men

Done 2022 with lead pencils on 11x17 strathmore drawingl paper. just wanted to draw some image with some story to it cuz usually my drawing do not look like it has stories. Original art is up for sale $60 USD (shipping fee will apply) email me jungmeister4@yahoo.com. This prequel, it is revealed that the Cârța Monastery was built somewhere in Romania by a duke centuries ago. Becoming obsessed with dark magic and Satanism, the Duke attempts to summon a demonic force from the catacombs only to be killed by the members of the Vatican who then sealed the rift with the Blood of Christ. Hundreds of years later, the monastery was bombed heavily during the events of World War II, releasing the same evil spirit from its imprisonment. The demon had since taken the form of a nun as a means of blending with the other nuns as well as to mock their faith. Throughout the years, nuns continuously prayed in communion to combat the evil, but in vain as the demonic entity walked freely around the monastery all nights, in the form of a nun to mock their faith. In 1952, Valak had slain several of the nuns, leaving only two survivors. Sister Victoria, with a key in hand, commits suicide in order to prevent Valak from claiming her as a host. Sometime after her death, the Vatican tasks Burke and Sister Irene to investigate. Valak manipulates the characters throughout the film ranging from creating mass illusions with the ghosts of the slain nuns to weaken Sister Irene and tormenting Father Burke by taking the form of a young boy who had died from a botched exorcism at his hands. Valak then buries Father Burke alive before luring Sister Irene to become possessed. When the catacombs began to flood, Valak tries to strangle Sister Irene to death. While inspecting her for any vital signs, Sister Irene spits the Blood of Christ onto Valak, burning it severely. The rift is then resealed. However, this would prove to not be the end of the Demon Nun as when the group was leaving, Frenchie, a French Canadian otherwise known as Maurice is revealed to have an inverse cross branded on the back of his neck. This segues to the original Conjuring film during a lesson the Warrens were giving about demonic possession. Also I have my 2023 Wall calendar up for sale $19.95 with my artworks through Artwanted.com art community website. Click or copy / paste the link below and would be appreciated if you can support me on the calaneder. https://www.artwanted.com/artist.cfm?ArtID=115637&Tab=Calendar

"its okay", he said to his friend. this is a drawing i started awhile ago. while working on it there where moments were i felt sad and it cheered me up. The giant is inspired of the Forest Giant in the series "Hilda". After i watched the episode i really wanted to draw a giant. Now, some months later i finished the drawing and i had really fun. ☺️ thank you for reading, wish you a wonderful day!

A "longer" colored pencil drawing, took about 4 days, 6.25" x 6.25". What originated from a moment of frustration turned into me staring at some flowers in our house, and then into the drawing I now present. The piece's original purpose has shifted, and hey, that happens. I'm not sure what I'll do with it now, but I'll figure something out...

Another experiment to draw myself with charcoal, graphitepencils and a bit of oilcolor

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

Experimenting with drawing stylized people.

Nikola Tesla (1856–1943) After he had started his own company, Tesla arrived at the office at noon. Immediately, his secretary would draw the blinds; Tesla worked best in the dark and would raise the blinds again only in the event of a lightning storm, which he liked to watch flashing above the cityscape from his black mohair sofa. Tesla ate alone, and phoned in his instructions for the meal in advance. Upon arriving, he was shown to his regular table, where eighteen clean linen napkins would be stacked at his place. As he waited for his meal, he would polish the already gleaming silver and crystal with these squares of linen, gradually amassing a heap of discarded napkins on the table. And when his dishes arrived—served to him not by a waiter but by the maître d’hôtel himself—Tesla would mentally calculate their cubic contents before eating, a strange compulsion he had developed in his childhood and without which he could never enjoy his food. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “Of all things, I liked books best.” ― Nikola Tesla “One must be sane to think clearly, but one can think deeply and be quite insane.” ― Nikola Tesla #dailyrituals #inktober #NikolaTesla @masoncurrey

Original painting created by HEL MORT®, Mixed Media on Aluminium.

Line drawing.

Lindsey's prompt: Harp

Crosshatching and stippling practice with a ink dip pen. Requires immense patience.

I left a long note for Lindsey to find in the morning. Buil and Wrecks couldn't help but comment the whole time

Really enjoying experimenting with soft pastels. This piece was the first time I used Pastelmat. It's an amazing surface to use with pastels as it takes loads of pastel, the colour stays vibrant, and there's minimal dust

sketches collage

Part of a mini minimalist Illustration series based around the fairytale "Little Red Cap"

Pen and ink on mixed media paper

A great deal of upheaval in my personal life, including making steps to better my mental health as well as reflecting on changes in my work life (potentially) and also my living situation, have dominated my headspace as of late. Long story short, Buddha reminding us all to still any madness in life got me to work here as did the obvious itch to get some drawing done!

I do browse some weird things on places like Youtube, without a doubt! Definitely in the search of inspiration 9 out of 10 times though (as you can see)...

To be perfectly honest, the latest lockdown announcement here in Scotland was bound to influence my art in some form or another... Needless to say this is going to be one looooong winter, one that’ll have me blasting “Here Comes The Sun” by The Beatles once it ends, or at the very least stabilises.

much to my disappointment,I didn't plan on making a special halloween drawing due to time so here's a really simple one for now,not much to look at,but i did enjoy drawing pumpkin people

After the initial excitement of circling the pictures of a cow and rabbit, Peter and his friends realized it was going to be a long game of Bingo on this desert highway

Mixed media, made with coffee stain, pen and Azure markers. Great for spring (although it's snowing outside at the moment, here... ugh).

The process and commentary for this drawing is on my YouTube Channel (@atomicrakshasi)

Where do I begin with this one? This is a drawing of my dad and I; the picture was taken back in 2006, a happier time, I suppose. I don't commonly think about my dad, I don't necessarily think about how much I miss him or how I wish I could see him again, so it was odd for me to sit and look through old photos. I don't really know my dad; I do, but I don't. My dad was physically part of my life for 10 years, the second half of those were not the best. Mental illness, self medicating for years, debt, heroin, arguments, threats, uncertainty. I feel like I remember the negative more because I was older, my parents couldn't hide it from me like they used to. At the same time, when he was sober and stable, life was good. Life was great, things felt complete. So here I am, 6 years since he died. I don't want to say his image is fading, but I know less of who he was than I did before. I see the good from some (the ones who praise him, who act like he was a saint), and I see the bad from others (the one who felt the pain). I suppose I no longer see my view, my memories aren't there anymore. I don't necessarily feel sad, the anger has faded, and I can't say I'm happy. Maybe I'll figure it out one day, but, for now, it is what it is.

Experimenting with digital inks

I had some family at my house this week and my niece kept wanting to play my ukulele, only she called it "kookulele". It made me laugh every time and in the morning before they got up I sketched this real quick to remind me of it.

The guy who revived Jack, Dave, and Henry (DSaF 4 fan stuff) wears the Chica mascot suit, because he knew nobody else would wear it. Here he is, up on stage. Not while the pizzeria was open, of course --- the children would go nuts. He isn't wearing his mask he usually wears out-of-suit because it would be hard to keep the Chica head down. Uh, if you know what I mean. Two masks on at the same time = bad. Drawn with FireAlpaca. Also, the big says "Let's Cry", which is just for laughs. Something like that would work in a DSaF game.

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.

Inktober day 3. a Banshee. I found it interesting that they are more often old women. Since pop culture usually shows them as young ones.