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.
I get to marry by best friend, Lindsey tomorrow. I spent a year and a half writing and drawing my very first comic book. It was about our life together and how I proposed to her. This strip is an excerpt from that comic.
Patron Saint of small sorrows.
A dead bee on a sidewalk, a dead plant, accidental break of a favorite cup. Small sorrows are many and everywhere.
What is a patron saint you want to see?
#patronSaint #dailydrawing
If time cost flesh
If life is boundless
Then where will my hours take me
I want with desires
I wish like a liar
Chasing the rabbit timidly
When im asleep
My dreams are whats deep
I drown in seas of maybes
How do i rise
How do i reach skies
When emotions and plans limit me
I grovel an weep
Cause i put dreams out of reach
But i want to engage the maybes
So instead of the plots
And sitting on thoughts
Its time to embrace the daydreams
I wont cower to dreams
I’ll capture a scheme
And nurture the life of maybes -#embracingnightmares
One last drawing before 2021 draws to a close...
There may come a day when I don’t get inspiration from Wings Of Desire, but today’s not one of them (tomorrow’s not looking good either), hehehe. Happy new year when it comes my friends!
This is my contribution to a Diversity and Unity Mural. The meaning behind it is how we are all different and have our own backgrounds, but we're all connected to each other like the roots show. We are stronger unified, and our progression in making the world a better place is like this plant, it can only grow with care and under the right conditions. Together we can make a better future, while still keeping our roots because of their importance to our identities.
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.
you step carefully around the purple flowers blooming sporadically across the forest floor. it is very late at night, and you know that you shouldn't be wandering this uncharted planet on your own at this mysterious hour. but something in the trees beckons you subconsciously. as you begin to clamor up steep, untread areas of the landscape, you discard you burdens--a first aid kit, your water, all the suddenly unnecessary contents of your pack. something primitive roars inside of you. your pace increases; you now feel the shear closeness of whatever you are chasing so starkly. your feet and hands slip as you grasp onto the trunks of trees and throw your feet ahead of you with such purpose. at last, you arrive at a clearing--and there she is. and she is like nothing you have ever seen before. she is not human, far from it, but your passion for her claws at every inch of your insides. she is not like any creature that has walked earth or neptune. she is something entirely different, and you have fallen in love with that--with her.
Brows, Upper Lids and Lower Lids. What are options to combine? I try to understand what Mr. Boxhead could express ;-) I have only chosen symmetrical expressions and keeping eye direction fixed.
The first version of Dellusion to ever exist. He typically sings somber music, like "Hidden in the Sand" by Tally Hall or "Cry Me a River" by Julie London (both of which you should check out). He's actually quite shy, and likes small crowds. Merry Christmas Eve! Drawn with FireAlpaca.
