table

I can't draw guns lol,Ruthleen is a 30 year old crime lord who is in charge of exporting illegal firearms throughout various cities,she also launders lots of money along with her partner in crime Parslip longstem who's a parsnip vegetable.Both bring in millions of dollars in illegal activity.they are wanted for their crimes,Ruthleen and Parslip have a mutual relationship with Taffeliers who is a moody drug lord.Ruthleen came from a poor,dangerous neighboorhood and was raised by a single mother which shaped most of her personality,cold and restrained.

completely forgot I drew this.before he was a Parsnip vegetable he was a scallion,his personality was different he was rude,selfish,arrogant and reckless often carrying carrying a pistol inside his waistband without a holster.Ruthleen detested him but they were still a solid team, ruthleen being the complete opposite of him.

Benjamin Franklin (Part 2) The plan worked, up to a point. After following the course several times in a row, he found it necessary to go through just one course in a year, and then one every few years. But the virtue of order—“Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time”—appears to have eluded his grasp. Franklin was not naturally inclined to keep his papers and other possessions organized, and he found the effort so vexing that he almost quit in frustration. This timetable was formulated before Franklin adopted a favorite habit of his later years—his daily “air bath.” At the time, baths in cold water were considered a tonic, but Franklin believed the cold was too much of a shock to the system. He wrote in a letter: I have found it much more agreeable to my constitution to bathe in another element, I mean cold air. With this view I rise early almost every morning, and sit in my chamber without any clothes whatever, half an hour or an hour, according to the season, either reading or writing. This practice is not in the least painful, but on the contrary, agreeable; and if I return to bed afterwards, before I dress myself, as sometimes happens, I make a supplement to my night’s rest, of one or two hours of the most pleasing sleep that can be imagined. From Daily rituals by Mason Currey #daulyrituals #inktober #benjaminfranklin @masoncurrey

Luminary Festival - Auren Farkis (Digital Portrait I did as a colour study) Crisp reverberating strings danced through the evening. Notes twisted and echoed up through the emerald, velvet tiers of Ridgedow Gardens. Dusk’s veil had long since darkened to a diamond-encrusted black, and Clarglow was alive with activity. Footpaths were choked with revellers that formed a river of light that coursed and pulsed through the park. Will-o-whisp spots of light also glowed among the neatly trimmed hedgerows and statues. Their magic-addled voices rose up, joining in with the music of the Luminary Festival. A young man, no more than a quarter of a century old, glowed brightest of all. A soft orange radiated from his eyes, and his veins pulsed a brilliant red. He was dripping in gold and gems. Over an outfit that somehow managed to be heavily layered and revealing at the same time, he wore a sheer cape, which was heavily embroidered with blood-red crystals that refracted his own light around him in dazzling, concentrated rays. It was such a dangerous colour of magic, but his expression was soft and dreamy. Excited laughter rose up as a clustered group shot metallic confetti skyward. Gold flake drifted down and settled into his silver