This week has left me bruised, but no worse for wear. Taking yet another tumble, down the stairs this time around, I’m feeling less confident in my walking abilities than I use to be. There’s a ghost in the room.
Are you real or just in my head? All these things I should’ve said. I’m not gone… never gone…
The Red Thread
I’m not the only one haunted. A certain second termer is finding he’s not Teflon. It may be winter, but it’s hot in the kitchen.
Crisis Management
Trying to recapture a moment, a feeling in the eyes. She looks right, but the pose is eluding me again. It’s a phantom moment I’m trying to capture.
The Girl Who Watches
I found her. She was hiding in plain sight; tracing her fingers over the seeds of tomorrow. Spring must be on the horizon. At least, the weather has felt like the equinox has begun. I wonder what shadow follows her light.
(Whispering Fields) Where the Wheat Knows Her Name
I guess it’s time for more yaoi, because there’s always time for yaoi. Mostly because it’s a request and I like fulfilling wishes as much as I like crushing dreams. The phantoms sing to me while I sleep. I’m spooked by the doodle I’ve brought to life. It’s less frightening than the real life boi love going on between these two.
Doomed Lovers
I need to counter all this energy. Puppers! Yeah, that’s some good healthy golden energy. I can’t help smiling at this precious girl.
Playful Bella
The week has been sampling me like a food court. The bruises will fade, as will my memory of this tumble, but the apparition pushing me down remains.
I’ve always wanted to travel. Rather, to be someone who’s travelled. I want to see the real life of a place, as it’s meant to be enjoyed. Not with a bristle and bustle to and fro, but a gentle meander through the forest of time. One of those train rides through the countryside, but with timeless stops along the way. Maybe what I’m thinking is a Back to the Future 3 train. All my bags are packed.
The Souvenir
My uncle is planning a holiday to Africa to see the elephants and giraffes. He went skydiving for his 70th birthday. He’s doing all the things (while also retiring from teaching maths, checking eagle’s nests, measuring horseshoe crabs, protecting turtle nesting, and county water testing).
Three’s Company
It’s lighting a fire inside me. I have a long bucket list. Mostly just want to get out of this place. What’s it like to love where you live?
I never thought I’d end up back where I started. It’s been a decade and half away, a decade and half back. Neither feels like home anymore. It’s something raising children in the county where you came from, but I remember how much I wanted to leave and can’t imagine it’s not the same now.
Me, ya see!
Cabin fever is taking hold once again. Claustrophobia is starting to creep up on me. I feel like all I can do is put my ear up to the glass and listen. Life is passing me by while I spectate. I think it’s a very American problem. Is it generational?
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying
Or maybe it’s the state of the daily news cycle. Not all look at the map with glee for what once was and remains to be, but what may be gained from it. Those with business minds and daily grinds of greased wheels.
Make America Bigger Again (MABA)
Where would I go first? I don’t know that it matters as much as what I do when I’m there and who I’m with. Plunder through the menus with anticipation, stroll under age-old canopies, and steep in the luxury of bygone life; these are the things that make travel worthwhile and it’s always the journey.
Old friends coming back into the mix has me missing the cats I’ve known. I should have taken more pictures when I had the chance. Their patterns are already lost to my memory. I have another pet request come in and I’m in the feels.
Feline Fine
The renewed innocence of childhood nostalgia has me going floral once again. In my mind, the cicadas fiddle and fireflies light the nite all year round. Daisies remind me of youthful days. Dusted and gleaming beneath the flapping of wings, they straighten their pose for the stars.
Who Do You Think You Are?
Living to counter the nonstop negative in the world, I’m reminded bleakly of the time at hand. From local government to the country, to the globe at large; I am disappointed and distressed. The only thing I feel is certain is that we all bleed red and enough has been spilt.
Rust revival, in the belly of the beast Workers on the picket line, rising from the east Swamp-fire gospel, justice in the fight Voices in the millions, marching through the night
contrition
And yet there’s a call of the void. A sort of solemn satisfaction in knowing the outcome and feeling the pull of the siren’s song. It’s never to become. Perhaps the light at the end of the tunnel truly is the birth canal to the next life. Reincarnation has me rethinking my perspective.
Hello, Goodbye
Sleep, perchance to dream. I went through a sleep study and will get the results this week. I use to sleep so well as a kid. I use to dream deeply. I remember waking up feeling renewed by slumber’s sweet kiss. Where the world fades and slumber takes hold. A portrait of stillness, the allure of the unseen, cradled by the earth and blooms.
