hands

My answer to this week's drawing prompt.

Tonight you should fall asleep with with fresh smudges of ink on your hands and fingers.

He sits up in his teacup with his hands wrapped 'round a porg, Thinking up new ways to join forces with the Borg. To eradicate the Rebels by infecting them with spores, And assimilate the hive mind to become one with the Force.

A Brief Pause at the Edge of Becoming It seems I am always seeking a place to sit— not just to rest the body, but to settle the soul. Yet even in stillness, Gary Brecka’s words whisper: “The quickest way to old age is the aggressive pursuit of comfort.” So I do not stay long. I walked until I found a picnic table beneath a canopy of bare-limbed trees, branches like open hands waiting for green. The blue spruces nearby— stoic, unchanged, whispering that some things endure. I sketched. Not perfectly. Not for anyone’s praise. Just a mark to say: I was here. Alive in this in-between. Waiting. Listening. Not for leaves— but for something truer than comfort. Thank you for joining me in this small noticing. A moment borrowed from the rush. A table. A tree. A thought. A gift.

The tables were covered in white paper. Crayons, pastels, and smooth sticks waited quietly. Then came Lucy’s glittery purse—her 8-year-old hands had filled it with stones to pass along, one by one, to the strangers around the table. We traced them. Pushed them. Held them. Then we let the colors lead: -Red for emotion. -Yellow for curiosity. -Blue for memory. Each color came with music, with story, with space. At the Museum of Wisconsin Art, we made marks not for meaning but for presence. Thank you to Ann Marie and MOWA for the invitation and trust. And thank you to the participants—some new friends, some old students—for showing up and making lines that listened before they spoke.

Everyone is already doing it, this is mainly a reminder for me!

I had a rock tumbler as a child and really enjoyed it. When my youngest was a child we bought her one. She was eager to enjoy it too, but somewhere after starting on that path, we lost track and it everything inside turned into a solid mass. We tossed it and forgot about it. On a recent beach trip, I collected handfuls of rocks, as I am always likely to do, and, upon return, remembered how I loved my childhood rock tumbler. I immediately researched, ordered and eagerly anticipated its delivery. Of course, with Amazon Prime, that was only a couple day’s wait. As soon as I unboxed it I thought “what am I doing?” I have neither time, nor space for yet another hobby. I thought “what will I DO with a pile of polished, pretty rocks?” I would gather them in my hands and feel their silky smoothness. I would likely gather them in some beautiful glass bowl and…then what? I have toddler grand kids frequently at my home. They put small colorful things in their mouths and up their noses and feed them to the dogs regularly. And I don’t even have a single space to display a bog bowl of pretty rocks. So I quickly decided “I’m Returning the Rock Tumbler” and will, for NOW, stick to painting them when the mood strikes.

"Her cricket kids traipse in to wash their hands." Cricket is a popular bat-and-ball game in Australia where the winning team gets to eat crickets at the end of a match.

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.

I love the show Breaking Bad, and rewatch watch it a lot. I noticed the other night Saul said this to Walt and I immediately got out my iPad and started in on the letters.

I tried drawing my hands every day for a week, and here is the output :)

Sometimes the quickest drawings hold the deepest truths. During an after-sermon discussion about understanding the love of God, I found myself listening with one ear and drawing with the other. Frank, seated across the room, made a natural model—relaxed posture, thoughtful presence, and a face full of character. With a pen in hand, I traced his form in a quick contour line, following the folds of his shirt, the tilt of his jaw, the stillness of his hands resting in his lap. Contour drawing asks us to see more than just the surface—it demands patience and presence, a slowing down until the line itself feels like prayer. Frank became more than a subject; he was a reminder that the love of God is often revealed in ordinary moments and everyday people.

What a handsome little ghost

"She was a handsome woman"

When we help someone there is always something that blooms and grows beyond us. It is an increasingly necessary action in a world that unfortunately is increasingly divided. @givingtuesdaypt challenged me to illustrate its movement inspired by this year's motto "Together we change the world"! This day is celebrated on the first tuesday after BlackFriday, calling on anyone to choose a cause that ressonates with them and give back to them however you can. Thus, a wave of massive generosity is created, which can (and should) extend beyond today! Are there any organizations you want to support? : .

A sketchbook spread where I played with positive negative space with a limited color palette

Kind of a punny drawing with hands.

Man oh man, it's been a week. The chaos is strong with this one. It was really fun to draw this, there's something so calming about shading with graphite; it felt like the only time I was present this week. But hey, I suppose that's why art is here. As a side note, thank you so much for 70 followers! It's truly incredible to part of an amazing community of artists, and I genuinely appreciate everyone's support and feedback. Here's to creating more art!

Another drawing of Meadhbh in my sketchbook. 2023, Double Page Spread-5” x 8,” Ballpoint Pen on Moleskine Sketchbook.

Ah yes, another hand. I never really realized how expressive hands can be, and I've been drawing them a lot more recently. (I swear I won't only draw hands.) This week has been quite the experience and has made me step back and look at certain things. (Who knew physics could be a metaphor for life?) Anyway, hope everyone is doing well, have a great weekend/week.

INKTOBER, day2, 'WISP'

The source reference image was from an impromptu photo shoot I did several years ago. The available light in the room was magical and the model was just sitting there meditating. Pencil, Charcoal Pencil, Pastel Pencils on 9” x 12” Strathmore Archival Sketchbook Paper.

Sketchbook work. Hands convey a surprising amount of emotion, which is the reason I love drawing them.

Most evenings, I watch a couple of news programs streaming on my computer. During that time, I also make it a point to draw a person (usually from an on-line reference photo) with a No.2 yellow pencil (generally Ticonderoga) on whatever paper is handy on my desk. It's good practice and keeps my hands busy. These are some "News Doodles" done this past week.

Taken me a while to finish this one - not feeling very focused lately. Also, I restricted myself to using Bic’s yellow ink, which is way more vibrant than the cheap 10-colour ink click pens that I usually use.

Probably one of my favorite collages. Obsessed with hands.

"Man on the Train: Hey, are you a dreamer? Wiley: Yeah. Man on the Train: I haven’t seen too many around lately. Things have been tough lately for dreamers. They say dreaming is dead, no one does it anymore. It’s not dead it’s just that it’s been forgotten, removed from our language. Nobody teaches it so nobody knows it exists. The dreamer is banished to obscurity. Well, I’m trying to change all that, and I hope you are too. By dreaming, every day. Dreaming with our hands and dreaming with our minds. Our planet is facing the greatest problems it’s ever faced, ever. So whatever you do, don’t be bored, this is absolutely the most exciting time we could have possibly hoped to be alive. And things are just starting" - waking life (movie). ° So the other day I had a beautiful conversation about lucid dreaming with some friends. We shared amazing dream memories that we all had experienced and right the next day this sleeping beauty started showing up on a piece of paper. What about you, are you a dreamer? :) ♠️

Pastel pencil study of the intertwined hands of the Ambrogio Borghi sculpture, Chioma di Berenice. Faber Castell pastel pencils, Black and White Generals charcoal pencils on 9” x 12” Strathmore Toned Grey sketchbook paper.