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!
These horses were so much fun to draw. I used a Uni Posca marker with Daniel Smith watercolors. I was going to a craft fair and wanted to try out making stickers with Sticker Mule. It is a super easy process. The sticker is 1 inch in diameter.
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.
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.
Ms. Nathan was a play production teacher with flair and a big personality. She wore colorful clothing and loud socks that never matched. Her joyful, chortling laugh filled the room—or the hallway—wherever she happened to be.
Staff meetings and PD days have always been strong invitations for observational drawings. Over the years, I’ve found that there are many boxes to check in a wide variety of systems. I often created my own boxes—and checked them with sketches of my colleagues.
This one goes out to the colorful Ms. Nathan.
Sketched while watching the Mariners get knocked out of playoff contention. Colored on the computer. I did a hue changing little animation with it if you check my Instagram. :)
Part of a personal project I'm working on right now, to experiment with unfamiliar art styles and practice lettering skills by drawing animals. I enjoyed this foray into digital mosaic (or fauxsaic as I've seen it called).
Had to squeeze in some drawing earlier on yesterday before editing the photos I captured at Friday night’s gig with Ozric Tentacles and friends. Fantastic stuff that was!
