This is a digital drawing of two magical lions. I'm pretty happy with the way they turned out. The magical wind behind the Sky lion (with the horn) is especially cuter than I thought it would be. That wasn't planned at all -- just a last minute decoration thing. Anyway, hope you like.
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.
A wonderful reflective poem from Wendell Berry entitled "How to be a poet" is a fantastic foundation for an art curriculum. The last of three stanzas reads as follows:
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
One of dozens of cartoons I created the last couple of years. A little voice is telling me to get these published in a book. If the voice gets louder, it will happen. In the meantime, I'm brainstorming and filling my sketchbook.
I was watching a youtube video and someone had mentioned how human Alastor was similar to Roger from 101 Dalmations. Well, I got curious.....and look what I made.
this is Jax. no last name, just Jax. this artistic witch (who is sometimes called a crueler word that rhymes) doesn't have much going on in her life, other than being a full-time murder club member. at almost a thousand years, she's one of the oldest (and rudest) members, and has devoted her life to cleaning up crime scenes, and keeping Max safe.
These are 5 out of 12 images I did while processing the necessity of healing from life lessons. Heartbreak is prevalent throughout all the levels of tragedies in our lives. At times, the mourning period feels forced-- I never really want my wounds to heal because I feel they're the last of the love I carried for that "thing". The process feels like gold pouring into my gapping heart and I can only scream as it sears through my veins. It hurts to heal. It hurts that it has to happen.
Based on a photograph of a hibiscus flower enjoying its last day in the garden before being brought back home before the Canadian fall and winter. I imported the photo in Procreate and the rest is history.
On that afternoon I'm singing for the last time. I couldn't stand living in this world again Just the expression of my feeling on that day. If you like my art you can buy this art print or other on my shop : https://www.redbubble.com/i/art-print/The-last-song-by-misahiraysa/118153540.DJUF3
A moody, very busy day. I did an ink wash of the beach today, but I'm posting the last piece I drew in the studio instead. I miss the studio and friends there.
A predator reduced to bone but not to silence. The body is gone, yet the motion remains — jaw open, spine curved, still moving through water that no longer needs flesh to carry it. This is not a fossil resting in sand; it is a hunter that never learned how to stop.
The ocean keeps its shape alive. Instinct outlasts life.
Some creatures don’t die — they continue.
