y

Based on https://pin.it/2wVlsoW

102 years ago, another pandemic raged across the globe. My latest comic is all about what we can learn from the 1918 “Spanish Flu” (written by Sarah Mirk + Eleri Harris). Check out the rest of the story on The Nib! thenib.com/1918-spanish-flu

This is the first little 'Thumbodies' character that I designed during the holidays. She has many other kind, creative & adventurous friends! Online comic & doodles @ doodletowncomic.com

Mushrooms, moons and squids… also known as, the usual suspects.

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.

Years ago, I sketched Gibby at work—pencil in hand, bold strokes alive with motion. I caught them from over the shoulder: just the back of their head, the soft curve of their face, and that focused arm bringing something into being. They were 9 or 10 then, already showing the spark of creativity and concentration that pointed toward who they’d become. Now in their mid-20s, Gibby is thoughtful, insightful—quick to listen, slow to speak, and wired to process the world with care. Their path has been remarkable: two degrees in 2.5 years, no debt. That didn’t happen by accident. It took grit, German immersion schooling, 16 college credits earned in high school, and testing out of 24 more once at university. That’s Gibby—quietly determined, resourceful, and steady. But their story isn’t just academic. Gibby’s always been gifted with their hands—drawn to set design, locksmithing, welding. Trades they wanted to pursue early on, and still feel pulled toward. They’re at a bike shop now. It’s not the dream, but it fits: their hands know how to build, repair, and reshape the world. There’s been frustration—maybe even anger—that we didn’t let them follow the trade route right away. I get that now. Life veers, and sometimes the path chosen isn't the one imagined. But Gibby’s resilience—their ability to adapt and press on—is what I admire most. They’ve embraced their journey with honesty, stepping into their identity as a they/them person, unafraid to define success in their own terms. That takes courage. I’m proud of them—not for a résumé, but for who they are. This old drawing isn’t just a memory—it’s a thread connecting past to present. A reminder that the creative spark, the steady hands, the deep soul I saw back then is still shining. So here’s to you, Gibby: the kid who sketched with fire and the adult who still shapes the world with quiet brilliance. Your value has never been about the path you’re on. It’s about the person you are. And I’ll be here, cheering you on—every step of the way.

Lindsey's prompt: Pine tree

Why not?

Herman Melville (1819–1891) "I rise at eight—thereabouts—& go to my barn—say good-morning to the horse, & give him his breakfast. (It goes to my heart to give him a cold one, but it can’t be helped.) Then, pay a visit to my cow—cut up a pumpkin or two for her, & stand by to see her eat it—for it’s a pleasant sight to see a cow move her jaws—she does it so mildly & with such a sanctity." - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “I would prefer not to.” ― Herman Melville, Bartleby the Scrivener “A smile is the chosen vehicle of all ambiguities.” ― Herman Melville, Pierre; or, The Ambiguities #dailyrituals #inktober #HermanMelville @masoncurrey

Watercolour on A4 watercolour paper. This was so much fun to paint, and it reminds me of holidays at my grandparents' house in Greece when I was a teenager.

Inktober Day13 Rise It's hi-Rise underwear

13 SEP 2023

Head #81 of my 100 Heads.

Done mostly in Ink

Acrylic on 8 x 8 canvas

This is another illustration sketch copied from Dana Fox’s Jungle series. Done in watercolor

Based on https://kostromas.tumblr.com/post/137333914173/bae-yoon-young-by-shin-seon-hye-for-singles-korea

Tails enjoying some fresh air

Just some random drawings I decided to do today.

The guy who revived Jack, Dave, and Henry (DSaF 4 fan stuff) wears the Chica mascot suit, because he knew nobody else would wear it. Here he is, up on stage. Not while the pizzeria was open, of course --- the children would go nuts. He isn't wearing his mask he usually wears out-of-suit because it would be hard to keep the Chica head down. Uh, if you know what I mean. Two masks on at the same time = bad. Drawn with FireAlpaca. Also, the big says "Let's Cry", which is just for laughs. Something like that would work in a DSaF game.

Originally inspired by the occult fiction of the seventies, this began life as a cover concept for a commercial horror anthology. It later transitioned away and became a personal project, granting me more freedom with its content, and a return to one of my favourite themes – the offsetting of monstrosity with beauty.⁣

Sleepy cat, charcoal

Tread - That time when Meera and Jojen Reed follow the treads of Hodor, Osha, and Rickon to find Bran Stark so they can take him north of the Wall. Bran would sometimes warg into Summer and/or Hodor and follow their treads. - I love the Reed siblings- they left all the warmth of their home to travel north to find Bran and to take him even further north to find the Three-eyed Raven. Meera is the unsung hero who kept Bran safe throughout the entire journey. It’s too bad how things were left off between Bran and Meera at the end.

The black woman of the Wittelsbach family is a ghost haunting the Schleißheimer Castle. She was a widow who killed her own children because of an misunderstanding. The man she loved told her they cannot be together because of 2 pairs of eyes. He meant his parents wouldn't agree the relationship. Horrified by her cruel act she was thrown in the dungeon and died there. To this day she still said to be roaming the castle.