Galloping Hooves

When experiencing fear, horses are living dramas.

A Word of Calligraphy

Words are powerful bundles of energy. They can be weapons of destruction or tools of creation or the soothing balm of healing.

Sometimes, words just aren't enough to express the soul. 

When you feel your drawing you can be sure it will express your inner state.

Safari with Motorcycles

Don't mess with pigeons

Puppy

When a Book Surfaces

When a book you're reading will surface in your mind above routine, that's when you'll know it's been worth writing.

Motorcycles

The beautiful motorcycle - a work of art and balance. Each piece is a story itself from the name to the harmonious shapes and the personality during rides. These sketches date back from high school when I first discovered the charm of the two wheelers.

Runaway Characters

Characters can be so weird at times. They have a mind of their own and some can't stand being pushed around. They'll have it their way and that's final - they won't listen to anyone and they'll get into conflict with other characters and even with the narrator if they have to defend their style. It's surprising that some characters are so strong and determined in their way that they'll run away from the story so that not even the narrator can find them. I didn't know they could do that until one of my own did this. So, to avoid delays in writing a story because the hero ran away, I find it more convenient to just create the situation, let the characters in and enjoy the show from a safe distance. They make the story anyway, so why barge in like a control freak and spoil their party? This picture came to mind while I was reflecting on the runaway characters. I thought it would be fun to add a little color to my usual cartoons.

By the way, this painting is made with Tayasui Sketches.

Swiss - concept Art

This is Swiss, a giant Main Coon tomcat. He is not your ordinary lazy cat. Whom you see here is the guardian of the lost treasure in the valley. Spear duel is his second nature and he has a taste for adventure. No fight is too rough, no foe is too intimidating for him - he'll take on anything that challenges his proud ego. But above all, there is duty and ego or not, he has to keep that treasure safe. So no wandering about looking for a fight. I wonder how he'll take on the Hurricanes searching the valley - they're not on his side.

He is a loner, but the time will come for him to accept help in protecting the treasure. It's a tough blow to his self-esteem so he makes sure he gets things his way. This is how he greeted his aide:

... or so he brags.

Something about Owls

There's something about owls that stirs our imagination. From the way they look at you with those huge eyes to the fascinating silent wing beat. They can look cute. They can look majestic. They can strike fear into their viewers as well. As a character, I see the owl as a shape shifter - a complex creature and mysterious player that can influence both the good and the evil party in a story.

"When the Hurricanes Came for Me"

In Owl City's song "How I Became the Sea", there is a lyric: "When the hurricanes came for me". This line inspired the illustration above. To me, the Hurricanes are slender war helies (helicopters) used in patrolling the valley and the nearby mountains for trespassers or runaways. Thanks to the engines under their wings they have more flexibility in maneuvers.

Trust and Independence

I walked into a Half Price Books store one evening when I was in Redmond. A book attracted my attention: "7 Rules You Were Born to Break" by Rick Lewis.

Even now, 8 months after I've left the forests of the NW coast, I still love skimming through this book as a reminder of the small things that pass by unseen, too often. It's not everyday that a successful street performer shares his life lessons with us. And what a perspective - the book talks about rules that we are more or less unconsciously taught and how, ironically, they work against us most of the time.

Today I randomly opened the book at rule no. 3: "Be Independent". I appreciate those times when I read something that I subconsciously know, but that I've never put into words before. This third rule says that we are taught to be self-sufficient and not to need anyone's help, ever. Sounds a bit lonely. Stand for a moment and look at it. Does it apply to you? I can certainly recall meeting with this rule not only within me but around me as well. What I like best about this book is that it talks about the misbehaviors that break these rules. Each rule can be broken by misbehaving in a certain way so that you can regain your natural balance and be happier. Asking for help is the way to ease the grip of "Be Independent". It's about trusting other people - an act that can scare most of us because it requires getting out of our comfort zone. Rick states it best at the beginning of the chapter: "Who we are as individuals blossoms as we discover and learn who we are in relationship to our world. We do this by deeply connecting with it, not by withdrawing from it." I love this one: "A mature individual is able to draw support and strength from others and provide a distinct contribution to the world. Our individuality suffers when we cut ourselves off from an exchange of help by trying to remain wholly independent." After all, true independence has never been reached alone.

