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.
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.
Another one of these tiny canvas doodles. I stenciled out the eyes and teeth and used acrylic makers to color. Then finished up with a brush pen. These are a fun challenge
Figured I’d try my hand at something fan art flavoured for this one… namely in the form of my favourite tiny fictional character, Kirby!
I can’t ascertain when exactly I became a fan of the Kirby franchise, although playing Super Smash Bros as a young boy may have something to do with that.
Whatever the case, I got hooked on the pink (or blue in some cases) puffball very quickly!
When we help someone there is always something that blooms and grows beyond us. It is an increasingly necessary action in a world that unfortunately is increasingly divided.
@givingtuesdaypt challenged me to illustrate its movement inspired by this year's motto "Together we change the world"!
This day is celebrated on the first tuesday after BlackFriday, calling on anyone to choose a cause that ressonates with them and give back to them however you can. Thus, a wave of massive generosity is created, which can (and should) extend beyond today! Are there any organizations you want to support?
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Finally finished! This project took many long hours (about 8-9) and reduced my brand new 6B pencil to nothing but a tiny stub... “Black Gold” is done in graphite on 80 lb drawing paper. If you are interested in prints please contact me via my website.
Overwhelmed...started as a little tiny sketchbook sketch and turned into my statement about recent events. It complements my previous post "Fevered Dreams." Bic ballpoint pen on archival 9” x 12” paper, scanned into Photoshop where the text overlay was added. Model: Jose
It's ok to not make sense. It's ok to not follow a pattern. It's ok to be the odd one out.
Life is too beautiful, too amazing, to eccentric, too weird to fit inside someone else's tiny little box of an opinion about you. Break free out of that and live your life on your terms.
While Venice has surrendered itself to unadulterated tourism, Lido remains a tiny bastion of slow life. Lounging on the piers, biking on empty roads, sitting for hours in cafes...
