This is a digital rendering of a drawing I have recreated several times. The original was a doodle done in high school and has since been done as a painting, a tattoo design, and now as digital art. My inspiration was 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', classic cartoons (Woody the Woodpecker), and pinup art styles.
A Brief Pause at the Edge of Becoming
It seems I am always seeking a place to sit—
not just to rest the body,
but to settle the soul.
Yet even in stillness, Gary Brecka’s words whisper:
“The quickest way to old age
is the aggressive pursuit of comfort.”
So I do not stay long.
I walked until I found a picnic table
beneath a canopy of bare-limbed trees,
branches like open hands waiting for green.
The blue spruces nearby—
stoic, unchanged, whispering that some things endure.
I sketched.
Not perfectly. Not for anyone’s praise.
Just a mark to say: I was here.
Alive in this in-between.
Waiting. Listening.
Not for leaves—
but for something truer than comfort.
Thank you for joining me in this small noticing.
A moment borrowed from the rush.
A table. A tree. A thought.
A gift.
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.
Taking some inspiration from some things me and my girlfriend talked about regarding old highs in one’s past and asking yourself if revisiting them later on in life is worth it… the usual stuff I guess.
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!
For these Grahams Up the Tree drawings I used a Pilot Custom 823 with FA nib. This pen is legendary. It has a very soft nib and a giant vacuum filled tank of ink so you can write and draw for days.
It's casual Friday with scientists in jeans,
With half of them relaxing and the others breaking things.
Sweeping robots with a broom is taxing (work's not any fun!)
But they're leaving for the weekend soon and all work must be done!
THE SMALLER YOU ARE THE BIGGER CHRISTMAS IS.
Underneath the Christmas tree Christmas is vast, it is a green jungle with red apples and sad, peaceful angels twirling around on cotton thread keeping watch over the entrance to the primaeval forest. In the glass balls the primaeval forest is never-ending; Christmas is a time when you feel absolutely safe, thanks to the Christmas
tree.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
#dailydrawing #tovejansson
A Female Pied Flycatcher Ficedula Hypoleuca…
The Pied Flycatcher is a summer migrant to the UK.
As the name suggests, it feeds on flies that are caught by making a quick dash from an obvious perch. There are around 40,000 pairs in the UK each summer. The Pied Flycatcher is a small unmistakable bird that often sits with drooped wings. It spends its winter in Africa.
Identification:
Adult
Adult males and females share the same plumage pattern but are different colours.
Male Pied Flycatchers are small and chunky,13cm in length and are black and white all over, they are quite unmistakable.
The upperparts are black and white, tail is black with white base to outer tail feathers, rump is a slightly paler, back is jet black, wings are black with white wing patch (tertials)
The nape and head is black except for small white patch above the black bill. Chin and throat white, extending to form a half collar.
The entire underparts are white, ie; chin, throat, breast, belly and undertail coverts. Legs, bill and eye black.
Females are brown versions of the male although tail is dark, no obvious white patch over the bill and the collar is less distinct. #piedflycatcher #brd #birdart #birdartist #birdsketch #birddrawing #bampidraws #birdlovers
Stripped of skin, status, and story, what remains is the truth beneath it all. Bone Deep is a minimalist skeletal portrait rendered in graphite and ink on canvas, built through cross-hatching, stark contrast, and deliberate restraint. The exaggerated skull and hollow eyes confront the viewer directly — not with fear, but with inevitability.
A quiet study of restraint at altitude. Framed through an aircraft window, the world below drifts by while the interior remains still—objects worn, familiar, and waiting. Subtle distortions in perspective and muted tones emphasize the tension between motion and pause, progress and endurance. This piece captures the discipline of waiting while suspended between departure and arrival, where patience is not passive, but practiced under pressure.
