Black Marker Expulsions

I don’t have too much to say for these sketches, except they are a form of catharsis. This particular type of black marker thing seems to ‘happen’ when I can’t find a way to express myself in the way that I’d like to in words. I’ve learned to stop and take a moment. These are some of those in-between moments; in the deep of the irk, often full of resentment or avoidance or pain, when talking makes no sense and any ideas of resolution seem a dream.  

Making marks on a page is a way of processing; I think we all do it in some way – mindless mark making. In the process, I release and realize, also thanks to the conversations it aided with close friends.

“I like the chaos… and yet, it may not be”
“…perspectives, dimensions, levels, layers,

hidden, blocked out, see through…”
“ladders, trees, light, shadow…”

These three were done at morning, noon and night, on the same day.


Even tide


Ghost words

Crayon, marker and photography.

Annoyance with self-ies

Ink, marker, sand, tea and saliva, yes.

“Firecracker lines?”

“Bird in the undergrowth?”



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