Still the same concept I've been working through for a while, but trying to dig a little deeper. I had a 1:45 min flight and I worked on this the whole time (minus turbulence).
The boy calls his brother to view the Ship. It's cool cozy weather. He feels happy and excited to watch it sail. This one is my favorite painting. It's clean & minimal. Reminds me of a cool, cozy, clear sky and before a rain
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.
Model with Headphones Drawing Sketch Study by Oz Galeano
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