garden

Dont judge me its not the best.

Ink on paper

Based on a photograph of a hibiscus flower enjoying its last day in the garden before being brought back home before the Canadian fall and winter. I imported the photo in Procreate and the rest is history.

Garden Cat

Every dusk my sunflowers get demolished by evil vampire snails. Welcome to spring!

Watercolor & ink sketch.

We're at the monster garden where the people were defeated, A guard is never needed 'cause the monsters must be feeded. I mean fed. Like I said: Peeps are happy to be eaten 'cause it's never all that long, Monsters do the number two and poop them back onto the lawn. Colored in @escapemotions Rebelle

I was testing a Rotring Rapid Pro 2mm and this came out. Inked with a burgundy Custom 743 EF, an underrated workhorse of a pen.

Working pic of the Millennium Garden, available soon in my Etsy Shop https://www.etsy.com/your/shops/JuliaHillIllustrator

A vibrant garden scene showcasing an array of colorful flowers with tall stems. The background features a mix of greens and yellows, adding to the lively atmosphere.

A quaint old building stands amidst lush greenery, with a cobblestone path leading to its entrance. Trees frame the scene under a partly cloudy sky.

Grandfather was a clergyman and used to preach to the King. Once, before his children and his children's children and his children's children's children covered the face of the earth, Grandfather came to a long field which was surrounded by forests and hills so that it looked like Paradise. At one end it opened out into a bay for his descendants to bathe in. Then Grandfather thought, here will I dwell and multiply, for verily this is the Land of Canaan. Then Grandfather and Grandmother built a big two-storey house with a sloping roof and lots of rooms and steps and terraces and a huge veranda and placed plain wooden furniture everywhere inside and outside the house and when it was ready Grandfather began to plant things until the field became a Garden of Eden where he walked around in his big black beard. All he had to do was to point at a plant and it was blessed and grew until it groaned under its own weight. - Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson #dailydrawing #tovejansson

People talk about having a green thumb, maybe some people have a green heart.

Artist and writer. While undergoing treatment for Patulous Eustachian Tube, a refractory ear disease, they developed an interest in Digitalnature and Computer, leading to their pursuit of media art creation. In March 2023, they exhibited “Bonsai Woven by Nature and Technology” at a multi-purpose exchange hub, later completing a masterpiece in electronic art. In April 2023, the work was showcased at the NFT digital art online gallery Media Art Gallery. In September 2023, inspired by memories of reforestation efforts, they exhibited a photography piece at a garden show in Kansai, expressing a strong desire to engage with reforestation through art. In 2024, their media art was exhibited at an NFT exhibition at Kyoto Miyakomesse, continuing their exploration of the fusion of digital technology and nature in artistic expression.

The Flower Garden

Living, breathing, and creating with nature When you wake up to the gentle sights and sounds of the pond, trees, plants, birds, bees, and dragonflies, inspiration flows effortlessly. So, when the owner asked for a menu design for @SarayaGoa Art Café, I thought—why not let nature speak for itself? Using pen and ink, I captured the beauty of my mornings here—each stroke reflecting the lush surroundings that make Saraya unique. Instead of focusing on just food items, I filled the cover and inside pages with illustrations of the vibrant life around us. Dining here means eating among the green, surrounded by the diverse plants of our permaculture gardens. This study is a tribute to the beauty that shapes every meal at Saraya.

I painted recently a little castle for a wedding invitation, in watercolor and pigma micron pens. I'm now thinking about creating a fabric pattern on the theme of castle and royal gardens

Little pause in my travelbook, for little watercolors mixed with ink pen on parisian landscapes

‭‭In our little potted gardens, sometimes our plants thrive, and sometimes they don't. But what remains constant are the pots still being a pot. This reminds me of the Bible verse, which served as the inspiration for this week's post: -Isaiah‬ ‭40:8‬ ‭NIV‬‬- The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever. //There are 6 Sundays leading up to Good Friday. In observation of Lent, I will be posting 6 works inspired by the theme. This is for the 5th Sunday of Lent.

