“In Caribbean mythology, the lusca or luska is the term given to one of the most feared sea monsters in the region. A deadly creature that prowls the deep and feeds on the unsuspecting. A being or a pod of beings that scour the Gulf eating up all in its wake. The lusca is a chimera; a mismatch of animal parts. A conglomerate of some of the Caribbean’s most feared creatures. It is a cryptid that said to hunt and prowl the Gulf and areas near the Mexican shore. Luscas are one of the lesser known cryptids of the deep. They are also one of the most fascinating not only on account of its fearsome symmetry but of the mystery that surrounds them...”
As we approach the end of winter, who knows where we’ll end up next? Still cautiously optimistic here...
As long as there’s stuff to inspire us all, it can’t be all that bad?
I'm not sure how this happened,
And neither is this peep:
A beach vacation for his wife
That he bought on the cheap.
He wanted to surprise her,
So this is what he got.
Turns out his wife prefers a beach
With water over not.
Two wicker chairs in the sun.
One for the waiting,
one for the hoped-for.
The table between them
holds its silence,
its place set for bread or talk.
I draw what is here—
lines quick and unerasable—
and what is not here,
her presence,
waits with me in the white of the page.
This is a digital rendering of a drawing I have recreated several times. The original was a doodle done in high school and has since been done as a painting, a tattoo design, and now as digital art. My inspiration was 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', classic cartoons (Woody the Woodpecker), and pinup art styles.
This portrait of Mr. Joshua Anderson—our resident Shakespeare whisperer—was drawn by student artist Covey Garrett as part of a school-wide tribute to our teachers. Students photographed, gridded, and drew 18x24” posters of their teachers, each paired with a favorite catchphrase. Mr. Anderson’s? A classic:
“Hint, hint. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.”
We think the Bard would approve.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely teachers..."
(okay, we may have paraphrased a bit).
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.
Taking some inspiration from some things me and my girlfriend talked about regarding old highs in one’s past and asking yourself if revisiting them later on in life is worth it… the usual stuff I guess.
2B pencil focusing on the eye, nose and mouth. The reflection today is a suggestion that we find what we look for, and we see what we want to see. Our family dinners include a sharing time of: 1. Who blessed you today? 2. Who did you bless today? and 3. What are you thankful for? It is suggested by some that if you focus on the abundance, you will not see so much of the lack, but if you focus on the lack, you will not be able to see the abundance so well. This was illustrated by the questions: "How many red cars did you see on the way to work this morning?" My answer was: "No Idea!" It is because I was not looking. If I was being given $100.00 for each red car I spotted, I would have certainly been looking, and maybe even getting creative with the definition of 'red'. What are you looking for? What are you finding?
Sketched while watching the Mariners get knocked out of playoff contention. Colored on the computer. I did a hue changing little animation with it if you check my Instagram. :)
Part of a personal project I'm working on right now, to experiment with unfamiliar art styles and practice lettering skills by drawing animals. I enjoyed this foray into digital mosaic (or fauxsaic as I've seen it called).
Part of a personal project I'm working on right now, to experiment with unfamiliar art styles and practice lettering skills by drawing animals. This one I limited myself to a 100 pixel x 100 pixel canvas.
