This is another dragon. They're the Bringer of Great Destiny, and basically tell you you're destined for good things. It was designed by my sibling, and this is a redesign I made. Sorry that it's hard to see. My camera is bad and my house is dark.
Pipe Wrench — 16×20, graphite & acrylic accents
The next addition to my growing Tool Series. # 6
A classic pipe wrench rendered with tight line work, layered shading, and subtle grit that brings out every ridge and tooth. I leaned into the industrial personality of the tool—solid, heavy, built for work—and let the shadows do the storytelling. It’s a tribute to the objects that shaped my childhood and still live on in my shop today.
A portrait of everyday power. This hammer isn’t just a tool—it’s a symbol of the work ethic that built me, the late nights, the factory shifts, and the determination behind every canvas. Graphite, grit, and precision shading bring out every dent and edge. Simple object, serious presence.
A 30 minute sketch of a screwdriver. Done on printer paper using only a mechanical pencil. A highlighter for a splash of color and a Kleenex for shading.
(2B pencil on 137mm x 125mm paper) "They're not flag-waving wannabes, or finger-pointing-blamemongers. They're true British Heroes! They were born with spines of steel, have spunk by the bucketload, and their upper-lips aren't just stiff, they're rock-solid! They're the type who'll kick those mad-dogs aside and proudly march, bare-arsed, into the midday sun!"
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.
In this memory-driven piece, Patmore reconstructs the bathroom from his third-grade elementary school, capturing the sterile brightness, the tiled repetition, and the institutional reminder to “WASH YOUR HANDS.”
But the scene is not pristine — a leaky sink, an out-of-order stall, and a taped-up sign reveal the quiet decay behind childhood places we assume were orderly and safe.
Patmore blends nostalgia with unease, transforming a simple restroom into a study of what it means to grow up: how the lessons we learn early (“hygiene,” discipline, responsibility) stay with us even after the walls begin to crack. The small pop of blue tape emphasizes the DIY fragility of rules meant to guide us.
This piece stands at the intersection of memory and maintenance — of spaces, of bodies, and of ourselves.
