her

Ruggiero rescue Angelica

Spring is always here, streaming from my sketchbook.

a planet has continents that are concepts. there are arrows indicating "immigration" and "emigration" between the continents. the continents are concepts.... there is movement between "they/them" , "she/her", and "he/him". there is also movement between "black", "Hispanic", and "white". there is also movement between "Spain", "Mexico", and "Brazil". gender is a concept. race is a concept. nationality is a concept.

It has been a delight to share with my students the incredible resource of people. Over the years, I’ve had the great privilege of connecting them with inspiring individuals such as Lois Ehlert, Dave Nice, Gregory Martens, Colette Odya Smith, and—as seen in this “Behind the Professor” sketch—Dr. Gaylund Stone. There’s something powerful about the presence of someone who lives their craft with humility and depth. In moments like these, my students are reminded that more is often caught than taught.

A person in a relaxed posture sits in a bean bag chair, grasping a drink while surrounded by the phrase "It's an only exist kind of day." The color palette is cozy, with muted greens and reds creating an atmosphere of calm contentment.

Something, something… morning exercises.

Somewhere out there are a bunch of butterflies having a conversation about whether they've ever landed on a human, and one of them says "Yeah, it's an acquired taste."

Had another drawing in progress I started at my art club tonight that I finished en route home… and here we are!

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

#PleinAirpril Day 1 ∙ When I visited this park a week before, I didn’t see the candy there at first. The second time I visited, I realized they were disguised as trees.

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

I saw this art in the Pinterest of my teacher and desired to draw it too!

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.

Even with the wheel well and truly turning for the Beltane Fire Festival again, there’s still time for me to start a new sketchbook! Introducing “It Is What It Was” :-)

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

It’s been rainy here so I painted rain with flowers already included

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 have painted this art when I was in 8th grade as a homework, but my teacher wasn’t see my sketch from some reasons and I came to sad cuz I work hard for it. So I upload it to show at least to you!

Lindsey's prompt: Chinese Zither

para el dia 28 de Marchusic he decidido hacerlo dedicado esta canción sobre un trío de heroínas y para esta ocasión decidí hacer de otro trío de heroínas muy conocidas salvando al mundo antes de irse a dormir ❤️

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.

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

I made this after geting back into the undertale fandom, and realized that it would be cool to see an AU of both Undertale and Gravity Falls together!

They are out in force meaning spring has finally arrived here

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 painted this in the wild nature forest of a one-block city park. Maybe it's a deer, maybe it's a: "Pink Panther"

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.