Are the places of your dreams real? Will we ever make it there? Only the people who are there now, know. (Working on a big art project, this is a small side drawing I did while in a drawers block)
Some more practice with crosshatch shading and the proportions are a bit off. I also somehow made the left side of the bottle fat and it drives me nuts. ヘ（。□°）ヘ Other than that I think it came out ok.
I first bought some cheap soft pastels back in 2018 and did a couple of sketches. I bought a nice set of Rembrandt pastels a few months later — didn't use them. I bought some pastel pads, none if which seemed right. September 2020, I bought a couple more sets of bargain pastels and tried a couple of pieces — no good, still couldn't bring myself to use them. Jess bought me pastel pencils for Christmas — I was too scared to use them. I even bought a pad of Pastelmat which is supposed to be THE paper to use for pastel paintings in January. I was too scared to use that as well!
FINALLY, after a few unsuccessful attempts at working with watercolour (brush issues), I cast aside my fear and thought I'd mess around with pastels. Some time later, and this was the result. I've finally broken through my pastel fear-barrier.
I've got to say, I love soft pastels and I'm excited about doing more pieces in this medium.
In 2017, I had a short run of finishing acrylic paintings after not painting for many years. Here I was pushing towards a more realistic style despite the very cheap and thin paints.
Meet Dr. Lorna Breen. She was in the trenches of the front line inside the New York hot zone during the first wave of the pandemic. She saw the massive influx of patients she knew she could not save (29,000 deaths reported in April, 2020). She contracted the virus and after recuperating, went straight back to work. A week and a half later, the hospital sent her home. Her family intervened to bring her back home to Charlottesville, Virginia. During her visit with her family, she seemed “detached.” She passed away April 26, 2020 at the UVA University Hospital in Charlottesville from self-inflicted wounds.
"She tried to do her job, and it killed her… Make sure she’s praised as a hero. Because she was, she’s a casualty just as much as anyone else who has died."
—Dr. Philip C. Breen, Father
Playgrounds were opened in October then closed again the first weekend of December, and then re-opened yesterday! So grateful. This is one of the renovations by SF Rec and Park while they were closed: Alice Chalmers Playground. It's a pretty crazy climb inside (my five year old needed me to help him down the slide). The Q-bert type iceberg things are super cool, too.
"Helios" is a world of infernal heat and these towers are the only protection the inhabitants have against the unforgiving environment outside. -- Oils on canvas with a knife.
Putting the painting of the newt aside for now.
It was not going as I hoped (see previous post)...I still have ideas but feel like I need to work on some things before progressing. Thinking it was the eyes, so decided to work on some studies. These creatures do have fascinating eyes!
Idk why my stuff keeps turning sideways but here he is... my rainbow giraffe cuz why not. I was feeling happy today so this is what I did, please if you have name ideas, share below.
Artwork on paper. Pen, graphic pen, coffee and watercolor. Part of the Hybrid Mythologies series. Inspired by different mythologies and stories, this series is an intuitive exploration and associative drawing project with multiplicities of scenes inside each other.
A sideways version of one of my favorite of my watercolor paintings. The print is available on products on Redbubble, Society6, Zazzle, and Threadless. Try this link for access to all sites: https://linktr.ee/okhismakingart
A simple ink sketch of a bird at rest. Sometimes the quiet moments—watching, pausing, waiting—are the deepest teachers. This drawing is part of my exploration of what I call the Quiet Practices—small ways of living from the inside out.
If you’d like to see more of my reflections, I share them here: https://forming20.com/
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).
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 on 147mm x 133mm paper) "They're not flag-waving wannabes, or finger-pointing-blamemongers. They're true British Heroes! They were born with spines of steel, have spunk by the bucketload, and their upper-lips aren't just stiff, they're rock-solid! They're the type who'll kick those mad-dogs aside and proudly march, bare-arsed, into the midday sun!"
Joan Miró (1893-1983)
Miró always maintained a rigidly inflexible daily routine—both because he disliked being distracted from his work, and because he feared slipping back into the severe depression that had afflicted him as a young man, before he discovered painting. To help prevent a relapse, his routine always included vigorous exercise—boxing in Paris; jumping rope and Swedish gymnastics at a Barcelona gym; and running on the beach and swimming at Mont-roig, a seaside village where his family owned a farmhouse.
Miró hated for this routine to be interrupted by social or cultural events. As he told an American journalist, “Merde! I absolutely detest all openings and parties! They’re commercial, political, and everybody talks too much. They get on my tits!”
From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
FEDERICO FELLINI
In a 1977 interview, he described his morning routine:
I'm up at six in the morning. I walk around the house, open sindows, poke around boxes. move books from here to there. For years I've been trying to make myself a decent cup if coffee, but it's not one of my specialties. I go downstairs, outside as soon as possible. By seven I'm on the telephone.
- Daily rituals by Mason Curry.
#inktober #masonCurry #federicofellini #dailyritual
Sometimes, I re-read books and they don't have the same impact as before. Sometimes, I re-read them and they hit me harder.
Roadside picnic by Brothers Strugatsky made me cry. This is my favorite book by them, although I do so love Monday starts on Saturday. But this book! I wish more people would read it.