hair, cheeks, and shoulders. No doubt he would discover the remnants of this festival in his home weeks from now. He increased his pace, stepping off the cobbled path to overtake the group, when one of their number split from the group. The coils of her dark hair were so saturated with gold that she looked like she belonged on a pedestal next to the other statues. She intercepted him, matching his pace. She snaked a long, slender arm around his waist and pulled him closer. She pressed her lips against his neck, leaving a wake of golden kisses up to his earlobe, where she leaned closer to whisper. — “Aurie, Luv, I know that look. Don’t tell me you’re headed home. The eve has only just begun. “ Her glowing eyes Locked with Auren’s, her grip tightening, slowing the both of them to a stop, causing a temporary blockage in the flow of people. “Overdid myself Mel.. you’ll have to –” –” Come with us to the reflecting pool.” She cooed, meeting his lips in an off-center kiss, smearing his inky wine lipstick. Momentarily, he allowed himself to relax. He considered saying yes. His heart pounding, he dipped his friend backwards gracefully, resenting that he had to leave. An itch in his left arm reminded his fuzzy brain that he was in danger. Gasping softly, he gently lifted Mella upright and spun her out towards her friends, who were growing impatient. He couldn’t make out their faces in the fuzz of the evening. “I can’t, I’m sorry Mel! We’ll talk later.” Before she could protest, he danced, spinning forward in a brilliant display of speed that ended in a stumble as he met a set of steep steps that coiled sharply upwards out of the park and onto the pink brick streets overlooking Ridgedow Gardens. The glazed windows facing the street were empty and blank… their occupants elsewhere, enjoying the festival. The empty buildings were like faces, judging him for his lack of zeal. Auren wound his way through streets and side streets, his pace increasing as he grew more and more alone. Finally, he was climbing a set of steps to his own front door. Smirking at the sight of it he reached down into the front of the bodice that held together the layers of his outfit pulling free a loop of keys that were on a long chain looped around his neck. Aligning it to the keyhole he struggled with the lock, cursing softly under his breath as it initially failed to cooperate with him. In the quiet black of his foyer, he latched the door behind him and stumbled forward, tearing at the ribbon that held the gleaming cape that draped from his bare shoulders. He let it drop on a black lacquered table. He reached up to unclasp an elaborate choker and tore his single, crimson glove down from his elbow. He pressed a gilded fingernail against a band of red ink encroached upon by a spreading corruption. Marginally extending beyond the band were sinews of mismatched muscle and skin; even his hair had begun to glow red. Pulse rising, he wrenched his rings from his fingers, casting them into the ever-darkening room. Precious jewellery piled under him until only the dimmest glow from his own veins remained.. Slumping onto the steps, he tightened his grip on his arm and twisted it ninety degrees. A sharp click of crystal against porcelain met his ears. The room was enveloped in black as his final stone slid away from his arm, rendering the prosthesis inert. He slid to his side, the sounds of the party below overtaken by his own gasping breaths, panic refusing to subside alongside his magic.

