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/
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.
“In Caribbean mythology, the lusca or luska is the term given to one of the most feared sea monsters in the region. A deadly creature that prowls the deep and feeds on the unsuspecting. A being or a pod of beings that scour the Gulf eating up all in its wake. The lusca is a chimera; a mismatch of animal parts. A conglomerate of some of the Caribbean’s most feared creatures. It is a cryptid that said to hunt and prowl the Gulf and areas near the Mexican shore. Luscas are one of the lesser known cryptids of the deep. They are also one of the most fascinating not only on account of its fearsome symmetry but of the mystery that surrounds them...”
Pen and pencil tattoo design of my lucky cat, Ariel. This drawing was inspired by maneki-neko cats, neo-traditional tattoo style, anime styles, and my love for my Ariel.
This portrait of Mr. Joshua Anderson—our resident Shakespeare whisperer—was drawn by student artist Covey Garrett as part of a school-wide tribute to our teachers. Students photographed, gridded, and drew 18x24” posters of their teachers, each paired with a favorite catchphrase. Mr. Anderson’s? A classic:
“Hint, hint. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.”
We think the Bard would approve.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely teachers..."
(okay, we may have paraphrased a bit).
It has been a delight to share with my students the incredible resource of people. Over the years, I’ve had the great privilege of connecting them with inspiring individuals such as Lois Ehlert, Dave Nice, Gregory Martens, Colette Odya Smith, and—as seen in this “Behind the Professor” sketch—Dr. Gaylund Stone. There’s something powerful about the presence of someone who lives their craft with humility and depth. In moments like these, my students are reminded that more is often caught than taught.
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.
2B pencil focusing on the eye, nose and mouth. The reflection today is a suggestion that we find what we look for, and we see what we want to see. Our family dinners include a sharing time of: 1. Who blessed you today? 2. Who did you bless today? and 3. What are you thankful for? It is suggested by some that if you focus on the abundance, you will not see so much of the lack, but if you focus on the lack, you will not be able to see the abundance so well. This was illustrated by the questions: "How many red cars did you see on the way to work this morning?" My answer was: "No Idea!" It is because I was not looking. If I was being given $100.00 for each red car I spotted, I would have certainly been looking, and maybe even getting creative with the definition of 'red'. What are you looking for? What are you finding?
