Play : Intuitive work, where patterns balloon and swirl and twist and turn to create a new play field for our three.
Micron Pens on Cartridge Paper
8.27"W by 11.7"H
Blossom in Black : In a dark world of swirling patterns blossoms a single rose...slowly...and quietly.
(Uni Posca White Pen on Acid Free Black Paper Board)
I don't know why these all upload sideways, but here's my latest work for the sketchbook. I created the electric field pattern and printed it on photo paper then doodled these rainbow trout (at the suggestion of my friend Andrew) and glued them on.
"Whirlwind 22”, an original drawing. Micron pens on archival paper. Size: 4” x 6”. Title, signature, and date in the back of the drawing. This drawing is the 22nd in a series of drawings posted over a period of 100 days. The original post date on this drawing was September 22, 2020.
"My life vest is in the boat, and I'm in the water." ~ A blackout poem from a recycled page of Riding with the Hides of Hell, a young adult love story now titled Burnout.
Temperature, polarity, pressure, molecule size, and stirring all increase solubility. Yup. The background is stained from food coloring swirled in shaving cream, some AP Chem practice problem notes, and some shapes for spice. Also, I submitted 3 college apps yesterday, so here's to that.
"Whirlwind 20”, an original drawing. Micron pens on archival paper. Size: 4” x 6”. Title, signature, and date in the back of the drawing. This drawing is the 20th in a series of drawings posted over a period of 100 days. The original post date on this drawing was September 20, 2020.
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.
“Whirlwind 2”, an original drawing. Micron pens on archival paper. Size: 4” x 6”. Title, signature and date in the back of the drawing. The original post date on this drawing was September 2, 2020.
“Whirlwind 12”, an original drawing. Size: 5” x 7”. Title, signature, and date in the back of the drawing. This drawing is the 12th in a series of drawings to be posted over a period of 100 days. The original post date on this drawing was September 12, 2020.
