment the world and spread fear But just being caught wasn’t enough It stifled its power but its will, was left uncorrupt The skull, now a seeker of dreams Destroyer of love, life, and of schemes #embracingnightmares

One of my favourite drawings. You can tell I was really on that day. So few strokes of the pencil caught shape and light. I won't sell this drawing.

Sketch: Caught

Everyone thinks that they love will have a happy ending, but those are the lucky ones. What about those who have their heart played just to get the pleasure fulfilled. What happens to those who kept promises but never fulfilled them, just forgot them like they meant nothing, no memories of them were made, it had nothing to do with them. This picture that I developed at this stage of a person's life shows that they don't ask for nothing beside a happy ending, sitting together and enjoying each other's company. What was the need of stealing someone's heart, use them for your own desires and then just throw it away? What did they get at the end? It was easy for them to make promises, gaining their trust, building hopes but harder for them to prove it. Day by day the pain kills them inside but to the world they are nothing more but alive and energetic, but who knows what’s happening from the inside, when they are just trying to live each day until death comes. At this moment of time no one can heal the cuts, them deceitful memories by the one who once said they will never hurt you or leave you. But I guess one day everyone does leave you, maybe today or tomorrow. She was told to forget him because he was nothing beside a memory. He wasn’t worth it. He walked away from her, but maybe she was too caught in his memories.

Out of August and into September we go!

Jury Duty, June 2013 Fifty of us sat in that room, each one staring at a phone or scribbling in a notebook, killing time. The lawyers asked their questions, picking us off one by one like a slow game of dodgeball. I wasn’t chosen, so I drew instead—earbuds, slouched shoulders, the hum of waiting caught in a few quick lines.

Photograph of a critter caught roaming Flushing, New York.

Capture caught in field.

Macro photography.

Years ago, I sketched Gibby at work—pencil in hand, bold strokes alive with motion. I caught them from over the shoulder: just the back of their head, the soft curve of their face, and that focused arm bringing something into being. They were 9 or 10 then, already showing the spark of creativity and concentration that pointed toward who they’d become. Now in their mid-20s, Gibby is thoughtful, insightful—quick to listen, slow to speak, and wired to process the world with care. Their path has been remarkable: two degrees in 2.5 years, no debt. That didn’t happen by accident. It took grit, German immersion schooling, 16 college credits earned in high school, and testing out of 24 more once at university. That’s Gibby—quietly determined, resourceful, and steady. But their story isn’t just academic. Gibby’s always been gifted with their hands—drawn to set design, locksmithing, welding. Trades they wanted to pursue early on, and still feel pulled toward. They’re at a bike shop now. It’s not the dream, but it fits: their hands know how to build, repair, and reshape the world. There’s been frustration—maybe even anger—that we didn’t let them follow the trade route right away. I get that now. Life veers, and sometimes the path chosen isn't the one imagined. But Gibby’s resilience—their ability to adapt and press on—is what I admire most. They’ve embraced their journey with honesty, stepping into their identity as a they/them person, unafraid to define success in their own terms. That takes courage. I’m proud of them—not for a résumé, but for who they are. This old drawing isn’t just a memory—it’s a thread connecting past to present. A reminder that the creative spark, the steady hands, the deep soul I saw back then is still shining. So here’s to you, Gibby: the kid who sketched with fire and the adult who still shapes the world with quiet brilliance. Your value has never been about the path you’re on. It’s about the person you are. And I’ll be here, cheering you on—every step of the way.

“The politics of the world frustrate me. I control my frustration when I write, but it explodes when I perform.” A quote from a Benjamin Zephaniah documentary I caught not long ago on BBC iPlayer’s been resonating with me as of late. Granted, I tend to keep politics light here (if anything) but I stand by what I’ve just said regardless.

I keep seeing the word 'binary' crop up a lot in various discourses I’ve caught a glance at recently, whether it pertains to discussions around things like cancel culture or countless other things too numerous to mention. Funny what the lack of a middle ground these days does to certain people, irrespective of their political/ethical viewpoints...

Donald Trump is caught in a web of his own lies, with spiders encroaching, ready to eat their prey.

A 20x36 canvas A surreal shoreline unfolds beneath a weathered lighthouse, where reality bends into myth. Planes drift through muted skies, a UFO lifts a van from the cliffs, and the sea itself seems alive—its waves whispering forgotten tales. Between the moon’s watchful eye and the wreckage below, every fragment hints at a story untold, a dream caught between the tide and time.

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