Ashes & Ink: Remembering the Art Lost

Losing my home to the fire was one thing, but losing my art—my sketches, my inked illustrations, my hours of thought and creativity—felt like a deeper, more personal loss. Art is a reflection of time, emotion, and experience. It holds a piece of the artist within it, and when it is gone, it’s as though a part of you has been erased.

I want to take a moment to honor some of the pieces that were lost, to reflect on what they meant to me, and to find some sense of closure in sharing them here.

The Stories Behind the Sketches

Each drawing held its own significance, tied to a moment, an idea, or a personal challenge. Some were part of my Inktober journey, a practice of discipline and creativity, while others were spontaneous sketches—fleeting bursts of inspiration that had taken form in ink.

The Owl & The Moon

This piece was one of my favorites, a quiet sentinel under a cosmic glow. It represented wisdom and stillness, a kind of watchful presence that I’ve always admired in nature. The golden eyes stood out against the inked feathers, a reminder of how small details bring life to a drawing. Losing this one stung because it felt like a milestone in my growth as an artist.

A Raptor Emerges

It was inspired by Jurassic World, capturing the thrilling moment of something ancient breaking free from its shell. It was one of those pieces that felt alive while I was creating it, as though I was capturing something that already existed in some other plane. It represented possibility, a breaking through of limits.

The Cosmic Realm

This piece was a favorite, both for me and for many others who saw it. There was something mesmerizing about the vastness of space, the quiet yet powerful presence of planets drifting in the void. I remember working on the textures, letting the swirling bands of Jupiter come to life with each stroke. The darkness of space wasn’t empty—it was full of depth, mystery, and tiny glowing stars that felt like whispers of the unknown. It represented exploration, wonder, and the feeling of looking beyond what we know. Maybe that’s why this loss stings—it wasn’t just an illustration of a planet, but a reflection of curiosity and the beauty of the cosmos

The Frog & The Snake

This piece features two creatures that are poisonous; neither is in danger from the other, but they both pose a threat to the viewer. The Poison Dart frog sits innocently on the leaf while the Eyelash Viper shifts its gaze towards you. 

The Ghoulish Handoff

It was inspired by the passing of the holiday from Halloween to Christmas, serving as a tongue-in-cheek commentary on how Christmas has taken over, overshadowing Thanksgiving and becoming increasingly commercialized—hence the ghouls. It spoke to themes of mystery, the unknown, and the weight of hidden knowledge. It was an exploration of light and shadow, both visually and thematically.

Uh Oh….

A playful, surreal take on observation and perception, this one was fun to draw, mixing humor with a bit of the bizarre. It was a reminder to look at things differently, to embrace odd ideas and make them into something tangible.

The Winter Flowers

A quiet meditation on time and decay. There was beauty in the crumbling petals, in the way they leaned toward one another as if whispering final secrets. It was one of those sketches that felt poetic even in its simplicity.

Somewhere….Beyond the Sea

This piece carries a bit of romance and tenderness as the tidal pool creatures watch a sunset. The starfish set up on the rocks and the octopus takes its seat on a neighboring mound. It was an exploration of resilience, adaptation, and the eerie beauty found beneath the waves. This was a piece that I really enjoyed but felt that when I inked it I lost some of the charm and detail from my pencil sketch. A note for the future perhaps.

Puss in Boots at Christmas

This piece was a playful blend of whimsy and festivity, capturing the charm of a feline trickster dressed in holiday finery. One of my favorite scenes with the character (from the holiday special). I absolutely loved this piece and would hang it up at Christmastime. With the signature wide-eyed, mischievous expression and fur-lined attire, it brought a mix of warmth and cheekiness to the season. It felt like a reminder that the holidays can be both magical and a little ridiculous, and that’s part of their charm.

Processing the Loss

The realization that these pieces were gone felt like a gut punch. They weren’t just drawings; they were a visual diary of thoughts, emotions, and moments of growth. Some of them I could attempt to recreate, but it wouldn’t be the same. The spontaneity, the rawness of the original strokes, the exact frame of mind I was in when I made them—that was lost.

But in that loss, I also found something unexpected. The fire may have taken the paper and ink, but it didn’t take the experience of creating them. It didn’t take the way those pieces shaped me, the things I learned from making them, or the joy I felt while bringing them to life.

Moving Forward

I’m learning to see this loss as a strange kind of rebirth. The blank pages waiting for new ink are no longer empty; they are filled with everything I have carried forward. There is still so much to create. Perhaps I will revisit some of these ideas, breathing new life into them, or perhaps they will remain as memories, guiding my hand toward something new.

Art, like fire, transforms. It consumes, but it also clears the way for new growth.

To those reading this, whether you are an artist, a creator, or simply someone who has lost something precious—know that what you create next will carry the echoes of what came before. Nothing is truly lost when it has shaped who you are.

And so, I pick up my pen again.