Created in photoshop and using a Wacom tablet.

Patron Saint of Uncomfortable Eye Contact. Could not choose 1 or 2. Which one is your favorite? Requested by Norman. #patronSaint #dailyDrawing

Gobbins be like

Discover : Lands Unknown is a tabletop game by Fantasy Flight Games. I saw this just sitting on a shelf in bookstore, snapped a pic and made a parody, I think the cover art looked nice, outside of that, I've never played it. LOL

Here's Lily... Digital Pastel Drawing for Pastel Pencils with Phil. I hope you like. Samsung Galaxy S8 Ultra Tablet with Clip Studio Paint App. #PhilTeachesArt #DigitalDrawing #PastelPencils #SamsungGalaxyS8 #TabletArt #LilyDrawing #ArtWithPhil #pastelpencilswithphil #bampi #Animals #Animal

made with gel ink pen for a future art book about mediterranean way of life

VOLCANA (MARVEL COMICS) DONE 2015. ORIGINAL ART WAS THROWN AWAY Marsha Rosenberg was born in Denver, Colorado. She was a day care center employee who, along with her friend Skeeter, was among the residents of Denver transported to the Beyonder's "Battleworld" during Marvel Comics' first Secret Wars limited series. Seeking power and respect, she and Skeeter agreed to serve Doctor Doom in exchange for super powers. Doctor Doom had learned how to operate a machine utilizing alien technology. He used it to grant Rosenberg the ability to transform into a molten lava form with powerful thermal energy blasts, hence her codename "Volcana". She allied herself with Doctor Doom and the criminal faction and battled the She-Hulk in a confrontation with the heroic faction.[1] During the series, she developed a relationship with the supervillain Molecule Man, Owen Reece.[2] She bargained with the Enchantress,[3] and then battled the Enchantress with the intent to renege on her bargain.[4] During the Secret Wars II limited series, Marsha was residing back on Earth with Owen Reece. They hosted the Beyonder upon his arrival on Earth.[5] She tricked the Molecule Man into challenging the Beyonder[6] and then participated in the defeat of the Beyonder.[7] Some time later she accompanied the Molecule Man and the Fantastic Four to the Beyonder's universe. She separated from the Molecule Man when he apparently became irrevocably merged into another "cosmic cube" along with the Beyonder. Unlike her friend Skeeter who became the supervillainess Titania, Marsha did some superhero work.[8] She battled the Wizard[9] and Moonstone.[10] Volcana assisted the Avengers in repairing the damage to the Earth's crust caused by the Beyonder.[11] Volcana later took a comatose Molecule Man to the army hospital. After Molecule Man recovered, he turned the tent they were in into a hot air balloon as Captain Marvel's hologram wanted to talk. Volcana destroyed the projection. Because of the Silver Surfer, Volcana and Molecule Man were redirected to the Avengers and the Fantastic Four. After a brief fight, Molecule Man and Volcana were allowed to return to their apartment in Denver.[12] Later, she was briefly reunited with a de-powered Molecule Man (who had mysteriously returned to Earth) and battled Klaw. It was at that time that she gained the ability to assume volcanic rock and volcanic ash forms. She subsequently discovered that, just before his supposed "death," Molecule Man had secretly "willed" her a portion of his reality-warping power, and it was this power that gave her the ability to manifest these other forms at critical times, just when she needed them. Once he regained his power from her, she found herself no longer able to tolerate the darker side of his personality. She terminated their relationship, although Molecule Man vowed to one day prove his full love to her.[13] After losing a lot of weight, Volcana attended the wedding of Absorbing Man and Titania. Marsha discovered that Molecule Man was also invited. When Volcana went to check up on Titania following the supervillain attendees' fight with She-Hulk, she encountered Crystal, and Hydro-Man arrived to help Volcana until Crystal was defeated by Molecule Man.[14] Molecule Man still pined for Volcana. He captured Doc Samson, and after a fight with Doc Samson and She-Hulk, Molecule Man escaped and used his powers to carve Volcana's face in Mount Rushmore. Marsha saw the news of this on TV but did not suspect that Molecule Man was who made it happen.[15] During the "Fear Itself" storyline, Titania commented how Volcana just came along for the ride back when Titania was brought to Battleworld as she tells Dr. Wooster at the Farnum Observational Facility in Upstate New York.[16] Nightwatch later hired Volcana and Titania to fight She-Hulk in order to keep her from getting the documents that would incriminate him. With the help of her secretary Angie Huang, her supernatural monkey Hei Hei, and Hellcat, She-Hulk was able to defeat them with Huang redirecting Volcana's fire attack back to Volcana enough to melt her.[17] Powers and abilities Marsha Rosenberg gained superhuman powers through genetic manipulation by highly advanced technology performed by Doctor Doom. As Volcana, she originally had the ability to convert her entire body into a plasma form, in which she blazes with white-hot intensity, at times setting aflame any surface beneath her. In her human form, the 6 ft 5 in (1.96 m)[citation needed] tall Marsha has long black hair, and often wears only her magenta-colored swimsuit; her clothing is manufactured from unstable molecules, thus it is not destroyed when she is in her plasma form. The alien technology that empowered her makes her powers totally undetectable when she is in human form. Her plasma form grants her superhuman durability and consists of highly charged particles which surround her in white-hot flame and is able to emit controlled bursts of thermal energy up to 40 ft (12 m).[citation needed] She later gained the ability to convert her body into a stone form, a volcanic rock (basalt)-like composition which still enables movement and grants her superhuman strength. She subsequently gained an ash form, a volcanic ash (pumice)-like composition whose configuration she can shift, shape and control at will. Volcana cannot make partial transformations; she can possess the attributes of only one of her forms at a time. Monitoring devices subcutaneously implanted by Doctor Doom can be triggered to stimulate the aggression centers of her brain.

