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room

Elle Duffey Elle Duffey
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Mushy

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Eliot McCann Eliot McCann
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Experiment

First attempt at engraving style pen drawing. Not bad for a first try, but significant room for improvement.

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Isadora Griffin Isadora Griffin
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Shy girl nest

After being stuck with an A5 pad for a month, i finally got my hands on a A3 one. What better way to celebrate than painting a messy room? No rules, no plans, just making things up as i go.

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Josh Gee Josh Gee
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Outer City of Nitescape

Out side of the the city, there are mushroom villages, giant bug creatures, and minor radiation poisoning, so just stay in the glowing megalopolis.

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Olivia Hathaway Olivia Hathaway
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The Future

I don't have this one for sale on anything that I know of. It's just a sketch of a possible positive future. There are too many dystopias. If we all assume things are going to end terribly, it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

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Sabina Hahn Sabina Hahn
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waiting for the train

Some things I saw and drew but didn't share. A friendly dog who wanted to say hello, a bride and a groom on the way to the wedding waiting for the train (she wore plastic slides and had her high heels in the bag), a lost cicada, a book (Sula by Toni Morison was absolutely amazing). Oh and also using dry ice to make dramatic seltzer.

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L K M L K M
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art room doodle

Fine point black pen

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Dave Douglas Dave Douglas
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Back to the Art Room

Back to the Art Room

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Suzette Suzette
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Mushroom Creature

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Chris Richards Chris Richards
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Cilwendeg Woolen Mill

I stumbled across this old mill some years ago while walking in Drefach-Felindre. The area was once a hub of the wool industry, and now houses the National Wool Museum. I only managed to discover its name when I was doing a Google search as at the time of drawing, it was up for sale as an 11 bedroom property!

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vero vero
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flowers and doodles

hello :)) i was fascinated about how the light shined on the flowers in a waiting room. it inspired me to start doodling. This is the result of that session. :) wish you a wonderful day!

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Robert Falagrady Robert Falagrady
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In the room

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WaterproofFade-Proof WaterproofFade-Proof
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Auren Portrait

Luminary Festival - Auren Farkis (Digital Portrait I did as a colour study) Crisp reverberating strings danced through the evening. Notes twisted and echoed up through the emerald, velvet tiers of Ridgedow Gardens. Dusk’s veil had long since darkened to a diamond-encrusted black, and Clarglow was alive with activity. Footpaths were choked with revellers that formed a river of light that coursed and pulsed through the park. Will-o-whisp spots of light also glowed among the neatly trimmed hedgerows and statues. Their magic-addled voices rose up, joining in with the music of the Luminary Festival. A young man, no more than a quarter of a century old, glowed brightest of all. A soft orange radiated from his eyes, and his veins pulsed a brilliant red. He was dripping in gold and gems. Over an outfit that somehow managed to be heavily layered and revealing at the same time, he wore a sheer cape, which was heavily embroidered with blood-red crystals that refracted his own light around him in dazzling, concentrated rays. It was such a dangerous colour of magic, but his expression was soft and dreamy. Excited laughter rose up as a clustered group shot metallic confetti skyward. Gold flake drifted down and settled into his silver hair, cheeks, and shoulders. No doubt he would discover the remnants of this festival in his home weeks from now. He increased his pace, stepping off the cobbled path to overtake the group, when one of their number split from the group. The coils of her dark hair were so saturated with gold that she looked like she belonged on a pedestal next to the other statues. She intercepted him, matching his pace. She snaked a long, slender arm around his waist and pulled him closer. She pressed her lips against his neck, leaving a wake of golden kisses up to his earlobe, where she leaned closer to whisper. — “Aurie, Luv, I know that look. Don’t tell me you’re headed home. The eve has only just begun. “ Her glowing eyes Locked with Auren’s, her grip tightening, slowing the both of them to a stop, causing a temporary blockage in the flow of people. “Overdid myself Mel.. you’ll have to –” –” Come with us to the reflecting pool.” She cooed, meeting his lips in an off-center kiss, smearing his inky wine lipstick. Momentarily, he allowed himself to relax. He considered saying yes. His heart pounding, he dipped his friend backwards gracefully, resenting that he had to leave. An itch in his left arm reminded his fuzzy brain that he was in danger. Gasping softly, he gently lifted Mella upright and spun her out towards her friends, who were growing impatient. He couldn’t make out their faces in the fuzz of the evening. “I can’t, I’m sorry Mel! We’ll talk later.” Before she could protest, he danced, spinning forward in a brilliant display of speed that ended in a stumble as he met a set of steep steps that coiled sharply upwards out of the park and onto the pink brick streets overlooking Ridgedow Gardens. The glazed windows facing the street were empty and blank… their occupants elsewhere, enjoying the festival. The empty buildings were like faces, judging him for his lack of zeal. Auren wound his way through streets and side streets, his pace increasing as he grew more and more alone. Finally, he was climbing a set of steps to his own front door. Smirking at the sight of it he reached down into the front of the bodice that held together the layers of his outfit pulling free a loop of keys that were on a long chain looped around his neck. Aligning it to the keyhole he struggled with the lock, cursing softly under his breath as it initially failed to cooperate with him. In the quiet black of his foyer, he latched the door behind him and stumbled forward, tearing at the ribbon that held the gleaming cape that draped from his bare shoulders. He let it drop on a black lacquered table. He reached up to unclasp an elaborate choker and tore his single, crimson glove down from his elbow. He pressed a gilded fingernail against a band of red ink encroached upon by a spreading corruption. Marginally extending beyond the band were sinews of mismatched muscle and skin; even his hair had begun to glow red. Pulse rising, he wrenched his rings from his fingers, casting them into the ever-darkening room. Precious jewellery piled under him until only the dimmest glow from his own veins remained.. Slumping onto the steps, he tightened his grip on his arm and twisted it ninety degrees. A sharp click of crystal against porcelain met his ears. The room was enveloped in black as his final stone slid away from his arm, rendering the prosthesis inert. He slid to his side, the sounds of the party below overtaken by his own gasping breaths, panic refusing to subside alongside his magic.