Surrender
It’s been a busy week and I’m roused by backs again. The quiet beauty of curves and lines entrances, hypnotic in its energy. I don’t mind this resurrection.
Fragmented Memory
I feel rejuvenated by the arch of the spine. Backs are sexy without overt sexuality. The stories they tell are whispered in the ear with a tickle of the tongue.
Boo-Tay
Fleeting moments of reflection, stolen glances of lighthearted life, this is what I hope to capture. A regeneration of the soul, a wanderer through the darkness of the universe, finding a connection between texture and tone. Reanimating from tragedy to comedy.
Another floral mood hits. I’m fine with this. It’s soothing to the soul to think of the wonders of our universe. I’m dreaming of soft breezes wafting the delicate scent of life. It’s certainly not fall in my head, nor outside in the below average chill forming.
In the Air Tonite
Feels like the new year is getting impatient. Settle down. One holiday at a time. Stay in the moment, stop and enjoy the roses; it’s your only chance to indulge in that consciousness of life.
Blood Roses
Float amongst the beauty, don’t struggle. The jellies are in bloom and I’m just a spectator in this endless ocean.
Nebula Within
A pair of doodled hands get mistaken from afar for a raccoon, so now I have to doodle a trash baby. Little heart bandits, that’s what they are. There’s one that’s made itself a home in the bamboo forest of the yard. I’ve caught glimpses of it stealing from my thriving compost bucket. Go ahead, get you some grubs.
Night Stalker
I see an ai dress online I’d like to doodle, but dislike both the stereotype model with five feet of pure legs and the generative (buy art from real degenerates!) nature of the image. That witch needs a ride and some healthy thighs.
See how high she flies
I’m feeling tension as the week passes. The holidays feel like more stress than they ought to be. I have two thanksgiving’s to go to this year, so I won’t complain, but feel blessed. With all the color lately, I had to go a bit dark.
Cipher’s Point
I’m into balance and a sucker for a surprise in the color palette. I attribute this to Kevyn Aucoin. Makeup is shockingly similar to painting. Just a canvas waiting for inspiration. Perspective is all we need.
The Hex Girls
Of course the Aurora Borealis is hitting most of the US and I’m back to wanting color, color, color. I see a local photographer snap a gorgeous shot of the beach. Tried as I may, I couldn’t see the aurora for myself. It inspires me to doodle a picture of my own.
Magnetic Mayhem
Time and space, color and darkness, these concepts swirl in my head like the corkscrew. The murmur of a dream; the croon of a glitched reality. The digital ghosts are looped.
Corrupted Canvas
I’m one of those people who likes to push myself to do what scares me artistically. While I oil paint mountains, digitally rendering these peaks have alluded me. A friend shows me a stunning photo from Pikes Peak and I’m instantly drawn there. It’s almost sepia toned and even the sky is tepidly colored. Always one for balance, I have to even out all my colorful pieces lately. I have to practice depth in my landscapes with this one.
Above the Clouds
Some colors run deep, skin deep. I’m reminded of the soul of pigment; How color makes me feel when I interpret it. The richness and texture of tone are singing a duet, I just need to let it flow.
Chromatic Prophet
I love working with people of color. The way skin reacts differently with each shade, it’s exciting. Listening to Bob Marley and seeing his colors before me like an aura.
Luminary Soul
Dang it’s getting cold. The shades of the season are fading, but refusing to leave. A snowstorm hits half the country and I’m in awe of its power and beauty. I’m missing the easel. Maybe someday I’ll be able to sit for long enough again.
Sculpted Snow
So many fun requests come in, but I get one for an interpretation of the goddess Ananke that steals my attention. Responsible for weaving the essential, the inevitable. She has no mercy, nor will. Simply puts fate into play. I’m asked to include a grid. Not bad, but it’s not quite it. The grid needs to be more organic.
Astral Loom
She is the weaver. Between her fingers, necessity converges with compulsion. Reminds me of a certain kind of neurodivergence. My ADHD brain went a little bit overboard, but it’s well received by the one who requested it.
Cartographer’s Threads
Flourishing with prosperous color, there’s a blossom to be caught and I’ve got a mason jar in my hands. Life is staggeringly splendid to behold- blushing and smiling with refrain.
