This is the 3rd piece that I painted during my train journey. I painted this scene after missing my greeny patches on house from outside. I didn't like how this painting turned out to be. But still fine T_T
Watercolor commissions I did for a wedding theme around Mediterrano and Provence, here are a fisherman on his little sail boat, and a typical house within the lavender fields in Provence
I stumbled across this dilapidated coach house that would have once been part of the Glynhir estate while exploring the public footpaths around Llandybie. I loved the way nature had reclaimed it.
Mortal Elvarelyn is telling Erik & Abigail about her life when she was an Alceridian demon before Qasaherim exiled her whilst Bernard scowls at them at the same moment when Gerard is reading the Bible.this is actually the first drawing I worked on CSP but it took me weeks to finally finish the background since im not too keen on drawing them.I even drew a house (it's the first time in years actually)it looks shabby but then again lots of peasant houses were shabby and small.
Extremely useful around the house, but doomed to constant despair, the Kitchenware Octopus loves to cook but has no free hands for carrying groceries. The last of her kind, she yearns for a mate to lovingly entangle ladles with, but has yet to meet anyone willing to risk constant proximity to the cheese grater.
Brown ink and watercolour on paper, 4x6". Reference photo from Deviant Art. This is probably the closest I've come yet to the style I'm trying so hard to learn. Being self-taught, I'm very much open to suggestions and advice.
Next sketch one from my travelling sketchbook 2016 made this summer, this time from a very short; but exiting stay in Berlin. Our van in from of our friend's house, which was going through a lot of reparations and where I painted a big mural :) Enjoy
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.
Five 40 foot + trees went down around my house back in October 2012. Since 1994 I have lost as many trees on my property as there had been present when I bought the house. Sheesh.
Patron Saint of Lost Keys and Small Things.
Reminded me of this poem by Elizabeth Bishop.
One Art
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
P. G. Wodehouse (1881–1975)
Once, when he was beginning a Wooster-Jeeves novel, he experimented with using a Dictaphone. After he had dictated the equivalent of a page, he played it back to check it over. What he heard sounded so terribly unfunny that he immediately turned off the machine and went back to his pad and pencil.
After this, according to the biographer Robert McCrum, “he might snooze a bit in his armchair, have a bath, and do some more work, before the evening cocktail (sherry for her, a lethal martini for him) at six, which they took in the sun parlour, overlooking the garden.
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
“He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.”
― P.G. Wodehouse
#dailyrituals #inktober #PGWodehouse @masoncurrey
I have been teaching myself stippling. This is a work in progress on a birch tree bark. I've always admired birches and have strong childhood connections with them. I am a keeper of some very fond memories of our summer house and three beautiful big birch trees in the yard. I could sit under them for hours: watching the delicate leaves dance in the summer breeze; watching them turn golden during autumn; feeling my way around on their uneven bark full of valleys and crevices.
