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Ink on paper

It's hot. No air in school, so we took to the shade and drew trees. I drew students drawing trees.

Acrylic on board

Inspired by the landscape of Cars Land and named for the Cozy Cone Hotel. If you know, you know.

Another alien oddball (as per usual)!

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.

The race heats up!

The Whooping Crane is an endangered species due to human activity. It is the tallest bird in North America.

valentining in the snow

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.

Powdered graphite and iron oxide from acid mine runoff on watercolor paper

Another full sketchbook spread.

Linocut

Tried sewing this guy to some colorful paper. I am not that bad at sewing, BUT the sewing machine is from 1950 and doesn't work very well, but I think the imperfections makes it look cool.

Colored pencil on toned paper

​Sketching for a new illustration with my Osprey Pens Milano fountain pen.

This one goes out to crypto bros and stock dudes that jump from buildings after a crash. Song art for "Buy Low, Die Anyway" by Junkyard Sam. Now available on Spotify, Soundcloud, etc.

Lindsey's prompt: Gardener

"I have learned that what I have not drawn, I have never really seen." - Frederick Franck.

Into November we go… quick year is an understatement, you know?

Imagine trading your soft bed for a deflating mattress. Imagine food cooked under ash, a fire that smokes more than it warms. Imagine waking at dawn with stiff muscles, yet finding yourself strangely alive. This sketch is not just about tents, cars, and campfires. It is about the in-between—where inconvenience and beauty wrestle, and something deeper sneaks in. Camping reminds me: comfort is overrated, but presence is priceless.

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.

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.

Lino cut print over pastel. The story goes: The bird fell in love with the whale the first time she saw him break through the ocean’s surface, sunlight dancing on his back. From high above, she sang to him, and deep below, he answered with a song as old as the tides. She longed to dive, to join him in the rolling blue. He wished to rise, to fly beside her in the endless sky. But air and water would not trade places. So each day, at dawn and dusk, they met at the edge of their worlds—she on the wind, he in the waves—singing a love song carried by the breeze and the tide, never together but never apart.

Old one-part of my attempt to get published. I think it’s hilarious but sadly others do not!

Lindsey's prompt: Pepe le Pew. In honor of our dog getting skunked for the first time this morning