Looking at this from a distance, we can see that being independent and asking for help can be antipodes and as all opposite things, the good spot is somewhere in the middle. It's knowing when you're imbalanced that is the challenge.

Muck and Light

Somewhere deep inside, down in the darkest part…

… the cold was unbearable. But something was there, something which thought it was alive.

That something was big, huge in fact – it had a robust body, two long and thick arms and two short, not very functional legs. It had no eyes, no ears, no nose and no head, only a mouth half as big as its body. Its skin resembled the muck – cold, slightly wet and sticky. This creature lived inside a cage which was under a mountain so high it couldn’t be climbed, all made out of the same muck as the one on the captive.

Annoyance, boredom, frustration, anger, hatred… all of these the creature felt and it was furious. It thundered its massive arms against the walls of the cage, it slammed and hit, it dragged and pull, it banged and squeezed all while it was roaring and hollering unintelligible, but soul piercing sounds. Despite the cold outside, the creature was boiling inside. Surely, it couldn’t have always been this way, but it couldn’t remember a thing, as if it had no memory. Its inner fire was storming in it, fueling its rampage and hate… towards itself. Even if the cage was made out of muck, the harder the creature hit, the harder the cage became, the smaller the cell shrank, the heavier the mountain above grew and the bigger and more shapeless the creature came to be.

Soon, the cell became so small and the creature so big and helpless that the captive couldn’t move. The wild and deadly flames inside slowed down and were turning to evolve into a closed, fire bomb. But before that happened, before the fire and the hatred could start preparing for hibernation, something extraordinary happened. There was a light…

High above the mountain, shone a narrow, bright light straight on the creature. The captive was bewildered and it stopped dead for a moment to enjoy the feeling of the light on itself. It stopped struggling, it ceased to roar and it relaxed. The cage walls began to soften, the creature found the feeling of the light was beautiful and so the light grew stronger and a little wider. The muck began to melt, the creature rose to its feet and stood in the light; it thought the feeling of more light was pleasant and enjoyable. The mountain of muck poured over the creature like a slowly falling cascade and when all was clear of muck, out of it emerged a small, little, feeble dragon.

It was so small and so slim it looked like a broken twig. Its neck was thin and crooked, its scales were ragged and shabby, its tail lay dead on the ground, its flimsy arms clenched close to his chest and its legs lacked power to support the virtually inexistent body weight. But his eyes… his eyes were wide, bright blue as a newborn’s and they were looking at the light.

For the first time in a long while, the dragon felt gratitude and it lowered its head easily and with effort trying to bow to the light. As it stayed with his eyes closed and head lowered, he felt an itch on its shoulders. Then he felt strength throughout its body and its tail moved. The itch in the shoulders grew. He felt energy and when he looked at its body, he noticed his neck was muscular and slender, his scales were shiny and tough, his tail was swift as lightning, his strong arms were ready, his legs were springy and he had grown a magnificent pair of wings. But his eyes… his eyes were wide, bright blue as a newborn’s and they were looking at the light. With the first flap of wings, the dragon rose much higher than the mountain of muck had once been and continued to go on, higher and stronger into the light.

Somewhere far beyond, out into the open light…

… it was warm. A beautiful dragon stood calmly on the edge of the abyss. His neck was muscular and slender, his scales were shiny and tough, his tail was swift as lightning, his strong arms were ready, his legs were springy and his wings were magnificent. But his eyes… his eyes were wide, bright blue as a newborn’s and they were freeing muck trapped souls with the light of love.

MS - Dec 2013