This feels like it could be a fun kids activity page. When I started this doodle it was just the hill with the tunnel maze and a few things added in the maze area. It didn’t feel like it was going anywhere, but as I kept adding things I started to get into it and now I’m happy that I didn’t ditch it. It’s always fun when a piece surprises me. It never gets old.
This drawing was done with pen and colored pencil. I wanted to create a self-portrait that could also serve as a profile picture for my art accounts. My other self-portraits tend to be realistic, so I decided to try and depict myself in my own illustrative style instead. My artistic influences for this piece include tattoo styles, pinup art, and art nouveau as well as inspiration taken from some of my favorite portrait artists, Sargent and Rockwell.
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.
I start this just doing random doodling at upper black part and because it looks quite nice i start to search reference from my phone. Found one shot month ago at beach with dramatic clouds
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.
