rust

Starring Django Django: Marble Skies (2018). Let me tell you a story about chasing dreams and overcoming obstacles. About the recurring feeling of "rain following marble skies". About success and frustration. About fascination and mania. Tricolor linoprint using one lino plate. September, 2020.

I'm so bored it's frustrating

Sometimes we just need a bit of encouragement to push us along the way. Sometimes life is hard and it does more than give you lemons. Cry, vent and release your frustration in a healthy way, but try and stay strong. You will be glad you did :)

Everyone thinks that they love will have a happy ending, but those are the lucky ones. What about those who have their heart played just to get the pleasure fulfilled. What happens to those who kept promises but never fulfilled them, just forgot them like they meant nothing, no memories of them were made, it had nothing to do with them. This picture that I developed at this stage of a person's life shows that they don't ask for nothing beside a happy ending, sitting together and enjoying each other's company. What was the need of stealing someone's heart, use them for your own desires and then just throw it away? What did they get at the end? It was easy for them to make promises, gaining their trust, building hopes but harder for them to prove it. Day by day the pain kills them inside but to the world they are nothing more but alive and energetic, but who knows what’s happening from the inside, when they are just trying to live each day until death comes. At this moment of time no one can heal the cuts, them deceitful memories by the one who once said they will never hurt you or leave you. But I guess one day everyone does leave you, maybe today or tomorrow. She was told to forget him because he was nothing beside a memory. He wasn’t worth it. He walked away from her, but maybe she was too caught in his memories.

Hibernation time has definitely come to an end on this part of the globe. It is now time to eat the world and so this one decided to bring himself to life and cast some magick around. Drawings are a very powerful tool for that. This is the first bear that I have ever created on paper and I don't know much about why he came out like this but I'm sure that he knows very well all about that. He is the sigil and I trust his eyes

"Build them up High and strong so you'll never have to hurt too long Put them up 'Til they surround and there's no real you left to be found Hold it up High above no fear of hope or trust or love Close it up And hold your ground and wait unt

Narwhals in surreal lands… what else?

The tables were covered in white paper. Crayons, pastels, and smooth sticks waited quietly. Then came Lucy’s glittery purse—her 8-year-old hands had filled it with stones to pass along, one by one, to the strangers around the table. We traced them. Pushed them. Held them. Then we let the colors lead: -Red for emotion. -Yellow for curiosity. -Blue for memory. Each color came with music, with story, with space. At the Museum of Wisconsin Art, we made marks not for meaning but for presence. Thank you to Ann Marie and MOWA for the invitation and trust. And thank you to the participants—some new friends, some old students—for showing up and making lines that listened before they spoke.

Years ago, I sketched Gibby at work—pencil in hand, bold strokes alive with motion. I caught them from over the shoulder: just the back of their head, the soft curve of their face, and that focused arm bringing something into being. They were 9 or 10 then, already showing the spark of creativity and concentration that pointed toward who they’d become. Now in their mid-20s, Gibby is thoughtful, insightful—quick to listen, slow to speak, and wired to process the world with care. Their path has been remarkable: two degrees in 2.5 years, no debt. That didn’t happen by accident. It took grit, German immersion schooling, 16 college credits earned in high school, and testing out of 24 more once at university. That’s Gibby—quietly determined, resourceful, and steady. But their story isn’t just academic. Gibby’s always been gifted with their hands—drawn to set design, locksmithing, welding. Trades they wanted to pursue early on, and still feel pulled toward. They’re at a bike shop now. It’s not the dream, but it fits: their hands know how to build, repair, and reshape the world. There’s been frustration—maybe even anger—that we didn’t let them follow the trade route right away. I get that now. Life veers, and sometimes the path chosen isn't the one imagined. But Gibby’s resilience—their ability to adapt and press on—is what I admire most. They’ve embraced their journey with honesty, stepping into their identity as a they/them person, unafraid to define success in their own terms. That takes courage. I’m proud of them—not for a résumé, but for who they are. This old drawing isn’t just a memory—it’s a thread connecting past to present. A reminder that the creative spark, the steady hands, the deep soul I saw back then is still shining. So here’s to you, Gibby: the kid who sketched with fire and the adult who still shapes the world with quiet brilliance. Your value has never been about the path you’re on. It’s about the person you are. And I’ll be here, cheering you on—every step of the way.

Years ago, while digging through old journals and sketches, I stumbled across a quick, scribbled drawing of two pears. Beneath it, I'd written a raw and honest note: "Ann is pissed. I think it's because she's uncertain about me, us, life itself. She just ran into my car with the van. She says it was an accident, but she seems happier now—almost like it was cathartic. . . Like sex." At the time, I scribbled this in frustration, feeling a deep disconnect between us. Intimacy had become a confusing and distant concept in our relationship. The pears I'd sketched were rough and scratchy, charged with my chaotic feelings. Looking back, I see how emotions can drive us to strange actions, some intentional, some accidental, often leaving us oddly relieved afterward. Humans are complex, fascinating beings, navigating messy emotions and messy relationships, sometimes colliding intentionally or unintentionally, seeking relief in unexpected ways. Perhaps the pears were my subconscious pun on "pair," reflecting the awkward, confusing way Ann and I were bumping through life together—making messes, but occasionally finding strange humor and genuine catharsis in the chaos. I've learned to smile gently at the rawness of our humanity, appreciating even our scratchy sketches and emotional collisions. They're reminders that life, relationships, and our own hearts are never simple, but they're authentically human. Here's to embracing life's unexpected catharsis and finding humor in our imperfections.

“The politics of the world frustrate me. I control my frustration when I write, but it explodes when I perform.” A quote from a Benjamin Zephaniah documentary I caught not long ago on BBC iPlayer’s been resonating with me as of late. Granted, I tend to keep politics light here (if anything) but I stand by what I’ve just said regardless.

Take it how you want. You either give everything to social media, or it takes everything from you. In the end, you are left naked and hollow. I wanted to make this a simple composition at its core. The image is more about the message. Times Square took forever to put together, I think the perspective is off just a bit. Overall, I think I did well with shading and depth. I am also improving on drawing/painting the human form. I wish I could trust in shapes and form and go a bit more abstract, but I think that will come with experience.

This was my first drawing for the Graham's Up the Tree book. I used my most trusted pen: Metal Pilot Falcon, Soft Extra Fine.

More nautical stuff keeps pouring out of my brain and into my moleskine.

Anxiety-Ridden Gnome with his trusted service log.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.

Acryl on wood

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