What happens when Jimmy is reading Ezekiel in the morning then discovering @themarcuskingband and @billystrings and doodling on the same day? There is no logical reason to throw all this randomness together in one drawing. This stream of consciousness improv drawing can get weird at times. All I can say is if you were in my head 24/7 it would all make perfect sense. I have become comfortably weird.
Doodling is what I do. It's a way to make visible the randomness that's in my head - just drawing out a concept right when it comes to mind and scribbling on whatever I can find.
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.
As a teacher, I see the full range of work ethic and value choices. Tatum works while Melanie sleeps. I do not judge because everyone is fighting a battle. I provide a safe place for students to create and breathe and sleep and be. I create a non-judgmental space that often accomodates students and adults who feel free to voice thier opinions... which can often be judgmental. We are fighting battles and we are on our own journies of self awareness. Peace.
Vine Charcoal and Oil Pastel make for a messy, smudgy experience. A certain amount of messiness can make a process feel more real and human. When things aren’t perfectly polished, it reflects a genuine effort, imperfections, and growth. In personal life, letting go of the need for everything to be tidy can promote a more authentic existence. The hat is a Stormy Chromer. It also evolved out of a mess. More on that later. Peace.
The Sunbeam and the Troll. Illustration of famous Finnish song. I draw three versions of it. Top of the drawings is last and then second and first one. I try to catch idea that Sunbeam fairy is more made of light than materia. Pretty tricky to me ;)
”When sun had ended its mission,
The last Sunbeam
Was left behind her sisters for a moment.
The dusk was settling on the grounds,
A Sunbeam with golden wings
Was just about to fly before it,
But she saw a small Troll come across:
It had just risen up from his cave.
See,a Troll before the twilight
May never live on earth.
They were looking at each other
The Troll in his chest
Felt an odd flame.
He said:"You are burning my eyes,
But never in my life
have I seen something so wonderful!" It doesn't matter that your brightness will make me blind
It's easy to wander in dark.”
I don't know why, but I had to make yellow buildings. I wish I had more time on this, but I took it as far as I could and hit submit with 1 to 2 minutes to spare. Why do I do that to myself? Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
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/
I wanted to capture an introspective feeling and show the Detroit River's expansiveness. I went with a late summer sunset vibe with lots of warm pinks and cool blues.
A handful of Brit flicks have been showing up on Disney+ lately, and one of them I watched recently had Luke Perry of all folks in it... the film in question is called ‘The Beat Beneath My Feet’ in case you’re curious.
In all seriousness though, British films with American actors in them as a lead/central character will forever and always fascinate me, much like Luke Perry’s birth name did! Rest well good sir and thanks for everything.
The Seasons. Acrylic Gouache on Wood Skateboard Deck. 7.75” x 32”
Almost finished! I’ll be donating this hand-painted skateboard deck to support the Kansas City Artists Coalition’s 37th Annual Benefit Art Auction taking place on February 29, 2020.
This is an extension of my steam of consciousness sketchbook practice. Having fun!
A simple ink sketch of a bird at rest. Sometimes the quiet moments—watching, pausing, waiting—are the deepest teachers. This drawing is part of my exploration of what I call the Quiet Practices—small ways of living from the inside out.
If you’d like to see more of my reflections, I share them here: https://forming20.com/
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.
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.
This piece is inspired by Mental Health Awareness Week that’s just left us.
Belated and as cryptic as things might be (as usual) here in Bleu’s world, better late to the party than never right?
A 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle I recently painted as as gift for my grandma on her 85th birthday, using objects and photos of significance from her life. :)
I had a rock tumbler as a child and really enjoyed it. When my youngest was a child we bought her one. She was eager to enjoy it too, but somewhere after starting on that path, we lost track and it everything inside turned into a solid mass. We tossed it and forgot about it. On a recent beach trip, I collected handfuls of rocks, as I am always likely to do, and, upon return, remembered how I loved my childhood rock tumbler. I immediately researched, ordered and eagerly anticipated its delivery. Of course, with Amazon Prime, that was only a couple day’s wait. As soon as I unboxed it I thought “what am I doing?” I have neither time, nor space for yet another hobby. I thought “what will I DO with a pile of polished, pretty rocks?” I would gather them in my hands and feel their silky smoothness. I would likely gather them in some beautiful glass bowl and…then what? I have toddler grand kids frequently at my home. They put small colorful things in their mouths and up their noses and feed them to the dogs regularly. And I don’t even have a single space to display a bog bowl of pretty rocks. So I quickly decided “I’m Returning the Rock Tumbler” and will, for NOW, stick to painting them when the mood strikes.
To draw is to notice.
To notice is to pause.
And sometimes, all it takes is a barefoot boy in a camping chair, chasing the drips of a popsicle, to remind us what it means to be here.
This is Popsiclence—a sacred kind of focus.
It’s where observational drawing leads us: out of the swirl, into the now.
And in that now, we heal.
Thank you Elaine for your input and expertise. You are a rich source of wisdom and possibilities in connecting art to wellness. I will let you know how this develops. -Dean Graf
