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As awesome as summer and winter are, I love the transitional seasons the best, especially fall. It's the best time to do sports, orienteering, bird watching, hikes. The crisp air feels so good, and I love the rustle of the dead leaves and grasses on a windy day. While sometimes I get sad to see the branches bare, I also love looking at and analyzing their structure. I find it fascinating that a tree can go from this mighty, fluttering thing to a spindly, knobby structure and remain fundamentally unchanged. It's a bit of a miracle

Just some art I drew of my friend’s awesome oc ^^! Also, just wanted to say a big thank you to all of my supporters—I know I’m not very consistent with posting and can be late to replying to you guys, but I really appreciate the constant encouragement and support nonetheless :D! Have a wonderful day!

I think it turned out pretty well and got a lot of reactions in my telegram channel! ♡(´｡•ㅅ•｡`)

Joseph Cornell (1903–1972) Cornell worked nights at the kitchen table, sorting and assembling materials for his boxes. It was not easy going. Some nights he felt too fatigued from his day job to concentrate on his art and would sit up reading instead, switching on the oven for warmth. In the mornings, his quarrelsome mother would scold him about the mess he’d left at the kitchen table; without a proper workroom, Cornell was forced to store his growing collection of magazine clippings and dime-store baubles out in the garage. In 1940 Cornell finally mustered the courage to quit his job and pursue his art full-time—and even then his habits changed little. He still worked nights at the kitchen table, while his mother and brother slept upstairs. In the late morning he would head downtown for breakfast at his local Bickford’s restaurant, often satisfying his sweet tooth with a Danish or a slice of pie (and lovingly cataloging these indulgences in his diary). - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #JosephCornell @masoncurrey

There's so much history to choose from. I feel that if we can add wizards to the middle ages, they should be everywhere else too. Also, all wizards in the seventeenth century wear scarves. It's a rule.

In this captivating cross-hatched pencil shading, a tranquil village scene comes to life. The intricate strokes create a harmonious blend of light and shadow, showcasing the serene beauty of rural life. Thatched roofs, winding pathways, and towering trees are meticulously detailed, inviting viewers to step into the peaceful simplicity of village existence. The gentle interplay of shades and textures evokes a sense of nostalgia and calm, capturing the essence of a timeless village story.

It was a quick sketch i made for a person..I promised him a sketch but didn't fulfilled the promise for like 2 weeks then i choose to work on it..drew lines for 6-7 mins

Anime portrait of a girl with flowers

Anyone is welcome to post their own version of this expressing their unique identity, in fact i highly encourage it I saw a lot of people posting this on other platforms and wanted to post my own version This "trend" I guess you could call it, came from the movie "I saw the TV glow". Which is a movie that's a metaphor for trans identities and other queer identities.

Dmitry Shostakovich (1906–1975) Shostakovich’s contemporaries do not recall seeing him working, at least not in the traditional sense. The Russian composer was able to conceptualize a new work entirely in his head, and then write it down with extreme rapidity—if uninterrupted, he could average twenty or thirty pages of score a day, making virtually no corrections as he went. But this feat was apparently preceded by hours or days of mental composition—during which he “appeared to be a man of great inner tensions,” the musicologist Alexei Ikonnikov observed, “with his continually moving, ‘speaking’ hands, which were never at rest.” Shostakovich himself was afraid that perhaps he worked too fast. “I worry about the lightning speed with which I compose,” he confessed in a letter to a friend. Undoubtedly this is bad. One shouldn’t compose as quickly as I do. Composition is a serious process, and in the words of a ballerina friend of mine, “You can’t keep going at a gallop.” I compose with diabolical speed and can’t stop myself.… It is exhausting, rather unpleasant, and at the end of the day you lack any confidence in the result. But I can’t rid myself of the bad habit. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #shostakovich @masoncurrey

"Like maggots in a dog's carcass, they fill me, my children..." A cosmic being known as "The Sleeper", "The Ugly", but most often he is proudly called "The Father". "Like maggots in a dog's carcass, they fill me, my children..." A cosmic being known as "The Sleeper", "The Ugly", but most often he is proudly called "The Father". I SWEAR I made him before I knew about Barbatos. Anyway, The Father sleeps deep beneath Gotham and unwittingly poisons the city and its population with his toxic aura. He is known to his cult as the God of Madness and Chaos. He simply cannot control his influence on those around, which makes him a villain of a tragic fate. I figured his existence would be a good enough explanation for why Gotham is such a rotten piece of society, with very creative supervillains who loves to be so extra and why they not executed horribly for everything they've done. The cult of his worshippers is quite old and includes a huge number of people trying to keep him asleep, because if he wakes up and gets out of his prison, it will be the end of the city, and maybe not only the city... I should point out: he's not actually a god, he's an alien, and he's not the embodiment of "chaos and madness" - he's a cosmic horror, most likely mentally ill and therefore his aura is toxic. He didn't create the villains or Batman, but his aura affected the environment in which they were created.

Just a goofy doodle of Deadpool if he were a South Park Canadian

Fun flower doodle!

