Ice Dream. There’s some strange references going on in this one. If I don’t explain it won’t come together. Back in my day the Europe 72 3 record Dead live album had a crazy kid on the back cover smashing a cone on his head. Later an ice cream truck company called Weaser ripped off that art and would visit my mid Jersey neighborhood daily. Google it if you care. Flash forward to 2019. The ice cream truck that hits my neighborhood EVERY DAYS has a loud obnoxious song and no Greatful Dead connections. It drives me out of my mind so here is the result. I always try to turn my pain into gain. What a long strange explanation it’s been.
Took awhile but was worth it in the end, around 3 or more hours to complete, I originally worked on it during an Art Jam in Magma, then finished it off in Infinite Painter,
For the HD Version check out my DeviantArt Link
https://www.deviantart.com/amarond/art/1310184722?action=published
A hand-drawn illustration featuring a classic to-go coffee cup overflowing with ibuprofen pills instead of liquid. Perfectly capturing the essence of a rough morning, a long shift, or just the reality of "adulting.", text that reads: Venti Ibuprofen Kind of Day
P. G. Wodehouse (1881–1975)
Once, when he was beginning a Wooster-Jeeves novel, he experimented with using a Dictaphone. After he had dictated the equivalent of a page, he played it back to check it over. What he heard sounded so terribly unfunny that he immediately turned off the machine and went back to his pad and pencil.
After this, according to the biographer Robert McCrum, “he might snooze a bit in his armchair, have a bath, and do some more work, before the evening cocktail (sherry for her, a lethal martini for him) at six, which they took in the sun parlour, overlooking the garden.
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
“He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.”
― P.G. Wodehouse
#dailyrituals #inktober #PGWodehouse @masoncurrey
This is Zell. When he’s not hanging suspiciously around crime scenes or dropping hints on police officers, you can find him walking his pet three-headed hellhound or eating omelets with his favorite murder club member.
The materials that Meir uses in her works are not of the refined and so she is called an “arte povere” artist. At times she describes her work as someone dealing in alchemy - work develops as in a trial laboratory with different techniques and materials. She says, “ at times the artistic work process is a sort of puzzle demanding the filling in of all the empty squares “.
Some of her work focuses on women, and they incorporate criticism and cultural protest.
Meir has strong opinions about recycling and environmental protection that is represented in her works by use of materials and shapes. In her work she reacts to contemporary art that communicates with the eco system, waste, and she also searches for different worlds. Her works are made up of layers upon colorful layers that when we look at them it becomes clear that the mound of waste she chose is not coincidental. It actually becomes a colorful kaleidoscope of utopia.
Jaffa Meir is a multifaceted, autodidact artist working in painting, sculpture, photography, product design, carpets and furniture, painting on textile, and computer graphics.
The structural composition of some of the works is influenced also by her many years of working in the architects’ office.
Meir also worked in the developing of ideas within the field of ecosystems and recycling for factories such as Coca Cola, and during this process came up with ideas for designing parks and public game spaces using industrial waste products.
I love the song Blackbird by Paul McCartney. But, blackbirds are very territorial when they have young ones in the nest. There is a sunny tree-lined path I like to walk in the summer. I have seen a fox running out of those woods, a doe lying in the sun-drenched grass, and an irate couple of blackbirds diving at my head while I was peacefully walking by their nest of young ones. I had to start carrying a stick to ward them off. Blackbird Fly! Just stay away from me!
This is a version of the coffee with more coloring. It wasn't until I was already finished that I noticed that I made the top of the cup too round. Oh well.
Some more practice with crosshatch shading and the proportions are a bit off. I also somehow made the left side of the bottle fat and it drives me nuts. ヘ（。□°）ヘ Other than that I think it came out ok.
A challenging media—Crayola wax crayons!
A self-portrait: I find that I’m grasping for something that always seems to be out of my reach. I didn’t bother to enter the official competition because I don’t have access to the specific colour set that they specified in the brief. I did enjoy drawing this self portrait with a medium I would not have considered. An awesome change of pace!
What started off as a mess up ended up as a cool doodle. I plan on putting it up on my bedroom wall, maybe Walton will feel less hollow since he'll have some good company. I think everyone has a little bit of Walton in them at one point or another..
My first attempt at drawing a piece inspired by the art in my favorite childhood book series Scary Stories to tell in the dark. I am actually rather happy with this piece even though some details are a bit off. Comments and critique always welcome. ♡♡
My little fun series of everyday food during quarantine just to make it more cosmic ;) This one sketch a day approach helps with my long break in drawings! :) Sketchbook, coffee and ink.
This right here is a self portrait of me “sleeping” And in the background there are some buildings from New York that I took pictures of and they are made of Coffee and Charcoal
Artwork on "the other side" - playing with the bleed-through from the watercolor and intuitiviely allowing the shapes to arise. Created using watercolor, coffee, ink, graphic pens and unipen
Doodle with Pentel brush, and posca! A little bit note to self. "In between goals is a thing called life that has to be lived and enjoyed." by Sid Caesar.
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.
