I genuinely can't believe it's already March (I also can't believe it'll be a year since the pandemic really started). Yesterday also marked one year since I started journaling, which isn't an actual major thing, but still. How quickly time flies and how big of a difference a year can make. "And when it rains, the rain falls down Washing out the cattle town But she's quite safe up far away in her eiderdown And she dreams of crystal streams Of days gone by when we would lean Laughing, fit to burst, on each other."
This is part of a beautiful moment that was created as I was painting on these mini watercolour sheets. During the journey, I painted around 5 paintings. This is the first painting I painted during my train journey. A group of girls ( students ) got excited when I showed some of my paintings. So I gifted them this. More on the way ....
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.
The boy calls his brother to view the Ship. It's cool cozy weather. He feels happy and excited to watch it sail. This one is my favorite painting. It's clean & minimal. Reminds me of a cool, cozy, clear sky and before a rain
The image is of an evening scene after a sweet rain. After the sun sets, the Sunset vibes pop up. Pink skies are much more beautiful when roads are wet.
Just love the concept that the little things we do can make a big difference to someone else. When I found out about 'Random Acts of Kindness Week' I thought, what a perfect time to... "TRY TO BE A RAINBOW IN SOMEONE'S CLOUD” —Maya Angelou
I’ve been going through a bit of an art slump lately, but I finally got myself to pick up the pencil and finish this. My reference photo was a bit grainy so had some trouble with that, but overall I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out. Done in graphite, drawing itself is about 5x6 in
A colorful sketch depicts two stone hacienda arches. The bright hues suggest a sunny atmosphere, and through one arch, a serene landscape with trees is visible.
