First illustration of Tehuacan tetra, Astyanax tehuacanensis that is endemic to the Río Salado (Gulf of Mexico versant), south of Tehuacán, Puebla, and part of Oaxaca, Mexico. Technic: mixed media (graphite and digital color).
Prismacolor colored pencil drawing of stylized begonias. This was fun, especially making the leaves have a satin texture. I printed this on card stock as a blank card to give to friends.
Done for a friend for a new writing idea featuring her character (the baby), and mine - because I haven’t written anything in over a year and was running low on motivation on that front until this. Also, babies are hard to draw
I wanted to do something with some deep shading because I hadn't done it before and she turned out a tad bit creepier than I had intended but the outcome was good in the end. I really like how her hair came out because painting hair is the bane of my existence. I think she came out great.
Day 2: Puppy, for the DoodleWash Art challenge. A subject I always enjoy drawing. I was in the mood for a floofy boi and corgi pups are full of floof. #doodlewashnovember2019
hey friends!!! i finally got around to uploading the first for chapters of my novel!! i've worked really hard on it and hope you enjoy! would love to hear any headcanons or AUs you can think of, and can't wait to hear your feedback. xoxo honey :) https://www.inkitt.com/stories/fantasy/385506
An article/rant/annotation to an illustration. A #Hackney bar and its flies.
This picture is not as sad and blue as it might at first seem, I promise.
It is early in the week and the pub becomes the territory of the most outspoken drinkers. Raised somewhere between Churchill and Harold MacMillan, a night such as this is time for them to spin out a yarn of nostalgic fantasy. Encouraged by the lack of a crowd and with space to fill, statements start to fly.
In the opening rounds the barman athletically hits back with factual blocks and reality-check haymakers; statistics and personal experiences are given. Two histories cross examined, one where 1982 means Thatcher and the Falklands, the other renders Reagan and the AIDS crisis. Stoicism and national pride vs mental health and realism.
In the latter rounds the barman is fatigued, swaying on the backbar, glasses begin to stack up as form begins to drop. The older men seem stronger than ever.
The barflies come in close now, they scrutinise his generations work ethic and make wild political comments on poverty, immigrants and the minimum wage.
The barman is close to sheer bloody despair, he maintains his defence and focuses on breathing while maintaining his professional stance.
But at the end of the night the barman knows HE will ring that bell, they will politely leave and they will return again in a week and maybe, just maybe there will be a change, common ground or maybe at least polite silence.
But what these interactions have given despite the salt in the eye is community and an exchange between generations, culture and class of those participating. No home is ever straight forward, no relative without their good and bad traits and in a world where we often slide into echo chambers online or in our physical environments, the pub is still a place where society is family, face to face, pint to pint. Or maybe it's just a room with alcohol on tap?
In wanting to get active with my fellow doodler community, I wanted to stop in and introduce myself. My name is Dalton Stark, I live in Texas, and i'm a doodle addict, and an advocate for the possibility of anything. For me, doodling is my purest state of being human. My sketchbooks are a very sacred place for me to practice this expressive and arcane form of imagination meditation, which I'm always trying to find more excuses to spend more time in. It is to me, all about intuition, making discoveries, surprising yourself, having fun and maybe even making yourself and others smile or laugh sometimes. I look forward to being a part of this beautiful inky ecosystem with y'all, here are some very secret sketchbook spreads.
At first I planned on keeping this drawing realistic. But over a week ago I learned that a dear friend lost their sibling in an accident. Then this past weekend I worked on a small project that really struck a chord with me. I helped a friend and her son record a song she dedicated to her father, who had recently passed away as well. They sang "Let it Be" by the Beatles. There was so much emotion in the air. And for the first time ever I was brought to tears after I mixed a song. For the rest of the weekend I thought about my family a LOT. Especially my Parents. They've done so fucking much for me and my brother. It sucks that, only as an adult, I realized that every fiber of who I am, and where I am now is due to their love, support, and sacrifice. This piece goes out to the people you can count on. They're there for you no matter what the cost... No matter the pain, even if it's literally killing them. It's Purely out of Love and they wouldn't have it any other way❤️.
This is the first little 'Thumbodies' character that I designed during the holidays. She has many other kind, creative & adventurous friends! Online comic & doodles @ doodletowncomic.com
Just finished the excellent EXPLORING Kourse (Sketchbook Skool), I had to set my own agenda. I am trying to get used to using watercolors. I like it when they don't fill the page entirely. Here is an archerfish trying to catch an insect by spitting at it,
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.
I've been mailing these quick, improvised, hand-drawn doodled envelopes out to random Instagram followers. I'll be doing more of them so follow me @doodlers and let's be friends.
If it wasn't enough that Ernest Shacletons ship Endurance was crushed by the ice in Antarctika’s, some kind of weird Space Weather phenomenon appeared into the sky(drawing tip:if your drawing looks flat and dull , try to transforming it something different ).