The clutter on my drawing table.. I tend to use pencils the most, with pens a close second and sometimes brushes. This is the neat look---when everything is put away in its box. More often than not, they are a bit more scattered on the surface. Micron pen drawing.

Sigmund Freud (1856–1939) “I cannot imagine life without work as really comfortable,” Freud wrote to a friend in 1910. With his wife, Martha, to efficiently manage the household—she laid out Freud’s clothes, chose his handkerchiefs, and even put toothpaste on his toothbrush—the founder of psychoanalysis was able to maintain a single-minded devotion to his work throughout his long career. Freud’s long workdays were mitigated by two luxuries. First, there were his beloved cigars, which he smoked continually, going through as many as twenty a day from his mid-twenties until near the end of his life, despite several warnings from doctors and the increasingly dire health problems that dogged him throughout his later years. (When his seventeen-year-old nephew once refused a cigarette, Freud told him, From Daily rituals by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #sigmundFreud @masoncurrey

This is the 3rd of the 3 glow-in-the-dark space satellite poster series. This concept sketch was done on a digital tablet with pencil setting. Will try to up the finished version tomorrow.

Where do I begin with this one? This is a drawing of my dad and I; the picture was taken back in 2006, a happier time, I suppose. I don't commonly think about my dad, I don't necessarily think about how much I miss him or how I wish I could see him again, so it was odd for me to sit and look through old photos. I don't really know my dad; I do, but I don't. My dad was physically part of my life for 10 years, the second half of those were not the best. Mental illness, self medicating for years, debt, heroin, arguments, threats, uncertainty. I feel like I remember the negative more because I was older, my parents couldn't hide it from me like they used to. At the same time, when he was sober and stable, life was good. Life was great, things felt complete. So here I am, 6 years since he died. I don't want to say his image is fading, but I know less of who he was than I did before. I see the good from some (the ones who praise him, who act like he was a saint), and I see the bad from others (the one who felt the pain). I suppose I no longer see my view, my memories aren't there anymore. I don't necessarily feel sad, the anger has faded, and I can't say I'm happy. Maybe I'll figure it out one day, but, for now, it is what it is.

round table lunch biro sketch

sketch

Juvenile Cedar Waxwing - Digital Sketch with Samsung Galaxy S8 Ultra Tablet and HiPaint App. Thank you Wendy Poole Levasseur for the photo reference ❤

Zebra SARASA Clip Gel Retractable 0.5mm on dot grid paper

Graphite drawing I did a long time ago.

Nikola Tesla (1856–1943) After he had started his own company, Tesla arrived at the office at noon. Immediately, his secretary would draw the blinds; Tesla worked best in the dark and would raise the blinds again only in the event of a lightning storm, which he liked to watch flashing above the cityscape from his black mohair sofa. Tesla ate alone, and phoned in his instructions for the meal in advance. Upon arriving, he was shown to his regular table, where eighteen clean linen napkins would be stacked at his place. As he waited for his meal, he would polish the already gleaming silver and crystal with these squares of linen, gradually amassing a heap of discarded napkins on the table. And when his dishes arrived—served to him not by a waiter but by the maître d’hôtel himself—Tesla would mentally calculate their cubic contents before eating, a strange compulsion he had developed in his childhood and without which he could never enjoy his food. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “Of all things, I liked books best.” ― Nikola Tesla “One must be sane to think clearly, but one can think deeply and be quite insane.” ― Nikola Tesla #dailyrituals #inktober #NikolaTesla @masoncurrey

