My latest sketch using Corel Painter 2021 on PC with digital pencil. The Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor) is a small, grey-plumed songbird, easily recognized for the crest of grey feathers atop its head, its big black eyes, black forehead, and its rust-coloured flanks. They are quite common throughout the eastern part of North America, so if you're in that geographical region and want to catch a glimpse of a Tufted Titmouse, it may not be that difficult to find.
Looking down on the Afon Mellte from its rocky riverbank in Neath's 'Waterfall Country'. I was a little perturbed by the complexity of this scene at first, but soon got into the flow of it. I love doing these wild nature scenes. Uniball Eye Micro on 6x8" sketchbook.
I have always liked drawing with wild pastel colors and finish with a black pastel on top. Then use a needle to put put the image. Off course it is even more easy on a devise, when you don't get all the mess.
#09 Ducktales Zelda Breath of the Wild Crossover - Someone I was chatting with on magma.com was saying he likes ducks and zelda so I came up with this. It was drawn online/live 2023 on magma.com with iPad pro (no pressure sensitivity and no Ai).
Gwenffrwd-Dinas is an RSPB nature reserve out in the wilds of mid-Wales. You could easily miss it driving past, but if you do park up, you're treated to some gorgeous scenery. Here the river Tywi (the longest in Wales) flows past the wooded riverbank then through a rocky gorge on its way down to Carmarthen. Pen and watercolour on watercolour paper (6x8").
Nornwan. Once there were Nature dwelling elves. They only ever lived, frolicked and played in the deep woods. Their bodies were quite accustomed to the trees. They could speak with the elements of nature, they could make the trees move and cause great mushrooms to grow from the earth. Theirs was the power to ask the spirits that watched over the wood fro guidance and peace. The Knights Factions implored these wild folk for aid on one fateful day. Few elves agreed to give trees and other supplies to the army, those that did not were attacked and destroyed and given no help by the army of Knights.
The lord of winter has had many wives throughout his life and many half god children. Wren and Wilder are two of them. Twins who do mischief in an attempt to get some attention from their distant father.
Putting the painting of the newt aside for now.
It was not going as I hoped (see previous post)...I still have ideas but feel like I need to work on some things before progressing. Thinking it was the eyes, so decided to work on some studies. These creatures do have fascinating eyes!
I took an hour or two and drew some owls while watching the 7th Harry Potter movie. The black (it's actually dark purple) ink is in a Platinum Preppy refillable marker (I SWEAR BY THESE -- you just need the ONE and can keep putting ink in it) (https://www.gouletpens.com/collections/other-writing-instruments/products/platinum-preppy-refillable-marker-black?variant=11884751487019) and the green is in an extra-fine Lamy Al-Star (https://www.gouletpens.com/products/lamy-al-star-fountain-pen-bluegreen?variant=11884855885867).
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.
