I never imagined I could capture so much emotion in an eye—especially on just my second attempt. This piece came to life through intuition more than technique. The values, the shadows, the highlights… they felt like they found their place on their own. Maybe emotion, light, and shadow have always spoken to me—I just finally listened.
The tables were covered in white paper. Crayons, pastels, and smooth sticks waited quietly. Then came Lucy’s glittery purse—her 8-year-old hands had filled it with stones to pass along, one by one, to the strangers around the table.
We traced them. Pushed them. Held them.
Then we let the colors lead:
-Red for emotion.
-Yellow for curiosity.
-Blue for memory.
Each color came with music, with story, with space.
At the Museum of Wisconsin Art, we made marks not for meaning but for presence.
Thank you to Ann Marie and MOWA for the invitation and trust. And thank you to the participants—some new friends, some old students—for showing up and making lines that listened before they spoke.
4 year old Henry engaged fully with thick applications of watercolor and oil pastels. He said it was a stormy sea with a small boat. This was at the onset of the pandemic, when we were all a bit uncertain and confined to our homes. I was reminded of an insight by Kierkegaard written in the early 1800s: “When the sailor is out on the sea and everything is changing around him, as the waves are continually being born and dying, he does not stare into the depths of these, since they vary. He looks up at the stars. And why? Because they are faithful – as they stand now, they stood for the patriarchs, and will stand for coming generations. By what means then does he conquer changing conditions? Through the eternal: By means of the eternal, one can conquer the future, because the eternal is the foundation of the future.”
This quick sketch of an impressionist painting is a reminder to me of how we cannot see anything until we are taught to see it. I was enjoying the painting because of the way Tarbell captured light, when a man and his wife joined me. The man said to his wife: "This is a wonderful painting, but I wonder whose lap the baby is on.". I was shocked because I was not able to see the baby till he mentioned that there was one. I noticed that it was indeed difficult to tell whose lap it was on. It was a transformative and humbling experience.
Cont. to work on BnW illustrations, I wanted to focus on making the reflections have a realistic quality. I struggle with clouds, but I felt I was most refined here. My BnW's seem to have so much more life and expression than my paintings. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
The monochromatic weekly challenge inspired me to do an eye study. I've been having a bit of a composition block and thinking about starting to sell at art fairs, so my thoughts are preoccupied. I wanted to keep practicing tho. Lemme know what you think. I used pencils, smudges, and liquify in Rebelle 6. This is not AI nor is any part of this AI.
What is your relationship with a Higer Power like? A friend of mine mentioned to me that a Rabbi Friend of his suggested that God likes a good argument. I thought that was funny. The self portrait is G2 .o5 on bristol board with marker for the added color.
I do browse some weird things on places like Youtube, without a doubt! Definitely in the search of inspiration 9 out of 10 times though (as you can see)...
I had a rock tumbler as a child and really enjoyed it. When my youngest was a child we bought her one. She was eager to enjoy it too, but somewhere after starting on that path, we lost track and it everything inside turned into a solid mass. We tossed it and forgot about it. On a recent beach trip, I collected handfuls of rocks, as I am always likely to do, and, upon return, remembered how I loved my childhood rock tumbler. I immediately researched, ordered and eagerly anticipated its delivery. Of course, with Amazon Prime, that was only a couple day’s wait. As soon as I unboxed it I thought “what am I doing?” I have neither time, nor space for yet another hobby. I thought “what will I DO with a pile of polished, pretty rocks?” I would gather them in my hands and feel their silky smoothness. I would likely gather them in some beautiful glass bowl and…then what? I have toddler grand kids frequently at my home. They put small colorful things in their mouths and up their noses and feed them to the dogs regularly. And I don’t even have a single space to display a bog bowl of pretty rocks. So I quickly decided “I’m Returning the Rock Tumbler” and will, for NOW, stick to painting them when the mood strikes.
Another dream I had once, but lately I have been feeling....yuck. Its hard to feel good when you live in a world thats shallow. All the negative thoughts scream at you.
After 1.5 hrs of experimenting...
It wasn't easy to decide on what body shape my character should have. Through an "intuitive approach" of shifting anatomical proportions, it was still decided to remain on an avian's concept instead of a wyvern's. Wyvern can be kept to the wyvern... The phoenix needs something more like an bird's, after all.
p.s: I also have to remember to keep the neck shorter...
