A drawing for someone I somehow met from the corner of the internet, his original character Runali. A few years of ups and downs, but there were many struggles due to poor mental health. In the end as things heal, we gradually recognised our differences and decided to take different paths.
Inktober day 1, Poison. I drew a octopussy on his head, but then he forgets to keep his mind on the really dangerous thing, the poisonous snake coming from the corner. Be aware out there..
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.
This is my newest OC Scarlet. I put the markers and their numbers in the corner. They are ARRTX markers. If you have any drawing tips i will gladly accept.
Ever play Skyrim? That's where I made up this joke. You wander through bandit caves, you see their bedding, their cooking area, and then you find a bucket in the corner, with a leak inside of it. So, the bandit dood asks his boss where he can go potty, and bandit boss says : "You can take a Leak in that Bucket! " .... . . . . . . Okay, if it isn't funny, you don't have to tell, me, I already know. Sorry. Thanks anyway.
The Tool Bench marks my 50th canvas—completed exactly one year to the day after I finished my very first one. This piece is a tribute to work, memory, and the quiet corners where both creativity and responsibility live.
Drawn entirely freehand, it’s built like a snapshot of a lived-in workspace: mismatched tools, worn wood, scribbled reminders, and the little personal things that actually make a place yours. The clipboard holds a “Honey-Do” list that never seems to end. The Polaroid-style sketch of my wife sits taped to the wall like a reminder of why the work matters. The shadows on the back wall match the tools lying on the bench—suggesting a moment in progress, a task paused, life happening between motions.
This artwork is part of my ongoing visual diary of factory life—small, overlooked corners turned into honest moments.
“Trash Talk” sits right between humor and grit… a reminder that even the most mundane places have something to say.
This figure explores how the relentless pursuit of monetary gain and digital distraction stifles genuine attention and moral listening.
* Visual Focus: The mask is equipped with a headphone covering a single ear. The headphone wire is visibly broken, frayed, and cut short, suggesting a deliberate disconnect or a failed attempt at communication. A small coin dangles conspicuously from the corner of the figure's mouth.
* Symbolism:
* The Headphones: Represent modern distraction and the ability to selectively "tune out" inconvenient truths or moral calls. The broken, frayed wire reinforces the idea of a failed connection to the real world.
* The Coin in the Mouth: Serves as a powerful, visceral metaphor for being "consumed by monetary means." It connects the act of speaking/listening to the theme of greed, suggesting that the voice and ear are functionally "plugged" or corrupted by the all-consuming focus on wealth. The refusal to hear moral guidance is dictated by the pursuit of money.
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
"Industrial Timeout" presents a meticulously rendered scene of solitude and tension within a utilitarian setting. The composition is split between a vast, empty white space and a tightly constrained, detailed industrial corner. In the foreground, a single, unassuming cardboard box sits on a pallet. It is labeled "FRAGILE" and "M.P.C." (possibly a reference to 'Minimum Package Content' or a similar industrial acronym), suggesting a precious, yet standardized, cargo awaiting movement.
The Skyscraper to the Moon and How the Green Rat with the Rheumatism Ran a Thousand Miles Twice.
Blixie Bimber's mother was chopping hash.
And the hatchet broke. So Blixie started downtown with fifteen cents to buy a new hash hatchet for chopping hash.
Downtown she peeped around the corner next nearest the postoffice where the Potato Face Blind Man sat with his accordion. And the old man had his legs crossed, one foot on the sidewalk, the other foot up in the air.
The foot up in the air had a green rat sitting on it, tying the old man's shoestrings in knots and double knots. Whenever the old man's foot wiggled and wriggled the green rat wiggled and wriggled. #dailyDrawing #rootabagaPigeons #carlSandburg
Needing to get out of the house, I walked down the street to the antique shops that are right around the corner from my house and did some urban sketching.
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