Tomes Technique

Painterly visions in digital form.

Tag: Seasonal Changes

  • Focus

    Focus

    Another holiday under the hood and spring is officially underfoot. A fresh mow of the yard has revealed the yearly crop of meadow garlic. Sending up its scraps like a confession—each leaf a whisper of forgotten gardens. The concentrated wild onion is a surprisingly delicate combination with the lemony fresh magnolia. Maybe the world’s quietest mutiny is in the way wild flowers refuse to be domesticated. Roots cracking concrete rather than fists pounding walls.

    Where the divide lingers

    I’m liking the way the eyes are turning out. Outstretched, her hand is a glitch in the code, yet her eyes remain in focus. Her heart is on her sleeve. But her eyes? They’re not broken—they’re rewired, like a hacker reading the seams of the code. Holding space for her to exist without the spectacle, without the need to constantly prove her worth on any stage but her own.

    The hollow of the fox

    With his attention fully on his traditional wings, his face is splattered with sauce like it’s the blood of his chicken enemy. A map of culinary chaos, the sauce a memory of the hunt. not just the kill, but the weight of the chase. I’m inspired to do a quick doodle of the food zombie.

    Brody

    Spotlight on caricatures! After last week’s success and the former picture, I’m now having a moment with quickies. I am liking the roughness of the pieces. There’s a glimmer of someone inside. They are like breadcrumbs left for a stranger to find: they’re too much, too little, a joke, a truth. That’s the magic of a quick sketch: it’s a promise, a lie, a love letter.

    Maria

    Oh no. There’s a circus out there targeting the deaf and blind. The center has training wheels and there’s only a thin save below. Emphasis on the tightrope act. The safety net? It’s not there for them. It’s there for the rest of us.

    Walk the line

    New records are being made all over and most are not welcome. Sharpening the knives because most are finally seeing that the way to the top isn’t clean. It’s rough, it’s messy. It isn’t in the spring’s freshness, but in the space between the blooms—where the wild onion meets the magnolia, where the glitch meets the focus, where the knife meets the line.

  • Cycles

    Cycles

    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.