Erik Satie (1866–1925) In 1898, Satie moved from Paris’s Montmartre district to the working-class suburb of Arcueil, where he would live for the rest of his life. Most mornings, however, the composer returned to the city on foot, walking a distance of about six miles to his former neighborhood, stopping at his favorite cafés along the way. According to one observer, Satie “walked slowly, taking small steps, his umbrella held tight under his arm. When talking he would stop, bend one knee a little, adjust his pince-nez and place his fist on his hip. Then he would take off once more, with small deliberate steps.” His dress was also distinctive: the same year that he moved to Arcueil, Satie received a small inheritance, which he used to purchase a dozen identical chestnut-colored velvet suits, with the same number of matching bowler hats. Locals who saw him pass by each day soon began calling him the Velvet Gentleman. The last train back to Arcueil left at 1:00 A.M., but Satie frequently missed it. Then he would walk the several miles home, sometimes not arriving until the sun was about to rise. Nevertheless, as soon as the next morning dawned, he would set off to Paris once more. The scholar Roger Shattuck once proposed that Satie’s unique sense of musical beat, and his appreciation of “the possibility of variation within repetition,” could be traced to this “endless walking back and forth across the same landscape day after day.” Indeed, Satie was observed stopping to jot down ideas during his walks, pausing under a streetlamp if it was dark. During the war the streetlamps were often extinguished, and rumor had it that Satie’s productivity dropped as a result. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey

Don't mistake his kindness for weakness. But I guess that's what happens when your not vampire born and have to claw your way to your title. I have two more vampires that will be introduce sometime soon, and the two of them will make Sebastian life a living hell.

para el día 24 de Fruitecember hoy le toca a brocheta de frutas para este día decidí dibujar con motivo de estas fiestas a gobba comiéndose una deliciosa brocheta de frutas que darle más sabor lo unto con un poco de helado, les deseo felices fiesta a todos

I just finished the Calandra Lark. Here are some facts about this beautiful bird... Appearance: It's a large lark, about 17.5-20 cm long, with a robust build, a heavy bill, and noticeable pale eyebrows . Its plumage is mainly greyish-brown streaked above and white below, with large black patches on the breast sides. Habitat: This species is found in open plains, steppes, pastures, and dry cereal cultivations. It's mainly resident in the west of its range but Russian populations migrate further south in winter. Diet: Their main food source is seeds, but they also consume insects when nesting. Behaviour: Calandra Larks are known to be gregarious outside the breeding season, often forming large flocks. Song: Their song is considered musical and slower than the Skylark's. It has been historically popular as a cagebird.

para el día 9 de Fruitecember hoy le toca a frutillas para este día decidí dibujar a un Bewear salvaje que le robó algunas frutillas a un entrenador que andaba por allí

This is just a little thing I colored, the lineart is NOT mine. I asked my friend what colors I should do for certain things and I think it came together pretty well. The shading is also done by me. I forgot to watermark this one ^^'

You can listen to nothing but rock music and wear nothing but black clothing and only date short guys in their thirties. Those are valid preferences. Choosing not to hire people of color or refusing to let trans people use the bathroom is prejudice.

All my drawings are random ideas from my head. I actually just started drawing in pencil about a year ago. I love to normally use felt tip pens. I just hope all like what they see. We're all artists here so everyone should know that we are our own worst critics lol.

Joyce Carol Oates (b. 1938) The first several weeks of a new novel, Oates has said, are particularly difficult and demoralizing: “Getting the first draft finished is like pushing a peanut with your nose across a very dirty floor.” From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey #dailyrituals #inktober #JoyceCarolOates @masoncurrey

Drawn with Aquarell markers and ink brush pen.

So im learning concept art can anyone help me please like tell me where i went wrong with this concept

Another halloween bike

The background tries to represent the noise around in the environment and in the mind. Its a silhouette art which asks the viewer to stay quiet and find escape from noise.

Joan Miró (1893-1983) Miró always maintained a rigidly inflexible daily routine—both because he disliked being distracted from his work, and because he feared slipping back into the severe depression that had afflicted him as a young man, before he discovered painting. To help prevent a relapse, his routine always included vigorous exercise—boxing in Paris; jumping rope and Swedish gymnastics at a Barcelona gym; and running on the beach and swimming at Mont-roig, a seaside village where his family owned a farmhouse. Miró hated for this routine to be interrupted by social or cultural events. As he told an American journalist, “Merde! I absolutely detest all openings and parties! They’re commercial, political, and everybody talks too much. They get on my tits!” From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey

Initiate of the Order of the Saints of the Scrapyard. All members of the order are entitled to the scrap of the mechs they fell (with the pieces they decline to use or take with them being tithed). To join the ranks proper, an initiate must fell an enemy pilot and bring their mech to heel (often by detonating the cockpit and going from there)). Initiates are given little more than a fusion engine (that may double as a shaped charge (or a death sentence depending on their luck)), a kinetic energy recycler (and shield for it to power), a small pile of scraps to build the rest of their sled, and a book of prayers for the scrapyard saints. Most will not graduate their initiation, ending their short stint as little more than ash on the breeze.