motion

hello :) my boyfriend and i did a trip to costa rica. it was fantastic, chaotic and adventurous and a mix of emotions. we are in a longdistace relationship and i am so grateful that we finally saw each other again there were times on the trip when i felt stressed, because things didnt go the way we planned. Drawing this really helped me to process all the different emotions. And i had so much fun drawing :) thank you so much for reading, wish youu a wonderful day!!:)

Pencil Drawing

Be enlightened through all your emotions... #embracingnightmares I haven’t drawn in so long. It’s good to get somethings going again.

Brewed up my weekly Essence of Emotional Baggage

13 young, Indian adults, struggling with mental health issues, explained what colour represented her/his fear and which represented hope/happiness. The left half of the face has all the colours associated with fear, while the right shows hope/happiness.

Pencil Drawing

Inspired by “The Birthday” by Marc Chagall, the mess of my physical workspace… and the chaos in my mental and emotional space as well

Monotipia , acryl on paper A3

Colors always have the power to express what one feels. Also flowers are the best way to add emotions to life.

A Japanese demon known as a yokai, who started off as a human but whose emotions ran so deep, she ended up transforming into something much more monstrous…

A funny whimsical illustration of a stack of chocolate chip cookies paired with a glass of milk and a striped straw. Emotional Support Cookies.

Done in Ink and Graphite and Charcoal.

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.

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

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.

Acrylic spot illustration created as a background on a promo postcard. #fbf

And this is the painting re-done (Posted original the other day). Original painting was done in 2006! I'm sorting through my art--what is worth a little more work--and what cannot be saved!!! This has been an emotionally challenging project. For one thing, in many of the paintings slated for re-do, I'm looking into my past.

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.

I did this in Procreate using a limited color palette.

An animatronic especially designed for a particular individual to climb into it, only for them to get impaled by a variety of steel bits. However, this particular individual was never captured, for their execution was performed only several days after the finishing of this product... so it sits, motionless, in the unused areas of Ringmaster's Pizza Hall. Drawn with FireAlpaca. (Why does this animatronic have eyes while the rest don't? Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? (quote Jester during an interview.))

If time cost flesh If life is boundless Then where will my hours take me I want with desires I wish like a liar Chasing the rabbit timidly When im asleep My dreams are whats deep I drown in seas of maybes How do i rise How do i reach skies When emotions and plans limit me I grovel an weep Cause i put dreams out of reach But i want to engage the maybes So instead of the plots And sitting on thoughts Its time to embrace the daydreams I wont cower to dreams I’ll capture a scheme And nurture the life of maybes -#embracingnightmares

This is NOT my artwork, this was given to me as a graduation gift from my brother. This was during the drought so not a lot of us could get a bouquet of flowers, my brother asked our art teacher to do an extra print for me. When I found this in my gift bag I was already emotional and almost cried. This was better than a bouquet of flowers, one of my favourite birds in my favourite medium.

One of my favorite times of the year is Autumn. It’s a time that reminds me how blessed I am for the rich friendships I have in my life. It’s also a time I enjoy making new memories with relatives I have a deep emotional bond. And for some reason, pumpkins symbolizes this wealth of love I have for these loved ones. Maybe because orange is a passionate color for me. Or maybe because the color orange is abundant during this season when warm a fuzzy feelings show up when I’m with my loved ones. This hue is in pumpkins, persimmons, hot apple cider beverages, cinnamon spice on pies or lattes, and the obvious autumn leaves. But my focus for this illustration were big, fat pumpkins. I love hugging and squeezing them and feeling it’s cold flesh on my skin. I look forward to my next bite of pumpkin pie from our very good friend, Terry, who makes them very excellently!

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.

Promotion for a Fictional Band

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.

Gouache and acrylic on black paper.