A simple ink sketch of a bird at rest. Sometimes the quiet moments—watching, pausing, waiting—are the deepest teachers. This drawing is part of my exploration of what I call the Quiet Practices—small ways of living from the inside out.
If you’d like to see more of my reflections, I share them here: https://forming20.com/
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.
Ren and Stimpy fan art - these two were my childhood favorite and influenced my art, as you can probably tell, ha ha. Thanks for the idea, @Rayedrgn :)
My first attempt at a concertina birthday card. While simple to make, it can be a bit fiddly and getting the proportions and placement of objects right for each layer is important so that everything can be seen once the layers are overlapped. It reminds me of printing processes, where each layer is gradually added. It was quite an enjoyable process.
This quick sketch of an impressionist painting is a reminder to me of how we cannot see anything until we are taught to see it. I was enjoying the painting because of the way Tarbell captured light, when a man and his wife joined me. The man said to his wife: "This is a wonderful painting, but I wonder whose lap the baby is on.". I was shocked because I was not able to see the baby till he mentioned that there was one. I noticed that it was indeed difficult to tell whose lap it was on. It was a transformative and humbling experience.
Yet another senseless lynching that has me here with a broken heart. Like my other paintings on this subject, I wanted to focus on life. Tyre was dynamic and energetic, so I wanted to paint him soring. I also wanted to paint him defiant in the face of his oppressors. He was a skater, and they are no strangers to defiance. Thankfully, I found some excellent references to help me with the composition. Aesthetically, I wanted the comp to be modern, colorful, and hopefully impactful. I went for a pop art, illustration, and false-color vibe and minimized blending and refining layer edges. I painted this in Rebelle 6 and Photoshop. Much respect.
I finally finished this piece for my Aunt. It was based on a goofy picture she sent me. I am pleased with the depth I achieved and can see improvements. I am not most experienced with portraits or anatomy/characters.
Tried sewing this guy to some colorful paper. I am not that bad at sewing, BUT the sewing machine is from 1950 and doesn't work very well, but I think the imperfections makes it look cool.
This is a simple watercolor and pen drawing of a witch hazel tree in winter bloom with an owl perched on top. I love the witch hazel shrub and am thinking of creating a picture book showcasing the plant throughout the seasons.
Someone close to me is homesick for Brazil so I painted and printed this for them. I wanted the comp to be simple and its intentions obvious. I had fun with the hills and atmospheric perspective. This is not AI nor is any part of this AI.
Three trunks rising from one root, steady and separate yet belonging. The little bush at their base reminds me that life gathers in layers—quiet companions at the feet of giants. A simple contour line holds it all, the way a moment holds both strength and tenderness.
Sometimes, a good goodbye is also a fresh hello.
As we wrapped up our "Sacred Spaces" paintings, I asked our student teacher to design a one-day project—something playful, earthy, and engaging to ease the class into her care. She brought mud. Literally.
Using mud and simple stencils, students pressed images—flowers, insects, wings—onto the sidewalk behind our school. There's something timeless about making marks with the ground itself. It felt ancient and immediate at the same time.
These prints won’t last long, but maybe that’s the point. A fleeting image, a shared laugh, a new hand guiding the next phase of learning.
Art is about making marks. Not all of them need to be permanent.
Behold the Chair
(inspired by Wendell Berry)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
The chair does not strive.
It does not speak loudly.
It simply is—
ready to receive,
to hold what comes,
to honor the silence.
This drawing does not shout.
It listens.
It does not disturb the quiet—
it joins it.
Like a prayer whispered
to the One who listens back,
this mark is a presence,
not a performance.
