Clouds moving through the sky inspire me to paint. One day I'm going to be able to capture how dynamic they are on the canvas. This is practice. Acrylic.
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.
It got cold very quickly and the fog was there, moving thickly around us, shutting us in on all sides. The smooth swell rolled out of the fog, crawled under the raft with a swallowing movement and rolled back into the fog the other side.
....
Albert picked it up by the neck and looked at it, and it began to screech and flap one wing.
Let it go! I shouted. Everything looked so terrifying with the fog and the black water and the bird creeping around and screaming that I was beside myself and said: give it to me, I'll hold it in my lap, we must make it well again.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
#dailydrawing #tovejansson
I got sick, it's hard to draw...
there are no ideas, so only Too-tiсky (i still love moomins brbrbrbr)
Honestly, the art is pretty weak for my bar.. I kind of like which way my painting is moving, but my recent works has been distinguished by attention to the background or inscriptions... A simple filll somehow already seems to me flawed in MY work.. At the same time, in other people's drawings i even love it... As we say in my country, everything brilliant is simple...
I don't know why I'm messing around in vain... Well, let's put it down to the fact that I'm especially physically unwell today
Many beginnings.
Beginning 5.
Frederick was contemplating geese flying south for winter and dreaming about moving to Florida.
* Starting is easy, it's the middle that is often a muddle. And I won't even mention the endings. Here are some beginnings for children stories that flitter through my head.
https://www.instagram.com/p/COu0fRFhvBo/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
In July of 2022, Brianna Grier died falling out of a moving police car while having a mental health breakdown. Since Brianna passed, I have been heartbroken for her twins and family but also reflecting on my struggle with mental health. Mental health needs compassion and empathy, not police and punishment. The brunch strokes are purposeful, but I completed them with empathy in mind. I want to keep the composition simple but filled with meaning. The color theme represents vastness and loneliness, but also kinetic energy found in warm orange tones.
A solitary rowboat drifts across a muted, restless surface, unanchored and unattended. Rendered in charcoal, ink, and subtle white highlights, the vessel exists in a quiet state of motion—moving, yet going nowhere. The surrounding water is suggested through loose, rhythmic lines, emphasizing atmosphere and isolation over realism.
The boat is sharply defined against the hazy background, its dark contours and interior shadows contrasting with the soft, unsettled environment. Oars rest unevenly, implying recent human presence while reinforcing absence. The name Perditas—Latin for “lost”—is affixed to the hull, anchoring the emotional weight of the piece without explanation.
This work explores themes of solitude, uncertainty, and endurance. With no shoreline or destination in sight, Perditas becomes a reflection on drifting—physically, mentally, and emotionally—inviting the viewer to confront their own sense of direction within an undefined space.
A Rhino energetically plays an electric guitar with flames blazing from the headstock. The rhinoceros stands on a moving car, evoking a sense of wild, rebellious energy.
I had to re-upload her the last one was so UN-proportional I couldn't stand it. But I know I need to work on hands and fingers. It's an alien that lives in a doll like body. It can manipulate the doll, moving fingers, arms and eyes. So nothing like cutting open your doll just to find an alien creature living inside. No, my aliens will not have any gender. Why don't we reproduce like worms, get split into two.
Hello! My name is Eternal Phoenix, I hope you enjoy my first full drawing of the year that I made a while back.I have much to learn, but that won’t stop me from moving forward in this path
I can't believe October is already here, and it's startling how fast time is moving. I shouldn't be up this late, but I wanted to make some art, especially given how today has been (8-3:15 'in school,' 3:15-10pm doing homework). The honest answer is I just feel down. I can usually phrase things better but my brain is fried. Everything is non-stop, the time I have to breathe seems to get shorter. Anyway, it's 11pm, I should get to bed.
Late night (really late) watching the beautifully made silent film The General by Buster Keaton. I stopped it here when the bad guys climbed up on a moving train fixing for a fight! I used 6b pencil on Procreate
Another wobbly neighborhood. Focusing on color and composition and leaving behind perfect perfective and detail. Ultimately, putting fun first in my personal work moving forward.
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.
This is the largest canvas thus far for me. In progress!! Multiple projects are in sway with this baby of mine. Feel free to check the link for updates on all the moving parts, including video and still shots with hidden treasures added in between (little surprise pop-ups of newness) along the way. https://photos.app.goo.gl/eNiH1mwVbFHaAyAZ9
Here's some music that inspires me, along with links to listen live or on replay.
Phenomenal! - DJ OTB for your creative journey. I love getting lost in the music while I dig deep to paint or create my soul expression. Much gratitude to all those out there who inspire me every day.
https://www.mixcloud.com/djtruebrit-otb/
https://www.mixcloud.com/djtruebrit-otb/a-journey-in-house-afro-melodic-progressive-chill-13072024/
https://www.mixcloud.com/djtruebrit-otb/a-journey-in-house-afro-melodic-progressive-vibes-13072024/
I kept my eyes on it the whole time. Now it was moving so slowly that you couldn't really see whether it was coming towards you or not. Occasionally its shape changed just slightly and its black tummy swept over the concrete floor. I could hardly breathe. I knew that I ought to run away and hide bur I just couldn't. Now it moved diagonally again towards the wall and wasn't to be seen any longer. It was in the pile of junk behind the modelling stand, it was somewhere behind the sacks of plaster and might appear again just anywhere.
It was getting dark in the studio. I knew that it was me who had let the creature out and I couldn't capture it and lock it up again.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
A predator reduced to bone but not to silence. The body is gone, yet the motion remains — jaw open, spine curved, still moving through water that no longer needs flesh to carry it. This is not a fossil resting in sand; it is a hunter that never learned how to stop.
The ocean keeps its shape alive. Instinct outlasts life.
Some creatures don’t die — they continue.
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Moving away from your hometown inspires a multitude of emotions. By taking inspiration from the atmosphere that the game Life is Strange and Steven Universe creates, I hope to convey a sense of longing and nostalgia that makes us all a little more united in our loneliness.