Lords of War - otep
With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph. So help us, God
More wars on foreign shores
More names for us to mourn
To misguide the misinformed
To ignore the sick and poor
Thus, we praise the lords of war
On our knees and beg for more
A fresh poison for the weak
Filthy little beasts
Bred to conform
It's the dwarfed souls of greedy men
Feculent, arrogant
That shackles our young to the cold concrete
And empty their guns into bodies
They scream "I'm not guilty"
They scream "I'm not guilty"
But cowards here are only what they fear
Shoot until the threat stops
I'd rather be in battle than at peace
I'd rather be a wolf than a sheep
I'd rather be in battle than slaughtered like cattle
The weak can sleep while
You were born to be led
That's what religion says
With a bifurcated tongue
America eats its young
Bullet-toothed, empty gods
Paralyze the minds and contest the thoughts
With devils everywhere
Bombs bursting in the air
Drones flown over thrones
Of bone and brimstone
Sabers rattle in the homes
Of the cowards and the crones
As they shackle our young
Blood stains the streets
Pigs empty their guns in their bodies
Bow down to the lords of war
On your knees for the lords of war
Bow down to the lords of war
On your knees for the lords of war
We rise in defiance
We won't remain silent
To triumph over tyrants
And police violence
Shoot until the threat stop
We're not guilty
Help us God
The lords of war
On your knees for the lords of war
Bow down to the lords of war
What is so terrible about a child screaming?
Why should it disturb us?
Just because we happen to be there to hear it?
What about the child who comes from an inadequate home, where he gets no encouragement from his parents
Where he doesn't have enough to wear, he doesn't have enough to eat, he comes to school hungry...
This beautiful, breathtaking #embracingnightmares
It was slow work paddling but we got going We reached deep water, but that was all right because we had both nearly learned to swim. After a while we entered the sound near Red Rock.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
#dailydrawing #tovejansson
A hand-drawn illustration featuring a classic to-go coffee cup overflowing with ibuprofen pills instead of liquid. Perfectly capturing the essence of a rough morning, a long shift, or just the reality of "adulting.", text that reads: Venti Ibuprofen Kind of Day
This feather rests as a symbol of gentle guardianship. Light enough to drift, yet preserved with intention, it speaks to protection without restraint—something watched over, not controlled. It represents care that is quiet, constant, and strong precisely because it does not weigh anything down.
A 20x36 canvas A surreal shoreline unfolds beneath a weathered lighthouse, where reality bends into myth. Planes drift through muted skies, a UFO lifts a van from the cliffs, and the sea itself seems alive—its waves whispering forgotten tales. Between the moon’s watchful eye and the wreckage below, every fragment hints at a story untold, a dream caught between the tide and time.
A striking, high-contrast graphite study of a hand in the act of writing. Created in a rapid 45-minute sitting through self-observation, this piece captures the intricate anatomy and focused tension of the artist's own hand as it holds the pen. The tip being pencil the top being pen and finger tips slightly smudged incorporate all aspects of the mediums used to create it.
A couple of plant lovers, a sunflower and a cactus are holding hands, the sunflower wears a spikes collar, showing she has a preference for dangerous things, like his cactus boyfriend, they are perfect for each other.
You know you can always count on me, friend
Like no one else, I've gotten used to the coldness of the stone
So I can be with you often
Silver rain will wash away the tears of the Dread Sky
I will rise with the sun…
I will rise with the sun…
- Valyrym.
Referring to the story "The Dragon In The Dungeon"
Some say I'm hitting the point.
So I strike again.
When the Writer dies, the World creates a seemingly imperceptible void, a void waiting to be filled, greedily begging others for revelation.
For the next One to take its place in this great spiral.
Light.
Narrow tunnel.
Echoes.
Arise.
Rest in Peace
Coyote - Of The Wilds was a talented writer, author of many fantastic stories which he never managed to finish.
He was able to convey true, deep emotion through words, through many unfinished stories. Now, through the ending of the Story.
These stories have contributed a lot to my life in 2020, as I wrote about in “Split Of… Personality”. Like for many others, he inspired me to create. I wrote “Split Of Fate”, deleted it, now I'm bringing it back to life, but I also have other plans - regarding the stories of Of The Wilds… but more on that later…
This was difficult to draw. Difficult without getting eyes wet.
Just a quick doodle…
Well, if I were nearby, I would place an apple on his grave.
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
