Against the weight of a storm-dark sky, tender stems lean forward—some bending, some breaking, some still reaching.
They hold their fire at the tips, waiting to bloom, waiting to burn, waiting to belong to light.
Perhaps this is all of us:
stretching through shadows,
searching for the thin, golden line that divides earth from eternity.
Part of my challenge to myself to sketch directly in ink this month, and to play around with using alcohol markers for value (a new tool in my arsenal).
Im Kurt and new to Doodle Addicts. Loneliness and anxiety dominate my life and are reoccurring themes in my art. It wasn't until recently, after countless jobs, countless attempts, and thousands of dollars in school debt, that I realized it is what it is. At this point, I am trying to learn how to express myself through art and build a community without the pain from before. Negative or positive, I hope you feel something and will like or comment. #MentalHealth #GeneralizedAnxietyDisorder #ItWillGetBetter
Whenever I’m channel surfing, I often find myself stumbling into a film midway through it’s running time, and tend to stick around if there’s elements that pique my curiosity and just catch my eye etc. My Girl 2, of all films, was one of them this time around.
A line about “barbaric customs” or roundabouts prompted me to pick up my drawing kit...and here we are!
A bazillion little round circles and almost as many lines and it still looks static. Sheesh. I'll be working this idea to DEATH over the next few days....
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 wisdom comes in a joke,
and sometimes laughter carries truth.
Brian spoke like a sage,
Mike answered like a friend,
and together they held the room.
We draw to remember.
Not only the lines of faces,
but the presence of goodness,
the gift of voices that echo
long after the chairs are empty.
This is no landscape you could ever stand in.
No observational drawing, no safe horizon line.
This chalk experiment is a dream unfolding in color: a golden field lit from within, a scarlet seam of fire at its edge, and a storm-heavy sky pressing down with ancient weight.
It feels like a place between worlds—where the conscious and unconscious meet, where memory and imagination blur. Some might see a battlefield, others a meadow after rain, and still others a veil between life and death. That is the beauty: the painting does not tell you what it is; it invites you to confess what you see.
Psychologists say we project ourselves onto images like these. So—what do you notice first? The light? The darkness? The burning red?
Perhaps that is not about the drawing at all, but about you.
