In the Finnish mythology killing of a bear was followed by a great feast in honour of the bear (peijaiset), where a substantial part of the celebrations consisted of convincing the bear's spirit that it had died accidentally and hadn't been murdered. Afterwards, the bear's skull was hung high upon a pine tree so its spirit could re-enter the heavens. The bones of the bear were then buried under the pine. Reference for this work is my old drawing of karhunkallopetäjä/bearskullpine in the Riisitunturi. Also practice sketch of bear skull and at last photo i took of pine.
Doodles and notes I started at a regional NJ chapter of SCBWI conference this past weekend. Then just kept adding stuff to the page this week. I learned a lot and met some great people. Looking forward to June!
Inktober2018day12-Whale. I’m using inktober to explore and improve my techniques. This time I wanted to try using more crosshatching. I’m happy with the result. Also, at first I had nothing for the whale prompt but it’s rewarding when you push through the dead space and a concept or idea comes to my head that I can be excited with.
A cute avocado character dressed as an Aztec warrior, complete with a vibrant headdress, spear, and shield. The character's large eyes and round cheeks add a playful touch to its warrior attire. text that reads: "ahuacatl" (aztec for avocado)
This painting is based on an empty street at noon, when the sun is right above us scorching heat. the street look empty looking for a shade. I chose to show the street at 2pm where the sun slightly leans towards down.
The whole painting is done on parallel lines. If you notice closely the lines of building and the road meet parallelly.
I love the song Blackbird by Paul McCartney. But, blackbirds are very territorial when they have young ones in the nest. There is a sunny tree-lined path I like to walk in the summer. I have seen a fox running out of those woods, a doe lying in the sun-drenched grass, and an irate couple of blackbirds diving at my head while I was peacefully walking by their nest of young ones. I had to start carrying a stick to ward them off. Blackbird Fly! Just stay away from me!
The result is not as good as I imagined. But anyway I want to share it, because:
- others may find it great,
- art taste is subjective,
- even if it's bad, you can receive a constructive critique or tips on how to improve it.
Don't be afraid to share your failures. They push you forward. You can learn a lot from them.
Introducing the robotic pup pup who can alert you at the sign of an intruder with an intimidating sound alert warning system." Can also be rode as a horsey for children as young as 5.
Conjoined imp oc I haven't drawn in years,both of them were originally pink.both of them are very mischievous but deadly.they can stretch their body,warp reality,shapeshift,become big or small and control their "hair" making them powerful foes like no other imps.
One of my favourite series. I'm trying to strike the right balance between the abstract and the realism, and I think I try to do that through my use of colours. It's the most rewarding feeling when you use unexpected colours and they come together somehow! Acrylics, watercolour pens and posca markers.
An attempt at people. This is Holy Week for some of us. Yesterday was Palm Sunday, and we watched mass on our church's new YouTube channel. The Gospel reading was very long, so everyone in the frame was standing still for a good while. I was really looking forward to our spring class People in the Park because I haven't done much figure work. It was postponed of course, so your constructive criticism is welcome.
An article/rant/annotation to an illustration. A #Hackney bar and its flies.
This picture is not as sad and blue as it might at first seem, I promise.
It is early in the week and the pub becomes the territory of the most outspoken drinkers. Raised somewhere between Churchill and Harold MacMillan, a night such as this is time for them to spin out a yarn of nostalgic fantasy. Encouraged by the lack of a crowd and with space to fill, statements start to fly.
In the opening rounds the barman athletically hits back with factual blocks and reality-check haymakers; statistics and personal experiences are given. Two histories cross examined, one where 1982 means Thatcher and the Falklands, the other renders Reagan and the AIDS crisis. Stoicism and national pride vs mental health and realism.
In the latter rounds the barman is fatigued, swaying on the backbar, glasses begin to stack up as form begins to drop. The older men seem stronger than ever.
The barflies come in close now, they scrutinise his generations work ethic and make wild political comments on poverty, immigrants and the minimum wage.
The barman is close to sheer bloody despair, he maintains his defence and focuses on breathing while maintaining his professional stance.
But at the end of the night the barman knows HE will ring that bell, they will politely leave and they will return again in a week and maybe, just maybe there will be a change, common ground or maybe at least polite silence.
But what these interactions have given despite the salt in the eye is community and an exchange between generations, culture and class of those participating. No home is ever straight forward, no relative without their good and bad traits and in a world where we often slide into echo chambers online or in our physical environments, the pub is still a place where society is family, face to face, pint to pint. Or maybe it's just a room with alcohol on tap?
In wanting to get active with my fellow doodler community, I wanted to stop in and introduce myself. My name is Dalton Stark, I live in Texas, and i'm a doodle addict, and an advocate for the possibility of anything. For me, doodling is my purest state of being human. My sketchbooks are a very sacred place for me to practice this expressive and arcane form of imagination meditation, which I'm always trying to find more excuses to spend more time in. It is to me, all about intuition, making discoveries, surprising yourself, having fun and maybe even making yourself and others smile or laugh sometimes. I look forward to being a part of this beautiful inky ecosystem with y'all, here are some very secret sketchbook spreads.
Inktober day 1, Poison. I drew a octopussy on his head, but then he forgets to keep his mind on the really dangerous thing, the poisonous snake coming from the corner. Be aware out there..
Fineliner scribblings on a back ground of paper... . . . ... . . . . . . ..... . ... . . . . . ...... ... . . A rabble of sozzled birds on a tightrope of joy heading towards the puppet master up above. . . .... . . ... . .... .. .... .. ... . . . . Prints are available (16 out of 20 at the time of going to press) . ..............................
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.
I'm uploading the two pages backwards so when they are all uploaded you can see them left to right. But this is page two. I worked on this at at training the other day, training days make for great art doodle days. If you want to see more I do have a tumblr account.
Hey guys! It’s been a while, but I’m finally back to drawing! I found a way to make it low pressure and easy to motivate towards, and that’s super tiny portraits. Enjoy the series!
