What happens when Jimmy is reading Ezekiel in the morning then discovering @themarcuskingband and @billystrings and doodling on the same day? There is no logical reason to throw all this randomness together in one drawing. This stream of consciousness improv drawing can get weird at times. All I can say is if you were in my head 24/7 it would all make perfect sense. I have become comfortably weird.
This was done on a heavy day. On days like this, I like to doodle whatever is inside my head to lighten things up. My therapy. Almost everything in here means something.
"Flying in the sky with a lady in its arms,
The Platform's heading fast out to the farm.
She was harmed unknowingly and now she will become a seed,
From which the platforms now will feed until they breed." -- Drawn with fountain pens, colored with my iPad using Procreate.
Ice Dream. There’s some strange references going on in this one. If I don’t explain it won’t come together. Back in my day the Europe 72 3 record Dead live album had a crazy kid on the back cover smashing a cone on his head. Later an ice cream truck company called Weaser ripped off that art and would visit my mid Jersey neighborhood daily. Google it if you care. Flash forward to 2019. The ice cream truck that hits my neighborhood EVERY DAYS has a loud obnoxious song and no Greatful Dead connections. It drives me out of my mind so here is the result. I always try to turn my pain into gain. What a long strange explanation it’s been.
Morning sketch. So I was waiting for a go ahead on a 20 illo project. One of the illustrations in the project is a pair of “Chucks” so in the meantime I did a much crazier than they will be wanting version. Sometimes you just have to please yourself without all the boundaries.
Doodling is what I do. It's a way to make visible the randomness that's in my head - just drawing out a concept right when it comes to mind and scribbling on whatever I can find.
Inktober2018day12-Whale. I’m using inktober to explore and improve my techniques. This time I wanted to try using more crosshatching. I’m happy with the result. Also, at first I had nothing for the whale prompt but it’s rewarding when you push through the dead space and a concept or idea comes to my head that I can be excited with.
The 3x3 Illustration Annual I was recently chosen to be in, inspired this recent doodle. Fireworks went off in my head and then spilled out on this Moleskine page.
Folktale Week Day1: Home. This is a folktale about the ghost of a woman who lived at Heceta Head Lighthouse Her baby died when she fell off the cliff outside their home. Tragic!
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.
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.
Taking some inspiration from some things me and my girlfriend talked about regarding old highs in one’s past and asking yourself if revisiting them later on in life is worth it… the usual stuff I guess.
Have no fear! I haven't lost my head-
I have it right here.
And my neck has a hole where you can pour the beer.
So do me a favor, dear.
Pour it in with a cheer.
My drawings today from my sketchbook class, we were drawing cadavers. These are from the head and neck dissections of the donors. This is one of my favorite locations I take my students. It is humbling.
I had this bizarre dream recently that I saw some
maniac driving in circles around my neighbourhood in what looked like a Reliant Robin, ready to crash into whatever they could at any given moment… yes, my mind (awake or asleep) works in weird ways but it gives me ideas so, hurray?