Luminary Festival - Auren Farkis (Digital Portrait I did as a colour study) Crisp reverberating strings danced through the evening. Notes twisted and echoed up through the emerald, velvet tiers of Ridgedow Gardens. Dusk’s veil had long since darkened to a diamond-encrusted black, and Clarglow was alive with activity. Footpaths were choked with revellers that formed a river of light that coursed and pulsed through the park. Will-o-whisp spots of light also glowed among the neatly trimmed hedgerows and statues. Their magic-addled voices rose up, joining in with the music of the Luminary Festival. A young man, no more than a quarter of a century old, glowed brightest of all. A soft orange radiated from his eyes, and his veins pulsed a brilliant red. He was dripping in gold and gems. Over an outfit that somehow managed to be heavily layered and revealing at the same time, he wore a sheer cape, which was heavily embroidered with blood-red crystals that refracted his own light around him in dazzling, concentrated rays. It was such a dangerous colour of magic, but his expression was soft and dreamy. Excited laughter rose up as a clustered group shot metallic confetti skyward. Gold flake drifted down and settled into his silver hair, cheeks, and shoulders. No doubt he would discover the remnants of this festival in his home weeks from now. He increased his pace, stepping off the cobbled path to overtake the group, when one of their number split from the group. The coils of her dark hair were so saturated with gold that she looked like she belonged on a pedestal next to the other statues. She intercepted him, matching his pace. She snaked a long, slender arm around his waist and pulled him closer. She pressed her lips against his neck, leaving a wake of golden kisses up to his earlobe, where she leaned closer to whisper. — “Aurie, Luv, I know that look. Don’t tell me you’re headed home. The eve has only just begun. “ Her glowing eyes Locked with Auren’s, her grip tightening, slowing the both of them to a stop, causing a temporary blockage in the flow of people. “Overdid myself Mel.. you’ll have to –” –” Come with us to the reflecting pool.” She cooed, meeting his lips in an off-center kiss, smearing his inky wine lipstick. Momentarily, he allowed himself to relax. He considered saying yes. His heart pounding, he dipped his friend backwards gracefully, resenting that he had to leave. An itch in his left arm reminded his fuzzy brain that he was in danger. Gasping softly, he gently lifted Mella upright and spun her out towards her friends, who were growing impatient. He couldn’t make out their faces in the fuzz of the evening. “I can’t, I’m sorry Mel! We’ll talk later.” Before she could protest, he danced, spinning forward in a brilliant display of speed that ended in a stumble as he met a set of steep steps that coiled sharply upwards out of the park and onto the pink brick streets overlooking Ridgedow Gardens. The glazed windows facing the street were empty and blank… their occupants elsewhere, enjoying the festival. The empty buildings were like faces, judging him for his lack of zeal. Auren wound his way through streets and side streets, his pace increasing as he grew more and more alone. Finally, he was climbing a set of steps to his own front door. Smirking at the sight of it he reached down into the front of the bodice that held together the layers of his outfit pulling free a loop of keys that were on a long chain looped around his neck. Aligning it to the keyhole he struggled with the lock, cursing softly under his breath as it initially failed to cooperate with him. In the quiet black of his foyer, he latched the door behind him and stumbled forward, tearing at the ribbon that held the gleaming cape that draped from his bare shoulders. He let it drop on a black lacquered table. He reached up to unclasp an elaborate choker and tore his single, crimson glove down from his elbow. He pressed a gilded fingernail against a band of red ink encroached upon by a spreading corruption. Marginally extending beyond the band were sinews of mismatched muscle and skin; even his hair had begun to glow red. Pulse rising, he wrenched his rings from his fingers, casting them into the ever-darkening room. Precious jewellery piled under him until only the dimmest glow from his own veins remained.. Slumping onto the steps, he tightened his grip on his arm and twisted it ninety degrees. A sharp click of crystal against porcelain met his ears. The room was enveloped in black as his final stone slid away from his arm, rendering the prosthesis inert. He slid to his side, the sounds of the party below overtaken by his own gasping breaths, panic refusing to subside alongside his magic.

