tea

The painting im working on is taking a lot more time than i expected, so here is one i painted last winther. I love Beatrix Potters paintings where the animals look realistic, but they wear miniature clothing and behave humanlike.

The devil, Donald Trump, stealing Top Secret documents from the Oval Office. Available at Fine ArtAmerica https://fineartamerica.com/featured/the-devil-stealing-top-secret-documents-from-the-oval-office-karen-sullivan.html

A teapot design features colorful flowers inside. The vibrant hues of pink, yellow, and green stand out, creating a striking contrast with the blue teapot.

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

Why not?

A page from a book I made about dogs and cats.

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

Pencil Drawing

Sketchbook #7. This time I decided to try 100 heads challenge. It was quite fun, but it took me 2 months instead of 10 days though... I haven't used all the provided references and mixed them with my own. Entries 1-10, mechanical pencil.

Ink sketch of a teacup - symbol originally used in the first version of my Studioerin website in 2001.

Just a random drawing. I have been into drawing tears lately, if you have noticed.

This is my first doodle. I did this the other day. It represents multiple people as a team.

Forgot to collar her collar gold but I guess black looks good too.she is a very talented,kind hearted, generous blue ghost who is also the co owner of the snazzy bar.she is older than Al (40 years old) and develops feelings for him later on they remain best friends instead.I guess you can say he friend zoned her,despite Al not knowing what being friend zoned is.He does date Ottalie this however does not make Alamea jealous.

This illustration is based on my childhood favorite, Hans Andersen's story, the steadfast tin soldier.

Black and white drawing.

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

A tiny 'Thumbodies' gal! She enjoys crafting with objects found in nature and likes making delicious herbal tea blends. Online comic & doodles @ doodletowncomic.com

St. WIlgefortis. Patron Saint of facial hair and of people seeing a refuge from abusive husbands (and fathers). When I was doing my research into existing Patron Saints, I stumbled onto St. Wilgefortis. I thought that was a fun combination - until I read to the end. From Wikipedia: "According to the legend of her life, set in Portugal and Galicia, she was a teenage noblewoman who had been promised in marriage by her father to a Moorish king. To thwart the unwanted wedding, she had taken a vow of virginity, and prayed that she would be made repulsive. In answer to her prayers she sprouted a beard, which ended the engagement. In anger, Wilgefortis' father had her crucified." I considered giving her a knife, to fight off the unwanted husbands and vile fathers, but that would not be true to her suffering. So I included her blood instead. #dailydrawing #patronSaint

#embracingnightmares

• Dorian Gray • Dorian’s diabolical deal is such a fascinating, seductive idea, yet you just know, inherently, that it’ll all end in tears; that said, if such a thing could exist – a dodgy painting hidden in your attic, taking all the hits, could you consider it? Would you be tempted . . . any takers?

Some more stylized withered versions of the Altitone band members, Elizabeth (on the left) and Altor (on the right). Elizabeth has ears but no cameras (which are usually located somewhere on the head (look at stylized withered Preistor for context)), so she is blind. Altor has no ears but a camera (which has been broken off and now sits loose in Altor's disembodied head), so he's deaf. Before version 2 of these guys, Preistor was maroon (once again, look at stylized withered Preistor for context), Elizabeth was teal, and Altor was yellow-green (mostly yellow). They roam the halls in Jester's workshop. Drawn with FireAlpaca.

Custom made doodle frame for a Tea enthusiast!

A suit I designed for a fantasy SWAT (TSWATT, or the Taured Special Weapons And Tactics Team). They have wings which can fold into themselves, so far that they cannot be seen unless you look behind the back. They have special long fall boots (sort of like the ones from Portal) that allow them to fall from great heights. They have special glass goggles that act as sort of a VR set, in which they can see through smoke and walls if the area they are in is mapped out. The little orange thing on their chest records everything they witness. Drawn with FireAlpaca.

I'm a big fan of DSaF. I love the characters (kebab boy is my personal favorite), and I cried once I found out that they all freaking die in the end. But not like a little bit of programming can't do the trick, right? I'm using the same sense of Glitchtrap (aka not really being William, but rather an AI or sorts of him) to bring back (a replica of) Jack, Dave, and Henry in the modern world. They're stuck in springlock suits right now, surrounded by wires, as somebody works on them. Dave is in the Bonnie suit, Jack in the Fox suit, and Henry in the Freddy suit. The man who is working on them plans to open a pizzaria, and work alongside the three to create the "Fazfrick's experience". He will wear the Chica suit, because nobody else wants to be the girl. This is so sad. Drawn with FireAlpaca.

Aaaand forgot to post yesterday again. Sorry. Zmey can't talk, which is one of the reasons he took Anka as an apprentice and he is teaching her sign language. (It's not an easy feat. He was hoping she could read to help, but let's say it's not the case either) He is not medically mute, he could make sound if he need to. It's just it's highly not recommended for him to open his mouth, thank to a little magical mishap when he met Baba Yaga for the first time. She still maintain it was well earned. So does he. (Little note: He is saying "flame" in french sign language) (Look, I couldn't find reference for russian sign language, and I'm not sure there was a sign language in their russian themed mythical medieval fantastical yolo universe)

Years ago, I sketched Gibby at work—pencil in hand, bold strokes alive with motion. I caught them from over the shoulder: just the back of their head, the soft curve of their face, and that focused arm bringing something into being. They were 9 or 10 then, already showing the spark of creativity and concentration that pointed toward who they’d become. Now in their mid-20s, Gibby is thoughtful, insightful—quick to listen, slow to speak, and wired to process the world with care. Their path has been remarkable: two degrees in 2.5 years, no debt. That didn’t happen by accident. It took grit, German immersion schooling, 16 college credits earned in high school, and testing out of 24 more once at university. That’s Gibby—quietly determined, resourceful, and steady. But their story isn’t just academic. Gibby’s always been gifted with their hands—drawn to set design, locksmithing, welding. Trades they wanted to pursue early on, and still feel pulled toward. They’re at a bike shop now. It’s not the dream, but it fits: their hands know how to build, repair, and reshape the world. There’s been frustration—maybe even anger—that we didn’t let them follow the trade route right away. I get that now. Life veers, and sometimes the path chosen isn't the one imagined. But Gibby’s resilience—their ability to adapt and press on—is what I admire most. They’ve embraced their journey with honesty, stepping into their identity as a they/them person, unafraid to define success in their own terms. That takes courage. I’m proud of them—not for a résumé, but for who they are. This old drawing isn’t just a memory—it’s a thread connecting past to present. A reminder that the creative spark, the steady hands, the deep soul I saw back then is still shining. So here’s to you, Gibby: the kid who sketched with fire and the adult who still shapes the world with quiet brilliance. Your value has never been about the path you’re on. It’s about the person you are. And I’ll be here, cheering you on—every step of the way.

sketch on tea bags glued together