The meal was my attempt to bring a little comfort into the rugged outdoors. The sketch was my reminder—to hold onto the moment, even when mosquitoes, ashes, and deflating air mattresses had other plans.
Introducing “Home Is Where Your Head’s At” :-)
Starting a new sketchbook as we leave the summer and head into the autumn again… with things like Halloween and Samhuinn rearing their heads it’s liable to sway what goes on here as it always does!
Two wicker chairs in the sun.
One for the waiting,
one for the hoped-for.
The table between them
holds its silence,
its place set for bread or talk.
I draw what is here—
lines quick and unerasable—
and what is not here,
her presence,
waits with me in the white of the page.
Imperfect Lines, Honest Presence
This sketch is not perfect—and that’s exactly why it’s alive. The bold figure, the dissolving hat, the tilted chair: all of it feels unfinished, fleeting, caught in motion. It’s what the Japanese call wabi-sabi—finding beauty in the imperfect, the impermanent, the incomplete.
But there’s something deeper here too. A quick sketch is not just what the eye records. It’s what the soul permits. To draw without fixing, without polishing, is to admit the world will not hold still for us. Life slips past. The lines break off. And yet, somehow, the essence remains.
When you sketch this way, you are not the master of the moment—you are its guest. The pencil does not carve permanence; it pays attention. The act of drawing becomes an act of being present, of honoring what is already vanishing.
So here’s a challenge: grab a pencil and sketch someone near you in sixty seconds. Do not erase. Do not perfect. Let the lines falter. When you finish, ask yourself: What truth did the imperfection reveal?
Perhaps presence itself is the real art.
For this piece I used acrylic paints and acrylic markers. My inspiration was my love of tattoo flash and traditional/neo-traditional tattoo designs. I grew up flipping through pages of tattoo flash catalogues and the art inside was a huge influence in my own art. Some of these pieces are my versions of popular designs and some are originals.
This is an acrylic painting that I made for someone I was close to. We would often take turns of one of us being overly affectionate and the other being playfully annoyed. I tried to capture this dynamic in the painting of these two owls. This painting was an experiment in portraying animals, something I don't do often, and using my paint knife as a tool in my paintings.
This is a digital rendering of a drawing I have recreated several times. The original was a doodle done in high school and has since been done as a painting, a tattoo design, and now as digital art. My inspiration was 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', classic cartoons (Woody the Woodpecker), and pinup art styles.
The moment of death of a Christian as they leave this earthly world and travel to the afterlife. The figure is halfway between the earthly and heavenly realms. The earthly realm I painted in flat paints. The heavenly realm is bright and glorious. God is depicted in trinity, you see Father, Son and Holy Spirit as one.
There’s a lot of waiting in life.
Waiting in lobbies.
Waiting on answers.
Waiting for braces to tighten, kids to grow, hearts to heal, or prayers to be answered.
I sat at the orthodontist, watching dollars tighten on tiny wires, and made this sketch. A tree. A house. A street. Color helped the moment breathe.
I remember once hearing a chess master say, “There is no waiting in chess.”
It confused me—wasn’t there always a turn to wait for?
But he explained: “There’s no waiting. Only planning. Plotting. Analyzing. You’re always thinking.”
I once repeated that to a FIDE master. He got mad.
Maybe because waiting and patience aren’t the same thing.
We can be still and deeply active inside.
We can pause without being passive.
And then there’s Lindsey’s voice in the back of my head:
“That sounds like a first-world problem.”
“Speak life.”
“Be thankful. Rejoice always.”
And she’s right.
So here’s to filling waiting time with something creative.
Something kind.
Something that turns a delay into a doorway.
Created digitaly. I initially created a painting entitled Safe Return after welcoming Canada geese along a nearby lake one Spring morning, four years ago.
Teaching painting is a great task to ask of a person who doesn't paint. I do not paint. I teach the manipulation of media through experience. "Learn from doing!" I say. Monochromatic pastel exercises help my students to get a handle on the media. We explore value and composition and the handling of media. Sometimes happy accidents occur. This was my example to the teens on composition and value. It is a journey.
I think that sometimes 'waiting' is the hardest thing to do. If you have a place to hang your coat and you have a rich inner life, you will be fine waiting. I was waiting to be seen by my doctor. A general check-up. The prognosis is that I am getting older and I need to lose weight. OK then. Thank you.
Most of the painting is the glory of God all around. The very small Church in the background signifies our very small, very limited understanding of God.