drawing shaped paper cut

I take a lot of Genesis as an allegory for birth and maturation, both individually and collectively. The Garden of Eden could easily be interpreted as the womb, and we are all cast out of it at some point. Genesis 2:24 says "This is why a man leaves his father and mother and bonds with his wife, and they become one flesh." Though people use this passage to refer to the tradition of marriage, I think that it speaks to something much, much deeper than that. Literally, when two people copulate, they create a child that is of one flesh. They do not "become one flesh" because they engage in a ritual institution and are now "to be viewed as comprising a single identity," but they literally become one flesh because their genetic compositions are joined into a new being (Mark 10:8 and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two but one flesh. 9 What therefore God has joined together, let no man separate.”). That being said, I read somewhere once that babies born in every part of the world make phonetic sounds from pretty much every language in the world. It is only after a period of time that they start to key in on certain sounds that the people around them are making, and it is only after that that children key in enough to start developing more advanced language skills (typically). However, in this original state, there is a freedom. There are no assumptions. There is an innocence in that state. There is a lack of judgement. There comes a point at which babies/young children begin to mimic and to incorporate what they are experiencing from the creatures around them into themselves. To small creatures with an undeveloped sense of self or reality, the caregivers around them may as well be gods, at least from their perspective. They will learn from these gods around them and will begin to embody their cultural beliefs, their language, their idiosyncrasies, and their perceptions, often on a deeply unconscious level. Adults contribute to that quite thoroughly and somewhat consciously. (Genesis 1:26 Then God said, “Let Us make mankind in Our image, according to Our likeness..") (Genesis 11:7 7 Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech.) In our own way as individuals, we are each a Tower of Babel, and at some point, for each of us, that Tower fell. Barriers to communication of so many kinds were created for and/or by us. Perhaps we still spend time constructing new barriers and thinking up new ways to distance ourselves from the rest of our kind. I chose to use the phrase "materialism" to express how children engender these attributes of caregivers and others alike. However, this can easily be exchanged for a phrase like "socialism," or "corporate capitalism," or nearly any other thing that you can probably think of. Children are like sponges. They soak up even more than we realize. Most widespread religions in the world have some form of renunciation belief or ritual wherein an individual must 'cast off' the old self and put on the new. This is because, regardless of where or when a child is born in the world, the perspectives of the people around them raising them will likely leave much to be desired. It is necessary for beings to continue to learn, and this often entails a serious consideration of what was instilled into them at an earlier time. It is quintessential that we question and evaluate these things since the state of the world will have changed by the time that we reach maturation. The ideas that people gave us may apply to a world that is already different. The story of the Tower of Babel may refer to a state that earlier humans lived in, perhaps on a shared continent, in which the manners in which they communicated were similar. Then, at some point, perhaps these same peoples went off on their travels and developed new languages. In a funny way, we seem to do that as individuals. At some point, we strike out on our own, even if only a little. Though we may differ on surface level behaviors and in the symbols that we use to describe the human experience, human beings are more or less fundamentally the same. We let our differences create so, so, so many barriers between ourselves and other beings. Just think of all of the harm that things like xenophobia, racism, intolerance, and a lack of an ability to communicate verbally with one another have done to our species. Even beyond that, just think of how easily we dismiss the inner lives and inner experiences of creatures different than ourselves simply because they do not communicate verbally with us in our preferred tongue. Research is overwhelmingly in support of other beings communicating with others of their kind, whether we as individuals acknowledge it or not.. Some of us are just really into denial about it. We could achieve remarkably wonderful things, if only we would learn to recognize the similarities of our experiences. (Matthew 19:6 So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”)

This sketchbook spread features a stylized pattern of colorful poppy flowers. The garden of flowers includes leaves of green, yellow and peach. The flowers are yellow with blue stems. The drawing as a whole has a whimsical and playful feel with a bright color scheme, polka dots and organic squiggle shapes, and blobs of seemingly random colors. Please check out my website ArtsyDrawings.com for more by me, Brianna Eisman. Thank you!

More air clay work. Water colour paint. I have a resident squirrel, who I have named Melanie. She left an acorn in my garden and now I have a little oak tree.