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.
A horizon of chalk—black sky heavy with silence, gold earth glowing with embered breath.
Between them, a thin line of turquoise, the pause where one world ends and another begins.
It is not sky, nor sea, nor sand alone. It is the threshold—a doorway, where silence teaches and light remembers.
Stand here long enough, and you may hear it breathe.
inking and seeing for better being — https://forming20.com/
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.
Inspired by one of the bus routes I take back home from my Judo class in the evenings and how long said journey takes in terms of minutes… you’d think it was a quick trip but I assure you it’s not!
I woke up at 5am(ish) last Sunday and not settling back to rest, I switched my radio on and hoped for the best. Next thing I know I’m half awake listening to one of Yo La Tengo’s more drone oriented songs. The track itself was 8 minutes long but felt longer… of course, this gave me ideas. What do you expect?
The tables were covered in white paper. Crayons, pastels, and smooth sticks waited quietly. Then came Lucy’s glittery purse—her 8-year-old hands had filled it with stones to pass along, one by one, to the strangers around the table.
We traced them. Pushed them. Held them.
Then we let the colors lead:
-Red for emotion.
-Yellow for curiosity.
-Blue for memory.
Each color came with music, with story, with space.
At the Museum of Wisconsin Art, we made marks not for meaning but for presence.
Thank you to Ann Marie and MOWA for the invitation and trust. And thank you to the participants—some new friends, some old students—for showing up and making lines that listened before they spoke.
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.
A Brief Pause at the Edge of Becoming
It seems I am always seeking a place to sit—
not just to rest the body,
but to settle the soul.
Yet even in stillness, Gary Brecka’s words whisper:
“The quickest way to old age
is the aggressive pursuit of comfort.”
So I do not stay long.
I walked until I found a picnic table
beneath a canopy of bare-limbed trees,
branches like open hands waiting for green.
The blue spruces nearby—
stoic, unchanged, whispering that some things endure.
I sketched.
Not perfectly. Not for anyone’s praise.
Just a mark to say: I was here.
Alive in this in-between.
Waiting. Listening.
Not for leaves—
but for something truer than comfort.
Thank you for joining me in this small noticing.
A moment borrowed from the rush.
A table. A tree. A thought.
A gift.
Weirdly enough, I never used to feel bothered by winter. A sign I’m “getting on a bit” as they say? I’m 32 come April, not 102 for feck’s sake! Whatever the case, roll on spring and general warmth, long overdue I have to say…
Lino cut print over pastel. The story goes: The bird fell in love with the whale the first time she saw him break through the ocean’s surface, sunlight dancing on his back. From high above, she sang to him, and deep below, he answered with a song as old as the tides.
She longed to dive, to join him in the rolling blue. He wished to rise, to fly beside her in the endless sky. But air and water would not trade places.
So each day, at dawn and dusk, they met at the edge of their worlds—she on the wind, he in the waves—singing a love song carried by the breeze and the tide, never together but never apart.
I’ll be honest, 2024’s not been too bad mostly but the recent crap weather in Scotland has a lot to answer for. Cold and miserable? Sure, but it’s not exactly been winter as we know it. Roll on spring! In lighter news... happy Pokemon day :-D
“The politics of the world frustrate me. I control my frustration when I write, but it explodes when I perform.”
A quote from a Benjamin Zephaniah documentary I caught not long ago on BBC iPlayer’s been resonating with me as of late. Granted, I tend to keep politics light here (if anything) but I stand by what I’ve just said regardless.
Sandman going to bed after a long nights work of putting others to sleep. As an adult I love sleeping the whole night uninterrupted, thus sandman is my hero. White pencil and gel pen on black paper.
For a long time, I always misheard the lyrics in the song ‘Torn Green Velvet Eyes’ by The Magnetic Fields as ‘Tom Green Velvet Eyes’… told myself that one day I’d draw something inspired by this mishearing of things and well, here you go!
I aimed to have the water look believable while painting a jellyfish with long flowing tentacles. Drawn digitally in Rebelle 6 w/very minimal effects. This is not AI nor is any part of this AI.
