Like a moldy bridge, the Internet has trolls lurking underneath. Reddit: Unpopular Opinions is a particularly fetid spot for these mouth-breathers. It’s simmering with people ready to spew their most bigoted thoughts in the name of edginess/independence from the norm. ((follow-up note: for some reason, one of the images doubled. for all 5, visit: http://leahlucci.com/starling/2018/06/14/5-unpopular-opinions-illustrated/ ))
Cowboy portrait from one of my old sketchbooks. I did more pencil sketching in the past, but eventually moved into ink and watercolor. I like to experiment with different styles and mediums.
My drawings today from my sketchbook class, we were drawing cadavers. These are from the head and neck dissections of the donors. This is one of my favorite locations I take my students. It is humbling.
This is the book I made which contains the educational paper I wrote and illustrated about my trip to China in the summer of 2017. I gave a lecture entitled, The Sketchbook: Let's Connect at ICON10, The Illustration Conference in Detroit, MI this past July. I gave a few of these books out along with pocket sketchbooks to the audience. Below are a few spreads from the 40-page book.
My final entry for Stage 3 of the doodle addicts challenge! I have loved doing these challenges. They have not only got me drawing things I wouldn't have considered off my own back, but they have brought me out of my comfort zone too. Drawing steam is harder than I thought!!!
My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.
The man with a vast red hat met a flower on the pad and asked, "Are you my dad?" The flower said, "No. I'm not the one, but I'll pretend I'm your dad if you'll pretend you're my sun."
There's a big drop of black ink spilled near the center... It's like that bit of ink just couldn't wait to be part of the art. Sometimes a rough sketch takes on a life of its own.
When I was a teen, my grandfather had alzheimers, a failing heart, and half of one lung. He was covered with scars and sometimes muttered at walls.
I was asked to keep an eye on him, briefly, one afternoon, while my grandmother did something else. While I was alone with him, he looked at an empty space right next to me, and whispered: "Mom? Dad? Is that you?"
With the exception of getting hit by a car, that was the most terrifying moment of my life.
This was done on a heavy day. On days like this, I like to doodle whatever is inside my head to lighten things up. My therapy. Almost everything in here means something.
