This is a graphite pencil drawing of a hunting hawk somewhat loosely based on a photo. The reference photo is from: Birds of Prey by Paul D. Frost (Paragon Books Ltd 2006) and credited to Martin B Withers/FLPA. I found the book in the Goodwill a couple of month ago and was much inspired by the beautiful photographs.
I don’t know, I doodled on my hand and took a photo of it and edited it. I personally think it looks cool but that’s just my opinion. -I have depression, and have been/am a cutter so that explains the words written.
Artwork on "the other side" - playing with the bleed-through from the watercolor and intuitiviely allowing the shapes to arise. Created using watercolor, coffee, ink, graphic pens and unipen
Doodle with Pentel brush, and posca! A little bit note to self. "In between goals is a thing called life that has to be lived and enjoyed." by Sid Caesar.
I am an art teacher with a master’s degree—trained by brilliant professors who believed that art could do more than decorate walls. I offer safe spaces for teenagers to grow—nourishing soil where their imaginations can take root.
And yet… I am assigned to hallway duty.
This is compulsory education, after all.
So I sit—posted like a sentinel—watching young lives stream past.
“Get to class,” I say with a smile and a nudge.
The system wants attendance; I’m hungry for presence.
Armed not with a whistle or clipboard, but with a pen—
my scribble’s soft insurgency.
The hallway stretches out like a geometric hymn.
Columns and corners chant structure.
Teenagers swirl past—half-formed galaxies of limbs and laughter—
their orbits chaotic, their gravity pulling time forward.
I begin to draw.
Not their tardiness, but their motion.
A shoulder. A blur of sneakers.
A tilted head chasing freedom.
Feet flickering like seconds.
Each mark a pulse.
Each smudge a breath.
My paper becomes a seismograph of seeing—
trembling gently through the mundane.
This isn’t about making art for a frame or a feed.
It’s about refusing to leak away in the fluorescent hum of obligation.
It’s a quiet mutiny against the clock.
I do this on long car rides, too (passenger side, mind you).
Letting the lines grow wild, jagged, and unapologetic.
Not for polish—
but for presence.
This is how I remember I’m still alive.
Still growing.
Still watching.
Still choosing to see.
Because sometimes mental health looks like
a piece of scrap paper,
a moving pen,
and the simple, sacred act of
marking time with wonder.
This is the book I made which contains the educational paper I wrote and illustrated about my trip to China in the summer of 2017. I gave a lecture entitled, The Sketchbook: Let's Connect at ICON10, The Illustration Conference in Detroit, MI this past July. I gave a few of these books out along with pocket sketchbooks to the audience. Below are a few spreads from the 40-page book.
