All you have to do is lift your chin up to encounter the most fascinating things in life. What would it take to lift up your chin and talk to the person sitting right next to you. I fear that one day we will forget the very essence of being a human.
I think Taco Bell Bear's mama might have drank a little too much Dew while he was in the womb. The theme of this page is "giant heads and the horrible birth experiences they yield."
(2B pencil on a 87mm x 139mm postcard) The idea of owning an exotic pet was always used in comic book adverts. The most well known one being the sea monkeys. People thought they were getting something really special, until it was pointed out to them that they were just brine shrimp. But imagine if something like a pet demon was available!
(HB pencil on a 89mm x 139mm postcard) The strangest things can sometimes trigger lucidity in dreams. Forget the fact that she was naked, or that she was sat next to an invisible man and that there was a monster trying to grope her. The dragon-headed man was smoking in a no smoking area. How fucking dare he?!
Professor Abb Sunkin. Chief experimentalist, faithful servant to the president. Known as the final-lab executioner for my cell-mates, or « that asshole » – as I overheard – for the experimentalists under his command.
Inspired by a turn of phrase my girlfriend used to describe certain ex-friends of ours who got lost to conspiracy theories and generally problematic attitudes. Needless to say they’re haunted by all kinds of ghosts, wherever these people are!
Imperfect Lines, Honest Presence
This sketch is not perfect—and that’s exactly why it’s alive. The bold figure, the dissolving hat, the tilted chair: all of it feels unfinished, fleeting, caught in motion. It’s what the Japanese call wabi-sabi—finding beauty in the imperfect, the impermanent, the incomplete.
But there’s something deeper here too. A quick sketch is not just what the eye records. It’s what the soul permits. To draw without fixing, without polishing, is to admit the world will not hold still for us. Life slips past. The lines break off. And yet, somehow, the essence remains.
When you sketch this way, you are not the master of the moment—you are its guest. The pencil does not carve permanence; it pays attention. The act of drawing becomes an act of being present, of honoring what is already vanishing.
So here’s a challenge: grab a pencil and sketch someone near you in sixty seconds. Do not erase. Do not perfect. Let the lines falter. When you finish, ask yourself: What truth did the imperfection reveal?
Perhaps presence itself is the real art.
