motion

Drawn in PS, colored in Escape Motions Rebelle.

I recently discovered the Wimmelbilder subreddit and created this illustration to celebrate. Colored using Rebelle by Escape Motions

My first drawing in the new Rebelle 7 by Escape Motions. Go wild with the new metallic paint or turn it down low for a subtle sheen that adds interest to simple paintings.

Rebelle 6 by Escape Motions is out. It's a blast! Pigmented blending, watercolor granulation, nanopixel dimensions, new transformation options. Really enjoying it. (Drew this in it.)

"Contemplation of the Jump" - drawn & colored in Escape Motions Rebelle. My drawings are pretty random, but after I make them I think about them a bit... like... what is that girl in that cave room thinking and why is he going to jump? I should probably know the answers... but I don't.

We're at the monster garden where the people were defeated, A guard is never needed 'cause the monsters must be feeded. I mean fed. Like I said: Peeps are happy to be eaten 'cause it's never all that long, Monsters do the number two and poop them back onto the lawn. Colored in @escapemotions Rebelle

"With great frustration, the man threw his computer to the water robots." That's how I used to feel before discovering Rebelle by Escape Motions. It makes art fun!

I was going for a surreal and moody feeling—dystopian, sort of not. Per usual, my inspirations are pretty noticeable. I am starting to get more comfortable being stylized. I am trying to put emotion in my landscapes. I used Rebelle 6

When Rebelle 3 by Escape Motions came out I wanted to create something that really shows off its power. I normally draw in fountain pen first, but this was created entirely from scratch in Rebelle 3. Digital art tends to be cold and impersonal, but Rebelle's watercolor simulation looks & feels like real paint... and you can undo! That's critical for illustration work, as clients often request changes... But even for personal work- it means an artist can achieve a watercolor look without being at the mercy of the medium. So the result is more true to his or her vision.

I colored this in Escape Motions Rebelle 3.

So cute. I did this for a whimsical winter painting challenge at Escapemotion/Rebelle

I got a little emotional when I heard the Lahaina banyan tree would make it through the Maui fire. I found a reference and painted a watercolor of the new growth. I come from a Navy family and was born in Hawaii. Let me know if I got the transparency and shading right or if it is aesthetically pleasing.

I have been watching a lot of sci-fiction lately. Like so many others my age or younger, the weight of global warming sits on my shoulders constantly. I imagined the final trek through a wormhole as someone sees their new solar system for the first time. I enjoy the bright colors and such but wish I conveyed a more bittersweet emotion.

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.

I never imagined I could capture so much emotion in an eye—especially on just my second attempt. This piece came to life through intuition more than technique. The values, the shadows, the highlights… they felt like they found their place on their own. Maybe emotion, light, and shadow have always spoken to me—I just finally listened.

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.

A value study sample for students. Grey out the paper. Erase light areas. Darken shaded areas. Refine. Lots of success on this one.

I started a new youtube series called Paint With Frenemy. Channeling Bob Ross in short painting videos. Check it out if you like and please like an subscribe! I'lll be posting new videos every Sunday 9am eastern time. This week video I paint a happy little taco with some stop motion animation mixed into the painting process. Link here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Hfj3xBju_c

Years ago, I sketched Gibby at work—pencil in hand, bold strokes alive with motion. I caught them from over the shoulder: just the back of their head, the soft curve of their face, and that focused arm bringing something into being. They were 9 or 10 then, already showing the spark of creativity and concentration that pointed toward who they’d become. Now in their mid-20s, Gibby is thoughtful, insightful—quick to listen, slow to speak, and wired to process the world with care. Their path has been remarkable: two degrees in 2.5 years, no debt. That didn’t happen by accident. It took grit, German immersion schooling, 16 college credits earned in high school, and testing out of 24 more once at university. That’s Gibby—quietly determined, resourceful, and steady. But their story isn’t just academic. Gibby’s always been gifted with their hands—drawn to set design, locksmithing, welding. Trades they wanted to pursue early on, and still feel pulled toward. They’re at a bike shop now. It’s not the dream, but it fits: their hands know how to build, repair, and reshape the world. There’s been frustration—maybe even anger—that we didn’t let them follow the trade route right away. I get that now. Life veers, and sometimes the path chosen isn't the one imagined. But Gibby’s resilience—their ability to adapt and press on—is what I admire most. They’ve embraced their journey with honesty, stepping into their identity as a they/them person, unafraid to define success in their own terms. That takes courage. I’m proud of them—not for a résumé, but for who they are. This old drawing isn’t just a memory—it’s a thread connecting past to present. A reminder that the creative spark, the steady hands, the deep soul I saw back then is still shining. So here’s to you, Gibby: the kid who sketched with fire and the adult who still shapes the world with quiet brilliance. Your value has never been about the path you’re on. It’s about the person you are. And I’ll be here, cheering you on—every step of the way.

