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Lindsey's prompt: Golf Outfit

The warm weather in Edinburgh today got me inspired yet again! About time, winter was just too… winter, for my tastes.

Mark Twain (1835–1910) In the 1870s and ’80s, the Twain family spent their summers at Quarry Farm in New York, about two hundred miles west of their Hartford, Connecticut, home. Twain found those summers the most productive time for his literary work, especially after 1874, when the farm owners built him a small private study on the property. That same summer, Twain began writing The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. His routine was simple: he would go to the study in the morning after a hearty breakfast and stay there until dinner at about 5:00. Since he skipped lunch, and since his family would not venture near the study—they would blow a horn if they needed him—he could usually work uninterruptedly for several hours. “On hot days,” he wrote to a friend, “I spread the study wide open, anchor my papers down with brickbats, and write in the midst of the hurricane, clothed in the same thin linen we make shirts of.” Whether or not he was working, he smoked cigars constantly. One of his closest friends, the writer William Dean Howells, recalled that after a visit from Twain, “the whole house had to be aired, for he smoked all over it from breakfast to bedtime.” - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” ― Mark Twain #dailyrituals #inktober #MarkTwain @masoncurrey

Thanks to my best friend and art teacher, I am working on this beautiful baby dragon ( names are still being brainstormed) that I have been working on in classes and art club, keep in mind it is definitely not finished but I’m excited to see how this goes! Hope you all like it, any tweaks or ideas are greatly appreciated

And that concludes another sketchbook! Got through this one quite quickly…

There’s a lot of waiting in life. Waiting in lobbies. Waiting on answers. Waiting for braces to tighten, kids to grow, hearts to heal, or prayers to be answered. I sat at the orthodontist, watching dollars tighten on tiny wires, and made this sketch. A tree. A house. A street. Color helped the moment breathe. I remember once hearing a chess master say, “There is no waiting in chess.” It confused me—wasn’t there always a turn to wait for? But he explained: “There’s no waiting. Only planning. Plotting. Analyzing. You’re always thinking.” I once repeated that to a FIDE master. He got mad. Maybe because waiting and patience aren’t the same thing. We can be still and deeply active inside. We can pause without being passive. And then there’s Lindsey’s voice in the back of my head: “That sounds like a first-world problem.” “Speak life.” “Be thankful. Rejoice always.” And she’s right. So here’s to filling waiting time with something creative. Something kind. Something that turns a delay into a doorway.

The tulips in my art studio are in full bloom but I’m gonna have to mow my grass again soon.

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.

para el dia 27 de Marchusic he decidido hacerlo dedicado esta canción y esta ocasión la protagoniza la pareja de DJ gato y gatita sirena conocidos como DJ Catnip y Mercat con esta canción

Pyotr Ilich Tchaikovsky (1840–1893) At 9:30, Tchaikovsky set to work—composing at the piano only after he had dealt with any proofs or his correspondence, chores that he disliked. “Before setting about the pleasant task,” his brother noted, “Pyotr Ilich always hastened to get rid of the unpleasant.” After lunch he went for a long walk, regardless of the weather. His brother writes, “Somewhere at sometime he had discovered that a man needs a two-hour walk for his health, and his observance of this rule was pedantic and superstitious, as though if he returned five minutes early he would fall ill, and unbelievable misfortunes of some sort would ensue.” - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “Truly there would be reason to go mad were it not for music.” ― Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky “If you do not want to write, at least spit on a piece of paper, put it in an envelope, and send it to me. You are not taking any notice of me at all. God forgive you – all I wanted was a few words from you.” ― Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky #dailyrituals #inktober #PeterTchaikovsky @masoncurrey

https://www.instagram.com/danielmarquezdraw/

Ms. Nathan was a play production teacher with flair and a big personality. She wore colorful clothing and loud socks that never matched. Her joyful, chortling laugh filled the room—or the hallway—wherever she happened to be. Staff meetings and PD days have always been strong invitations for observational drawings. Over the years, I’ve found that there are many boxes to check in a wide variety of systems. I often created my own boxes—and checked them with sketches of my colleagues. This one goes out to the colorful Ms. Nathan.