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The Covatar The Covatar
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The secret room

We are happy to share our company’s secrets with you, but there is something better to hide... for your safety

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Josh Gee Josh Gee
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The Jack of Lanternz

the Jack of the Lantern. He stalks through the night on his broom of flame. Laughing all the way to unholy Hell. He takes what he pleases, he takes many souls. And he vanishes into the darkest of the shadows.

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Lora Sager Lora Sager Plus Member
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Zombie mushroom
1/4

I hunger for roly-poly... Grrrrr

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Jasmin Jasmin
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Mushroom Cup

Done with liquid watercolours and fineliner on watercolour paper.

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Sabina Hahn Sabina Hahn
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Truman Capote

Truman Capote (1924–1984) He compulsively added numbers in his head, refusing to dial a telephone number or accept a hotel room if the digits made a sum he considered unlucky. “It’s endless, the things I can’t and won’t,” he said. “But I derive some curious comfort from obeying these primitive concepts.” - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.” ― Truman Capote #dailyrituals #inktober #TrumanCapote @masoncurrey

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Jasmin Jasmin
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Funky Mushrooms

Posca pens and Amsterdam acrylic markers on a coaster

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Sabina Hahn Sabina Hahn
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the martian

THE MARTIAN from Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day by Ben Loory. "The three of them sit down to dinner. Halfway through the soup course, a Martian enters the room. It takes the astronaut’s napkin and lays it across his lap. Then it turns around and walks out. I thought you said you didn’t see any Martians, says the woman. Not on the moon, says the astronaut, no." https://www.instagram.com/p/CgwTsoXOVln/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

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Suzette Suzette
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The Futon Room

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Steve Martinez Steve Martinez
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Three shrooms to the wind

Three shrooms to the wind.

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Jasmin Jasmin
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Mushrooms in Ink

Ballpoint pen and ink in my watercolour sketchbook.

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Jasmin Jasmin
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Gouashrooms

A little collection of mushrooms, done with gouache in my mixed media sketchbook. The process of painting with gouache is growing on me, it feels so satisfying.

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Josh Gee Josh Gee
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I sick chubby today

not today, actually, but this is me on some days ...

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Kristen Solecki Kristen Solecki
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Living Room Portrait

A deconstructed portrait of my living room using gouache and ink.

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Dean C. Graf Dean C. Graf Plus Member
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Feet Up

Color Pencil over Gesture. It was a contemplative day in the art classroom. Students were drawing self portraits and I had time to join them. Our discussion was on 'Reflection'. The image we see of ourselves in the mirror is not what people see when they look at us. They see the reverse. The mole on my cheek is on the other side of my face, if you were to look at me in person. This leads to discussions of perception and reality. It can be fun and humbling. We cannot live only by sight. We must have a faith of some sort. This reminds me of the Michael Feldman Public Radio Program called: "Whad'Ya Know?" It opens with the audience shouting: "Whad'd Ya Know?" and Michael replying: "Not Much! You?". We do not know much, I think, as much as we like to pretend that we think we do.

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Gerhard Schellert Gerhard Schellert
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Mushroom

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Christy Van Orden Christy Van Orden Plus Member
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Spring is here

Spring is here, frog on a mushroom

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Sabina Hahn Sabina Hahn
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Jane Austen

Jane Austen (1775–1817) Austen never lived alone and had little expectation of solitude in her daily life. Her final home, a cottage in the village of Chawton, England, was no exception: she lived there with her mother, her sister, a close friend, and three servants, and there was a steady stream of visitors, often unannounced. ... Austen wrote in the family sitting room, “subject to all kinds of casual interruptions,” her nephew recalled. She was careful that her occupation should not be suspected by servants, or visitors, or any persons beyond her own family party. She wrote upon small sheets of paper which could easily be put away, or covered with a piece of blotting paper. There was, between the front door and the offices, a swing door which creaked when it was opened; but she objected to having this little inconvenience remedied, because it gave her notice when anyone was coming. “Composition seems to me impossible with a head full of joints of mutton & doses of rhubarb.” From Daily rituals by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #janeAusten @masoncurrey

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