“Whirlwind 1”, an original drawing. Micron pens on archival paper. Size: 4” x 6”. Title, signature and date in the back of the drawing. This drawing is the 1st in a series of drawings that were posted over a period of 100 days. The original post date on this drawing was September 1, 2020.
Llyn Mymbyr, Snowdonia. This view looking in the opposite direction to Snowdon. First time using a Uniball UB-150, but the paper allowed it to bleed somewhat so the lines were a little heavier than intended. I think it would benefit from better quality paper or a finer pen.
Done 2022 with lead pencils on 11x17 strathmore drawingl paper. just wanted to draw some image with some story to it cuz usually my drawing do not look like it has stories. Original art is up for sale $60 USD (shipping fee will apply) email me jungmeister4@yahoo.com. This prequel, it is revealed that the Cârța Monastery was built somewhere in Romania by a duke centuries ago. Becoming obsessed with dark magic and Satanism, the Duke attempts to summon a demonic force from the catacombs only to be killed by the members of the Vatican who then sealed the rift with the Blood of Christ. Hundreds of years later, the monastery was bombed heavily during the events of World War II, releasing the same evil spirit from its imprisonment. The demon had since taken the form of a nun as a means of blending with the other nuns as well as to mock their faith. Throughout the years, nuns continuously prayed in communion to combat the evil, but in vain as the demonic entity walked freely around the monastery all nights, in the form of a nun to mock their faith.
In 1952, Valak had slain several of the nuns, leaving only two survivors. Sister Victoria, with a key in hand, commits suicide in order to prevent Valak from claiming her as a host. Sometime after her death, the Vatican tasks Burke and Sister Irene to investigate. Valak manipulates the characters throughout the film ranging from creating mass illusions with the ghosts of the slain nuns to weaken Sister Irene and tormenting Father Burke by taking the form of a young boy who had died from a botched exorcism at his hands. Valak then buries Father Burke alive before luring Sister Irene to become possessed. When the catacombs began to flood, Valak tries to strangle Sister Irene to death. While inspecting her for any vital signs, Sister Irene spits the Blood of Christ onto Valak, burning it severely. The rift is then resealed. However, this would prove to not be the end of the Demon Nun as when the group was leaving, Frenchie, a French Canadian otherwise known as Maurice is revealed to have an inverse cross branded on the back of his neck. This segues to the original Conjuring film during a lesson the Warrens were giving about demonic possession. Also I have my 2023 Wall calendar up for sale $19.95 with my artworks through Artwanted.com art community website. Click or copy / paste the link below and would be appreciated if you can support me on the calaneder. https://www.artwanted.com/artist.cfm?ArtID=115637&Tab=Calendar
In late 2018, after some time not doing any artwork, I really wanted to get back into it. I fancied doing something different and invested in some soft pastels. This was my first go with them and it was a hell of a learning curve about how they adhere to the paper, and how they blend. I'm not really sure the pastels I was using were soft enough for the look I wanted, but I like how loose this one turned out.
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.
Pyotr Ilich Tchaikovsky (1840–1893)
At 9:30, Tchaikovsky set to work—composing at the piano only after he had dealt with any proofs or his correspondence, chores that he disliked. “Before setting about the pleasant task,” his brother noted, “Pyotr Ilich always hastened to get rid of the unpleasant.”
After lunch he went for a long walk, regardless of the weather. His brother writes, “Somewhere at sometime he had discovered that a man needs a two-hour walk for his health, and his observance of this rule was pedantic and superstitious, as though if he returned five minutes early he would fall ill, and unbelievable misfortunes of some sort would ensue.”
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
“Truly there would be reason to go mad were it not for music.”
― Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky
“If you do not want to write, at least spit on a piece of paper, put it in an envelope, and send it to me. You are not taking any notice of me at all. God forgive you – all I wanted was a few words from you.”
― Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
#dailyrituals #inktober #PeterTchaikovsky @masoncurrey
The tables were covered in white paper. Crayons, pastels, and smooth sticks waited quietly. Then came Lucy’s glittery purse—her 8-year-old hands had filled it with stones to pass along, one by one, to the strangers around the table.
We traced them. Pushed them. Held them.
Then we let the colors lead:
-Red for emotion.
-Yellow for curiosity.
-Blue for memory.
Each color came with music, with story, with space.
At the Museum of Wisconsin Art, we made marks not for meaning but for presence.
Thank you to Ann Marie and MOWA for the invitation and trust. And thank you to the participants—some new friends, some old students—for showing up and making lines that listened before they spoke.