I’m feeling the cyclone of a new phase. This week’s transition from oppressive heat to crisply cool has me enjoying being outside during the day again. The seasons are mostly indistinguishable without this welcomed change in orbit. After an extended jeep trekking weekend, I’ve stumbled across the “Back to the Future” boxset I’ve hidden in plain sight (where all good things are hidden). Time to trade the Jeep in for a Delorean. Michael J. Fox is brilliantly believable and only Christopher Lloyd can be Doc. Hollywood, don’t ruin this with a reboot.
1.21 Gigawatts
There’s a place where hogs roam and deer bleat at passing bears. Below the dam, life takes over again. The next age has begun.
Pathfinder’s Rest
I’m feeling inspired again. This time, it’s a photographer that catches my attention. The words and work remind me of the towering bamboos, gauzy crape myrtle, and wispy wisteria at my doorstep; How it sways in the wind and dances for the sun’s light showers. As autumn descends, I cultivate ambedo—a state of mindful absorption where you surrender to the intense details of the world, embracing the simple joy of being present and engaging in activities purely for their inherent beauty.
Go Touch Grass
Mentally in Kyoto again. I’ve discovered a sacred pilgrimage route that combines Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples. It’s just too beautifully syncretic to ignore. I stroll through the natural network until I’m stopped plainly. Ahead, an elevated wooden pagoda above those dipping their wishing cups in the streams. Every season finds its way to the front of my imagination. I am thankful for this journey of reflection and appreciation.
Inspired by: “Shinbutsu Reijo Junpai no Michi”, Kiyomizu-dera Temple
Cupid’s Ascent (LoveStoned)
Summer’s come and gone, but it doesn’t stop the beachgoers. Flocking like seagulls for their spot in the shell filled sand; strutting like peacocks in the winter’s sun. Time for the snow birds to come home.
Pulse of Paradise
All the over 60’s crowd settling in has me considering my next stage of life. I want to be able to be in the now, but tomorrow is knocking. I’m reminded often that I too will have grown into my mother’s face. Just don’t let me forget myself while discovering her. Dementia is an ugly disease.
The Distance Between
Perhaps the light at the end of the tunnel is just another birth canal. Life is an interruption of an otherwise peaceful existence. As another rotation completes, I know it’s merely the snake eating its head, the ouroboros.
Got another game fandom request. This time for a Witcher up against a monster. I had free rein on this one. I’m in the mood for some nitemare fuel for Halloween. There’s a quiet hum in the air, the sound of excitement. It rumbles the windows.
Brave, but wise; she’s grown into her mother’s face. Not simply a princess, but a rebel who welcomes the arrival of the oncoming storm. Just the knowing.
Near, Far Wherever You Are
I’m mentally traveling again. Running my hands over the leaves, feeling the warmth of the sun on my back. Listening to the rhythmic whispering rush of water that seems to settle the air and invite quiet contemplation. Taking in the moment like a good hug from an old friend.
Inspired by Koshu
Juicy Secret
The world projects vibrations and reverberations that sing to me. I listen closely and hear its siren call.
I chase ghosts down every block I cross Halfway found and halfway lost Every turn just brings me back to you Like the echo of a song I can’t undo
Hold On
A strange request comes in, so I’m on it. History whispering into an ear, guiding, “press the ancient button and reset humanity”. I’m feeling baroque.
Echoes are heavy, a ghost in the sound,
Didn’t chase shadows, I built solid ground
Four walls echo, the tempo low.
The past in the bass, and it won’t let go.
Hit the Button
I purchased a few pieces from the miniature master book series secondhand for the joy of a mini book of art. I need a Barbie da Vinci in my life. Take that, coffee table books that no one reads. You don’t fit in my palm. Flipping through one, I feel a connection to Rembrandt’s pieces inspired by Caravaggio. I find myself recreating a story within its pages. I decide to combine two masterpieces to make one singular parable, the tale of three fathers; combining Old Testament with New Testament.
From the fear of god to the mercy of god.
“This — forgiveness — is the true sacrifice I require.”
Inspired by Rembrandt
Mercy Stays the Hand
It’s time for more surrealism to balance out all this seriousness. I love that one line from Pink Floyd, “We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year” and get a request for something along these lines. I have to do it. I start to think about the repercussions and imagine the fish looking in on the bowl. Floating in space, do they fret about the stars or those who inhabit them?
Celestial Cage
The currents are ringing, the frequency ebbing. Encapsulated in our own fragile container, a tiny drop in an endless swell.