I wanted to measure how far I have come. In 2023 I drew Voxs screen, well today I redrew it and got this as a result. I'm not one to feel a sense of pride, but damn I'm feeling proud. I have done a lot of self taught with my art and using Ipad and procreate. I did take a art class in college which was basic sketching. I have watched videos, listened to others and just observed to get where I am. I don't know if my art will take me anywhere. But what I do know is, its my outlet, my vent, my escape.

Years ago, while digging through old journals and sketches, I stumbled across a quick, scribbled drawing of two pears. Beneath it, I'd written a raw and honest note: "Ann is pissed. I think it's because she's uncertain about me, us, life itself. She just ran into my car with the van. She says it was an accident, but she seems happier now—almost like it was cathartic. . . Like sex." At the time, I scribbled this in frustration, feeling a deep disconnect between us. Intimacy had become a confusing and distant concept in our relationship. The pears I'd sketched were rough and scratchy, charged with my chaotic feelings. Looking back, I see how emotions can drive us to strange actions, some intentional, some accidental, often leaving us oddly relieved afterward. Humans are complex, fascinating beings, navigating messy emotions and messy relationships, sometimes colliding intentionally or unintentionally, seeking relief in unexpected ways. Perhaps the pears were my subconscious pun on "pair," reflecting the awkward, confusing way Ann and I were bumping through life together—making messes, but occasionally finding strange humor and genuine catharsis in the chaos. I've learned to smile gently at the rawness of our humanity, appreciating even our scratchy sketches and emotional collisions. They're reminders that life, relationships, and our own hearts are never simple, but they're authentically human. Here's to embracing life's unexpected catharsis and finding humor in our imperfections.

Herman Melville (1819–1891) "I rise at eight—thereabouts—& go to my barn—say good-morning to the horse, & give him his breakfast. (It goes to my heart to give him a cold one, but it can’t be helped.) Then, pay a visit to my cow—cut up a pumpkin or two for her, & stand by to see her eat it—for it’s a pleasant sight to see a cow move her jaws—she does it so mildly & with such a sanctity." - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “I would prefer not to.” ― Herman Melville, Bartleby the Scrivener “A smile is the chosen vehicle of all ambiguities.” ― Herman Melville, Pierre; or, The Ambiguities #dailyrituals #inktober #HermanMelville @masoncurrey

Years ago, I did some triathlons, and though I miss that feeling of accomplishment through hard work, I DO NOT miss all the niggling injuries or dedicating so much of my time to training. The post-workout and post-race meals were what kept me going. Food, food, and more food. I'll never do all that again, but this was a fun way to relive the grind.

Drawing on gray vellum paper using colored pencil. Size 7x12 inches

Having spent a good four to five hours today editing photos from a photography gig I undertook earlier this week, the title seems more than pertinent!

Art swap I made for my mutual in dc oc community I'm part of

"Pisces Koi" is a bold and intricate black-and-white ink piece that blends symbolism with fluid motion. A koi fish, known for its resilience and transformation, weaves through a bed of blooming roses, creating a contrast between movement and stillness. The fine details in the scales and petals bring depth, making the composition feel alive. The upward motion of the koi echoes the legend of perseverance—where a koi swimming upstream becomes a dragon—mirroring the Pisces spirit of adaptation and ambition. The roses introduce another layer, possibly symbolizing beauty, personal growth, or challenges that shape us. This piece captures a sense of quiet strength and fluidity, speaking to those drawn to themes of transformation, water energy, and the balance between struggle and grace.

The urge to draw a zombie got me!

Woah, Richy isn't dead? Crazy stuff. I got Instagram a while back and abandoned this account because Instagram pulls in more people, but after a few years I got overwhelmed and deleted everything. Now I'm back – only sort of, since I rarely do art. Burnt out, you know?

Mars Rocket Ship ready to go!

Marker, coloured pencil and gold marker on marker paper.

Songs of wolves and sharks.

Turns out, leprechauns don’t need rainbows to find pot (of gold) in Amsterdam—just a solid set of wheels. This guy’s off to chase some lucky breaks, one tiny pedal at a time. Illustration by me, because St. Patrick’s Day needed more bikes.