Newest work! Alcohol inks for the sky, oil pastels for O'Neill himself :). A2 canvas - biggest I've done in a while! This was a present for the boyf, who is a massive Stargate fanboy!
4 year old Henry engaged fully with thick applications of watercolor and oil pastels. He said it was a stormy sea with a small boat. This was at the onset of the pandemic, when we were all a bit uncertain and confined to our homes. I was reminded of an insight by Kierkegaard written in the early 1800s: “When the sailor is out on the sea and everything is changing around him, as the waves are continually being born and dying, he does not stare into the depths of these, since they vary. He looks up at the stars. And why? Because they are faithful – as they stand now, they stood for the patriarchs, and will stand for coming generations. By what means then does he conquer changing conditions? Through the eternal: By means of the eternal, one can conquer the future, because the eternal is the foundation of the future.”
I started this oil painting in Feb 2020, and finished it in April the same year. I guess it's a tribute to Welsh beaches in winter - miles of sand, and barely anyone around.
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.
Combination of traditional and digital art. I actually hand painted this on some very textured paper with oil pastels a while back, so to 'tidy and clean' it I had to employ digital means. The background was done with alcohol inks, the 'flow' of it I was particularly proud of :).
Every couple of months, I turn a bunch of my doodles or rough mini sketches into stickers. I draw them directly onto sticker paper and seal them with bookbinding foil. These foxes will be Christmas presents.
Ive always thought Goudrix is an aesthetically pleasing roller coaster, regardless of how it might feel when you ride it. I love roller coasters and design layouts in No Limits 2, but I've never composed one. This is my attempt using oil brushes in Rebelle. I wanted it to have a traditional vibe. This is not AI, nor is any part of this AI.
