Sunday morning, more than a decade ago.
Music, fellowship, and reports about what God was doing here and there.
Some things are worth remembering. We learn from looking back—
but we must live forward.
A simple ink sketch of a bird at rest. Sometimes the quiet moments—watching, pausing, waiting—are the deepest teachers. This drawing is part of my exploration of what I call the Quiet Practices—small ways of living from the inside out.
If you’d like to see more of my reflections, I share them here: https://forming20.com/
I get to marry by best friend, Lindsey tomorrow. I spent a year and a half writing and drawing my very first comic book. It was about our life together and how I proposed to her. This strip is an excerpt from that comic.
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.
A horizon of chalk—black sky heavy with silence, gold earth glowing with embered breath.
Between them, a thin line of turquoise, the pause where one world ends and another begins.
It is not sky, nor sea, nor sand alone. It is the threshold—a doorway, where silence teaches and light remembers.
Stand here long enough, and you may hear it breathe.
inking and seeing for better being — https://forming20.com/
Against the weight of a storm-dark sky, tender stems lean forward—some bending, some breaking, some still reaching.
They hold their fire at the tips, waiting to bloom, waiting to burn, waiting to belong to light.
Perhaps this is all of us:
stretching through shadows,
searching for the thin, golden line that divides earth from eternity.
Sometimes the quickest drawings hold the deepest truths. During an after-sermon discussion about understanding the love of God, I found myself listening with one ear and drawing with the other. Frank, seated across the room, made a natural model—relaxed posture, thoughtful presence, and a face full of character.
With a pen in hand, I traced his form in a quick contour line, following the folds of his shirt, the tilt of his jaw, the stillness of his hands resting in his lap. Contour drawing asks us to see more than just the surface—it demands patience and presence, a slowing down until the line itself feels like prayer.
Frank became more than a subject; he was a reminder that the love of God is often revealed in ordinary moments and everyday people.
This week’s been an interesting one for socialising in my world, no denying it. If I’m not getting acquainted with new folks at work or at my art clubs, it’s reconnecting with people I haven’t seen in 20+ years… certainly informed today’s piece, without a doubt!
Overheard the title on the radio this weekend describing Radiohead songs of the In Rainbows era (you probably know the one)… And that ends my current sketchbook!
Rediscovered the German language versions of Peter Gabriel’s third and fourth albums (terrific btw) and come ‘Schock den Affen’ was intrigued at how the German word for ‘monkey’ sounds a hell of a lot like orphan… of course that might just be my ears, you know?
The tables were covered in white paper. Crayons, pastels, and smooth sticks waited quietly. Then came Lucy’s glittery purse—her 8-year-old hands had filled it with stones to pass along, one by one, to the strangers around the table.
We traced them. Pushed them. Held them.
Then we let the colors lead:
-Red for emotion.
-Yellow for curiosity.
-Blue for memory.
Each color came with music, with story, with space.
At the Museum of Wisconsin Art, we made marks not for meaning but for presence.
Thank you to Ann Marie and MOWA for the invitation and trust. And thank you to the participants—some new friends, some old students—for showing up and making lines that listened before they spoke.
One week on from Beltane Fire Festival 2025 and it stills feel surreal that’s it for another year, you know? It’ll be nice to get back to some semblance of normality/whatever… For now? Have a gar on me :-P :-)
Sometimes, a good goodbye is also a fresh hello.
As we wrapped up our "Sacred Spaces" paintings, I asked our student teacher to design a one-day project—something playful, earthy, and engaging to ease the class into her care. She brought mud. Literally.
Using mud and simple stencils, students pressed images—flowers, insects, wings—onto the sidewalk behind our school. There's something timeless about making marks with the ground itself. It felt ancient and immediate at the same time.
These prints won’t last long, but maybe that’s the point. A fleeting image, a shared laugh, a new hand guiding the next phase of learning.
Art is about making marks. Not all of them need to be permanent.
