I told my boys, "That's you, you and you." They paused for a moment, pointed at the hot dog, and asked, "Well... Who's that?" ... "That's your baby sister." -- Ink and watercolor on 5x5 Arches cold press.
45/100 of my nature illo themed 100 Day Project. I started my challenge drawing only on my iPad but hit some bumps when I forgot my Apple Pencil in Florida (I live in California). With that, I have been getting reacquainted with my sketchbook which has been set aside for a few months until now. Feels good to get back into it. Everytime I come back to painting, I wonder why I ever paused in the first place.
Sometimes I think flowers are the most beautiful natural loving things on this planet. You can always count on their beauty no matter what ugly storm is happening in the skies
There’s a lot of waiting in life.
Waiting in lobbies.
Waiting on answers.
Waiting for braces to tighten, kids to grow, hearts to heal, or prayers to be answered.
I sat at the orthodontist, watching dollars tighten on tiny wires, and made this sketch. A tree. A house. A street. Color helped the moment breathe.
I remember once hearing a chess master say, “There is no waiting in chess.”
It confused me—wasn’t there always a turn to wait for?
But he explained: “There’s no waiting. Only planning. Plotting. Analyzing. You’re always thinking.”
I once repeated that to a FIDE master. He got mad.
Maybe because waiting and patience aren’t the same thing.
We can be still and deeply active inside.
We can pause without being passive.
And then there’s Lindsey’s voice in the back of my head:
“That sounds like a first-world problem.”
“Speak life.”
“Be thankful. Rejoice always.”
And she’s right.
So here’s to filling waiting time with something creative.
Something kind.
Something that turns a delay into a doorway.
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.
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.
3/17/2020 San Francisco. The art studio is closed because of social distancing for the Coronavirus. My teacher sent out a note with a sketch she did and suggested we do a drawing a day during this isolation, to stay calm and creative and maintain our community. A neighbor put out a bucket with free bouquets, and it inspired me to pause while I was getting dinner started and do this instead. Definitely rusty after not being in the studio for two weeks!
A moment suspended between departure and arrival. Interim explores transition—where movement pauses, direction is uncertain, and meaning exists in the waiting. Rendered with restraint and negative space, the piece invites reflection on the quiet spaces between what was and what will be.
A horizon of chalk—black sky heavy with silence, gold earth glowing with embered breath.
Between them, a thin line of turquoise, the pause where one world ends and another begins.
It is not sky, nor sea, nor sand alone. It is the threshold—a doorway, where silence teaches and light remembers.
Stand here long enough, and you may hear it breathe.
inking and seeing for better being — https://forming20.com/
A sketch recalling an era when smoking indoors after a meal was commonplace—a fleeting pause of stillness before continuing the journey ahead. Done with mechanical pencil on scrap printer paper.
The Tool Bench marks my 50th canvas—completed exactly one year to the day after I finished my very first one. This piece is a tribute to work, memory, and the quiet corners where both creativity and responsibility live.
Drawn entirely freehand, it’s built like a snapshot of a lived-in workspace: mismatched tools, worn wood, scribbled reminders, and the little personal things that actually make a place yours. The clipboard holds a “Honey-Do” list that never seems to end. The Polaroid-style sketch of my wife sits taped to the wall like a reminder of why the work matters. The shadows on the back wall match the tools lying on the bench—suggesting a moment in progress, a task paused, life happening between motions.
"Nowhere Fast" is a compelling still life that blends mundane domesticity with surreal, slightly ominous undertones. The scene is anchored by a wooden table where a spilled glass, a pack of matches, and an ashtray with a smoldering cigarette suggest a moment of interrupted pause or quiet, long-term stagnation. Dominating the foreground is an oversized, weathered cigarette carton boldly labeled "WARNING", its subtle but unsettling presence hinting at a consumption that leads nowhere.
In the background, a vintage RCA television set displays a stylized amanita mushroom, a recurring symbolic motif that adds a layer of psychedelia and altered perception to the otherwise drab setting. The earthy, muted color palette and soft lighting create a feeling of weary introspection, capturing a sense of being perpetually stuck in a cycle. The piece masterfully uses everyday objects to explore themes of vice, time, and the quiet, slow march toward an uncertain destination.
Super Nationals at the Gaylord—two rivers running through the lobby, actual boats gliding under glass ceilings, a nature center tucked between restaurants. Noise everywhere: kids, clocks, pawns and queens. Yet here, in the middle of it, a pause. A man leans back with the weight of waiting. A woman sits, at ease but still seeking. An empty chair remembers everyone who has rested there. In a place built to dazzle, what lingered with me was not the spectacle, but the silence. To draw is to honor the quiet within the clamor.
thinking and seeing for better being — https://forming20.com/
Took me a few days to complete because of other life events, and I tend to go slow, especially when I get caught up in the details. But I was discovering this was something I was eager to get back to; thinking about it through the day and figuring out how to finish it. Right now it’s on pause as I think how to do the background. :)
“Revising the Future” captures the exact moment creation becomes correction. Using my own drawing hand as the model, I built this piece through a cycle of sketch, pause, observe, and refine — letting the act of drawing guide the artwork itself. The eraser actively lifts portions of the page, symbolizing the choices we adjust as we grow, the mistakes we confront, and the quiet courage it takes to reshape the path ahead.
A quiet study of restraint at altitude. Framed through an aircraft window, the world below drifts by while the interior remains still—objects worn, familiar, and waiting. Subtle distortions in perspective and muted tones emphasize the tension between motion and pause, progress and endurance. This piece captures the discipline of waiting while suspended between departure and arrival, where patience is not passive, but practiced under pressure.
Drawn and colored by me, inspiration from a pause oc challenge on YouTube. Zayn is an escaped lab experiment with water elemental abilities. The cat on his shoulder is Raya, a stray that frequented the lab that he befriended. Zayn is a human with animalistic features and four eyes, marking him as unnatural. He is an original character, not based off of anything.
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