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.
With the weather being bipolar, I can’t help doodling the winter in the air, with the sun just peeking its nose out. It doesn’t snow here (“where were you for the snow of ‘2010?”), but a layer of permafrost seems appropriate. Just me and the frost are up.
6 under ground
Seclusion has me deciding to have a little fun with rendering lens flares. I’ve only done it once before and well, I just want to add a little sprucing up of color for the scene. I tend to be too dark at times, but I want to keep this one a deeply shadowed scene.
Lumina Veil
Taking a look at a photography blog, I see a pic that gets me excited. As I’m doodling, I have to know what the berries are. According to Siri, Japanese barberry seems the likely answer. Figures I’d pick the Japanese variety. I can’t escape it, Japan must be my spirit animal.
Here Comes the Sun
Claustrophobia is settling in again. My space feels so small, like I’m contorting to make it all work. The feeling of being confined is anathema to me. “If I fits, I sits”? Nope. I’m more “I’m not sugar and spice and everything nice. I’m sage and hood and wish a mufuka would”. Still, this feeling of being trapped remains.
Just nod if you can hear me (Mad World)
I’ll forever be drawn to the isolated, the dark side of the moon. It’s a place of shadows and secrets, a silent expanse reflecting a loneliness that mirrors something deep within me. These eyes, holding a subtle luminescence, seem to gaze out from that same hidden realm; a space both melancholic and profoundly beautiful. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the most profound beauty lies not in brilliance, but in the quiet contemplation of what remains unseen.
Jadeite Flame
Seems like there’s so much division in this country. So much to keep us separated, “not like us”. We’re already an isolation nation. Our bodies are here, but where are we? The algorithm is making us all lonesome.
a view for two
I’m thinking about doing a series of doodles. What’s to stop me? Charging past fears of inadequacy, I’ll give bare backs a try. I’ve toyed with them once before and enjoyed the experience. Besides, what could go wrong?*
*famous last words
Sun’s Heat
I like the way a slight change in a pose can say something entirely different than before. I try to have eyes set the mood. The body harmonizes to create a verse of its own.
What are you waiting for
My lock screen background is one of my favorite older (almost a year!) doodles. One look and I want to bring it out to play too. Feeling like making this one rebellious in her cocoon.
Replying with Sign Language
There’s a playfulness in a look that I want to capture, a divide I want to enclose. It’s not waking life, it’s a dream you know.
Powder Fresh
Now for a wee change in perspective and focus of light, the body has this solo. A snarky little smirk and he’s got me.
Touch of the Rogue
Maybe a flicker of memory, maybe just some algorithm that looks familiar; a solitary moment.
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.
Landscape on the horizon. Or rather, it’s been politely suggested to be the compulsion of the week. Words like violence come from my uncle; I need a change of scenery to go with the change in weather. A new atmosphere. Somewhere only we know.
Leaving the Church
Being independently minded, I decide I want more hands and body language instead. I’m leaning towards representation and because it makes me nervous to try it out, I push myself to do it. Out of my comfort zone again, I can challenge myself.
The Weaver
It feels refreshing with the crisp weather greeting me at the door instead of the usual intense blanket of humidity. Sunsets are always better on a cold day.
Golden Hour’s Embrace
Lucky me, I get the chance to see several friends from grade school in person! I gobble up this opportunity to reconnect with core memory moments. On the way back, an image reminds me of lazy childhood days creating outfits for paper dolls. This is kind of like landscaping, in my mind.
Whispers of Silk
My preoccupation with emotional hands is in full force. I’ll keep practicing with intimacy. There’s a mood to be shared.
Touch of Cold
A complex commission comes in. Inspired by Spokane, Washington. I’m not familiar with the original sketch artist, but I’m to recreate the scene and colorize it. An excuse to roam a new city? I need none.
“Some landmarks mark geography; others mark the heart. Bridges, especially, carry more than traffic—they carry memory. They span generations, echo footsteps long gone, and hold the silence of shared moments. This painting is a tribute to the landmarks that do not simply define a place, but preserve the emotions etched into time. May it remind us that memory lives not just in locations, but in the moments that crossed them, suspended between then and now.”
Suspended Between Then and Now
There’s this guru in the county one over from my uncle that’s caught my attention. I’m struggling in the web. Who is this man who asks for everything from his followers? Some of which were lost in the woods while trying to leave.
Chicken House
The smell of misty fog in the morning hovering unhurriedly through the pines soothes my soul. I’m reminded again to be the tiger that sniffs the rose. I am weak to nature’s touch. My environment has its hold on me.
Morning’s Glory
I’m hit with Nirvana everywhere these days. I wonder how Kurt would have felt about that. Perhaps it was better to burn out than fade away, but the jury is still out. Can we just go back to the 90’s for a day? A day trip.
Smells Like Little Earthquakes
I am quietly reminded how none of the women in my doodles seem particularly happy to my uncle. Challenge accepted.
Pet
This may be my last practice of hands for a minute. My desire to render an emotional experience hasn’t faded, only my desire to make hands do the talking.
Bound in Stillness
The road behind holds only the haunted vapor of the city. Ahead are unfamiliar roads to travel. For now, I take solace in the sights and sounds surrounding this nothing town.
Baez Road
There’s a stillness in the spirit now that November has hit. The holidays will be upon us, as it does every year, without care to my circumstances. I’ll take these few weeks before the chaotic winter arrives as the eye of the hurricane. The conditions outside beckon.
I’ve come down with some kind of infection and I’m having nitemares again; a lovely combination of delirium and cold sweats. On some levels, I really think they’re wrong about time healing the mental wound. It’s only more jarring when it comes around again.
The Weight of Silence
Time helps to blur the edges, but is that really healing? I’ve grown from my experiences, but that’s not the same either. In my weakened state, I contemplate god again. I’m looking forward to the transition of this energy.
Corvus
I’m wishing for simple things again, but I’m also still feeling handsy. How much information do we gain with hands that goes beyond demographics and how does that translate?
Veiled Promise
There’s a static in the air again. This year’s haunted house is just days away. The promise of grown men screaming and jumping lifts my spirits. This must be what masculinity feels like.
Holding on to what is dead
I keep coming back to Japan. It’s a theme I quite enjoy. The grass is greener on the other side. The possibilities are infinite.
WinterMint
Romanticizing a bit, I suppose, but I’ve been obsessed with Japan and social sciences since childhood. Those early influences of culture were shockingly exciting for my young eyes. Anime changed my life.
Wet Embrace
Coming out of the contagious haze, there’s a stillness that is to be enjoyed; a kind of clarity felt after a hallucinogenic experience that somehow seems therapeutic.
