face

Yet another senseless lynching that has me here with a broken heart. Like my other paintings on this subject, I wanted to focus on life. Tyre was dynamic and energetic, so I wanted to paint him soring. I also wanted to paint him defiant in the face of his oppressors. He was a skater, and they are no strangers to defiance. Thankfully, I found some excellent references to help me with the composition. Aesthetically, I wanted the comp to be modern, colorful, and hopefully impactful. I went for a pop art, illustration, and false-color vibe and minimized blending and refining layer edges. I painted this in Rebelle 6 and Photoshop. Much respect.

tiny gold and tan flowers on rich brown

funky, leafy stripes in fun colors

sketchy floral

pinwheel patchwork inspired by a sleeping bag I had a long time ago

Happy people in my life. Precisely just what they look like. They smile big and some wear hats. They hatched from eggs all laid by cats.

Years ago, I sketched Gibby at work—pencil in hand, bold strokes alive with motion. I caught them from over the shoulder: just the back of their head, the soft curve of their face, and that focused arm bringing something into being. They were 9 or 10 then, already showing the spark of creativity and concentration that pointed toward who they’d become. Now in their mid-20s, Gibby is thoughtful, insightful—quick to listen, slow to speak, and wired to process the world with care. Their path has been remarkable: two degrees in 2.5 years, no debt. That didn’t happen by accident. It took grit, German immersion schooling, 16 college credits earned in high school, and testing out of 24 more once at university. That’s Gibby—quietly determined, resourceful, and steady. But their story isn’t just academic. Gibby’s always been gifted with their hands—drawn to set design, locksmithing, welding. Trades they wanted to pursue early on, and still feel pulled toward. They’re at a bike shop now. It’s not the dream, but it fits: their hands know how to build, repair, and reshape the world. There’s been frustration—maybe even anger—that we didn’t let them follow the trade route right away. I get that now. Life veers, and sometimes the path chosen isn't the one imagined. But Gibby’s resilience—their ability to adapt and press on—is what I admire most. They’ve embraced their journey with honesty, stepping into their identity as a they/them person, unafraid to define success in their own terms. That takes courage. I’m proud of them—not for a résumé, but for who they are. This old drawing isn’t just a memory—it’s a thread connecting past to present. A reminder that the creative spark, the steady hands, the deep soul I saw back then is still shining. So here’s to you, Gibby: the kid who sketched with fire and the adult who still shapes the world with quiet brilliance. Your value has never been about the path you’re on. It’s about the person you are. And I’ll be here, cheering you on—every step of the way.

This is a pre procreate drawing. I’ve always liked the way this guys face turned out

Lino cut print over pastel. The story goes: The bird fell in love with the whale the first time she saw him break through the ocean’s surface, sunlight dancing on his back. From high above, she sang to him, and deep below, he answered with a song as old as the tides. She longed to dive, to join him in the rolling blue. He wished to rise, to fly beside her in the endless sky. But air and water would not trade places. So each day, at dawn and dusk, they met at the edge of their worlds—she on the wind, he in the waves—singing a love song carried by the breeze and the tide, never together but never apart.

Color Pencil over Gesture. It was a contemplative day in the art classroom. Students were drawing self portraits and I had time to join them. Our discussion was on 'Reflection'. The image we see of ourselves in the mirror is not what people see when they look at us. They see the reverse. The mole on my cheek is on the other side of my face, if you were to look at me in person. This leads to discussions of perception and reality. It can be fun and humbling. We cannot live only by sight. We must have a faith of some sort. This reminds me of the Michael Feldman Public Radio Program called: "Whad'Ya Know?" It opens with the audience shouting: "Whad'd Ya Know?" and Michael replying: "Not Much! You?". We do not know much, I think, as much as we like to pretend that we think we do.

Acrylic painting, made this while thinking about lighting bugs dancing on the waters surface and fish jumping out of the water trying to catch them during a full moon. It was a good memory; fishing on the lake at night.

Inspired by the Fremen from Dune. Blizzard white and blue eyes on a face thats been in the grinding desert many years. Painted with Rebelle and Flame Painter

I do generally put pen (or some kind of tool), to paper (or some kind of surface), every day, but I'm really TRYING to do it purposefully in one singular location (journal). Here is a successful attempt from that particular day. I'm also super lazy, which means I never go up to my actual studio and only use what's out on my computer desk. (Including the "waste" page because I often like it as much/more.)

I do generally put pen (or some kind of tool), to paper (or some kind of surface), every day, but I'm really TRYING to do it purposefully in one singular location (journal). Here is a successful attempt from that particular day. I'm also super lazy, which means I never go up to my actual studio and only use what's out on my computer desk.

I do generally put pen (or some kind of tool), to paper (or some kind of surface), every day, but I'm really TRYING to do it purposefully in one singular location (journal). Here is a successful attempt from that particular day. I'm also super lazy, which means I never go up to my actual studio and only use what's out on my computer desk.

I do generally put pen (or some kind of tool), to paper (or some kind of surface), every day, but I'm really TRYING to do it purposefully in one singular location (journal). Here is a successful attempt from that particular day. I'm also super lazy, which means I never go up to my actual studio and only use what's out on my computer desk.

I do generally put pen (or some kind of tool), to paper (or some kind of surface), every day, but I'm really TRYING to do it purposefully in one singular location (journal). Here is a successful attempt from that particular day. I'm also super lazy, which means I never go up to my actual studio and only use what's out on my computer desk.

little groups of bright flowers

floral pattern with big orange blooms and smaller red and white flowers

Trying to doodle my way through a Disney post-it note pad pre-printed with Mickey's face and ears.

Red orange and black fiery tiger stripes

Pink textures and patterns.

Colored pencil on toned paper

We are stitched together from fragments—torn edges, scraps, masks. The sketchbook shows only pieces, but grace sees the whole face.

Sometimes wisdom comes in a joke, and sometimes laughter carries truth. Brian spoke like a sage, Mike answered like a friend, and together they held the room. We draw to remember. Not only the lines of faces, but the presence of goodness, the gift of voices that echo long after the chairs are empty.

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