Joseph Cornell (1903–1972) Cornell worked nights at the kitchen table, sorting and assembling materials for his boxes. It was not easy going. Some nights he felt too fatigued from his day job to concentrate on his art and would sit up reading instead, switching on the oven for warmth. In the mornings, his quarrelsome mother would scold him about the mess he’d left at the kitchen table; without a proper workroom, Cornell was forced to store his growing collection of magazine clippings and dime-store baubles out in the garage. In 1940 Cornell finally mustered the courage to quit his job and pursue his art full-time—and even then his habits changed little. He still worked nights at the kitchen table, while his mother and brother slept upstairs. In the late morning he would head downtown for breakfast at his local Bickford’s restaurant, often satisfying his sweet tooth with a Danish or a slice of pie (and lovingly cataloging these indulgences in his diary). - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #JosephCornell @masoncurrey

George Balanchine (1904–1983) Balanchine liked to do his own laundry. “When I’m ironing, that’s when I do most of my work,” he once said. The choreographer rose early, before 6:00 A.M., made a pot of tea, and read a little or played a hand of Russian solitaire while he gathered his thoughts. Then he did his ironing for the day (he did his own washing too, in a portable machine in his Manhattan apartment) and, between 7:30 and 8:00, phoned his longtime assistant for a rundown of the day’s schedule. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “I like to do things certain ways and I disagree with everybody but I don't even want to argue.” ― George Balanchine #dailyrituals #inktober #balanchine @masoncurrey

(I had gotten some new fine-point pens last week, and I figured this was a good way to test them out.) Two very different things have been on my mind lately, maybe there's a connection? I think it's interesting how it's taken me 4 years to figure something out, become comfortable enough to open up to others about it, and then embrace it. Yet it's like living a double life, being authentic to some and keeping secrets from others. On the other hand, to the person receiving this drawing, I know I can't do anything to change the situation even though I wish I could. All I can say is I'm forever grateful for all you do, and I truly hope you decide to take advantage of all the opportunities coming your way.

Table

Jean-Paul Sartre (1905–1980) By the 1950s, too much work on too little sleep—with too much wine and cigarettes—had left Sartre exhausted and on the verge of collapse. Rather than slow down, however, he turned to Corydrane, a mix of amphetamine and aspirin then fashionable among Parisian students, intellectuals, and artists (and legal in France until 1971, when it was declared toxic and taken off the market). The prescribed dose was one or two tablets in the morning and at noon. Sartre took twenty a day, beginning with his morning coffee and slowly chewing one pill after another as he worked. For each tablet, he could produce a page or two of his second major philosophical work, The Critique of Dialectical Reason. The biographer Annie Cohen-Solal reports, “His diet over a period of twenty-four hours included two packs of cigarettes and several pipes stuffed with black tobacco, more than a quart of alcohol—wine, beer, vodka, whisky, and so on—two hundred milligrams of amphetamines, fifteen grams of aspirin, several grams of barbiturates, plus coffee, tea, rich meals.” - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #jeanPaulSartre @masoncurrey

I am going to create a recipe using all these vegetables and I will call it the “Toilet Triple Threat.” Looks for it in the next issue of Martha Stewart Living.

René Descartes (1596–1650) Descartes was a late riser. The French philosopher liked to sleep until mid-morning, then linger in bed, thinking and writing, until 11:00 or so. His comfortable bachelor’s life ended abruptly in late 1649, Descartes accepted a position in the court of Queen Christina of Sweden. Descartes accepted a position in the court of Queen Christina of Sweden,Arriving in Sweden, in time for one of the coldest winters in memory, Descartes was notified that his lessons to Queen Christina would take place in the mornings—beginning at 5:00 A.M. He had no choice but to obey. But the early hours and bitter cold were too much for him. After only a month on the new schedule, Descartes fell ill, apparently of pneumonia; ten days later he was dead. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “Dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum. (English: "I doubt, therefore I think, therefore I am")” ― Rene Descartes #dailyrituals #inktober #reneDescartes @masoncurrey #wouldratherdiethangetupearly

Every year my uncle asks for hand-made gifts about his "awesomeness". I whipped up a quick homage to our family tradition of playing super complicated games that inevitably end up in rule debates and many beers/wine. :)