The man with a vast red hat met a flower on the pad and asked, "Are you my dad?" The flower said, "No. I'm not the one, but I'll pretend I'm your dad if you'll pretend you're my sun."
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 ).
In folklore, a will-o'-the-wisp, will-o'-wisp or ignis fatuus, is an atmospheric ghost light seen by travelers at night, especially over bogs, swamps or marshes. --Wikipedia
11” x 17” Original ink and watercolor painting on Arches 140# hotpress watercolor paper.
Signed by the artist. Unframed.
A landscape that I did about my father while he was alive. He was a sheep farmer and he planted tress on his hill farm.This is done in memory of him as he died from cancer.Its a finished piece and based on sketches I did. Its an acrylic painting and 1/10 in a body of work.
The moment of death of a Christian as they leave this earthly world and travel to the afterlife. The figure is halfway between the earthly and heavenly realms. The earthly realm I painted in flat paints. The heavenly realm is bright and glorious. God is depicted in trinity, you see Father, Son and Holy Spirit as one.
He was passionate about the idea that art in schools is for the growth and development of children, not about the end product. "Drawing makes the mind", he would say. Froebel, the inventor of kindergarten, is the father of art education in schools. Give kids gifts (art supplies), and occupations (assignments), and watch them grow! Fare well Dr. Baker.
A friend of mine asked if I would draw her family in a star wars scene. She wanted to surprise her husband for father's day. Drawing the human form of Chewbacca was surprisingly difficult. I made their dog a sith lord because "She's an evil bitch". Overall, it was a fun piece
Fat little birds make me smile! The Eastern bluebird is a North American migratory thrush. My subject is a male with the most luxurious neck rolls! Drawn in Prismacolor soft core colored pencils on toned tan sketch paper.
I've been seeing lots of new bird species around my neighbourhood, like robins and magpies!
I like to think this bird is watching me from the sea of uncertainty, and looking at all the things I will create in the future and secretly telling me to go on, without me knowing how they will turn out. And strangely, that is some kind of motivation for me. : .
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?
i am so happy that i just found this sketch on my ipad. my grandfather and my family love cars like this. drawing this was so much fun, because it reminded me of all the great memories we had while travelling in the lovely car of my grandpa. thank you for reading & hope you have a wonderful daay!:)
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❤️.
Joseph Cornell (1903–1972)
Cornell worked nights at the kitchen table, sorting and assembling materials for his boxes. It was not easy going. Some nights he felt too fatigued from his day job to concentrate on his art and would sit up reading instead, switching on the oven for warmth. In the mornings, his quarrelsome mother would scold him about the mess he’d left at the kitchen table; without a proper workroom, Cornell was forced to store his growing collection of magazine clippings and dime-store baubles out in the garage.
In 1940 Cornell finally mustered the courage to quit his job and pursue his art full-time—and even then his habits changed little. He still worked nights at the kitchen table, while his mother and brother slept upstairs. In the late morning he would head downtown for breakfast at his local Bickford’s restaurant, often satisfying his sweet tooth with a Danish or a slice of pie (and lovingly cataloging these indulgences in his diary).
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
#dailyrituals #inktober #JosephCornell @masoncurrey
FATHER OF EIGHTEEN ELVES
From Favorite Folktales from Around the World by Jane Yolen.
This stranger gives the child a loving look, and says to the mother, “We don’t act fairly by one another; I cuddle your child, but you beat my husband.”
