The guy who revived Jack, Dave, and Henry (DSaF 4 fan stuff) wears the Chica mascot suit, because he knew nobody else would wear it. Here he is, up on stage. Not while the pizzeria was open, of course --- the children would go nuts. He isn't wearing his mask he usually wears out-of-suit because it would be hard to keep the Chica head down. Uh, if you know what I mean. Two masks on at the same time = bad. Drawn with FireAlpaca. Also, the big says "Let's Cry", which is just for laughs. Something like that would work in a DSaF game.
After Inktober I thought I’d try out a daily logo challenge “Logovember” which isn’t easy with the holidays happening . Here is one of the ideas. Each design started with a simple doodle that I then created in Adobe Illustrator.
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.