I have a certain energy that runs through me, almost like a current. Balancing this energy can be quite a challenge, but I have found that meditation helps me to find my center. I like to quiet the noise around me and focus on my inner truth. Sometimes, I begin my meditation with my eyes closed, allowing my emotions to guide me in sketching out my experiences. This helps me to open up my channels of creativity, which I am currently using to work on my upcoming novel. I can't reveal too much about it yet, but I hope you will enjoy the sneak peeks I'll be sharing as I work toward completion.

This is the first canvas in the work.Its based on a sketch I did. I did five pieces, and this is #1.It is a self portrait.The reason for three figures is that it is meant to repersent motion.

The lake was busy with light, the grasses busy with wind, but the boat sat quiet against the shore. There is a gift in this tension: to be held still while everything moves, to be carried without effort, to find rest in the very heart of motion.

Imperfect Lines, Honest Presence This sketch is not perfect—and that’s exactly why it’s alive. The bold figure, the dissolving hat, the tilted chair: all of it feels unfinished, fleeting, caught in motion. It’s what the Japanese call wabi-sabi—finding beauty in the imperfect, the impermanent, the incomplete. But there’s something deeper here too. A quick sketch is not just what the eye records. It’s what the soul permits. To draw without fixing, without polishing, is to admit the world will not hold still for us. Life slips past. The lines break off. And yet, somehow, the essence remains. When you sketch this way, you are not the master of the moment—you are its guest. The pencil does not carve permanence; it pays attention. The act of drawing becomes an act of being present, of honoring what is already vanishing. So here’s a challenge: grab a pencil and sketch someone near you in sixty seconds. Do not erase. Do not perfect. Let the lines falter. When you finish, ask yourself: What truth did the imperfection reveal? Perhaps presence itself is the real art.

Years ago, while digging through old journals and sketches, I stumbled across a quick, scribbled drawing of two pears. Beneath it, I'd written a raw and honest note: "Ann is pissed. I think it's because she's uncertain about me, us, life itself. She just ran into my car with the van. She says it was an accident, but she seems happier now—almost like it was cathartic. . . Like sex." At the time, I scribbled this in frustration, feeling a deep disconnect between us. Intimacy had become a confusing and distant concept in our relationship. The pears I'd sketched were rough and scratchy, charged with my chaotic feelings. Looking back, I see how emotions can drive us to strange actions, some intentional, some accidental, often leaving us oddly relieved afterward. Humans are complex, fascinating beings, navigating messy emotions and messy relationships, sometimes colliding intentionally or unintentionally, seeking relief in unexpected ways. Perhaps the pears were my subconscious pun on "pair," reflecting the awkward, confusing way Ann and I were bumping through life together—making messes, but occasionally finding strange humor and genuine catharsis in the chaos. I've learned to smile gently at the rawness of our humanity, appreciating even our scratchy sketches and emotional collisions. They're reminders that life, relationships, and our own hearts are never simple, but they're authentically human. Here's to embracing life's unexpected catharsis and finding humor in our imperfections.

Reminds me of a Buddhist proverb: Patiently I will bear harsh words as the elephant bears arrows on the battlefield. Words are powerful. They stir emotions. We are the managers of our emotions. It is not what happens to us that is the issue, it is our opinion of what happens to us that is the issue. Peace.

Some weeks just feel like going through the motions...

Friday night’s alright for creating...

Watercolor on Aquarelle. This piece is incredibly close to my heart. It closely resembles the emotions that I was going through when I painted it. I tried to replicate the numbness and the restlessness that I felt in the eyes.