Tag Archives: short story

One flying scoop of melting ice cream

flying ice cream doodle drawing by artist jessica doyle - weird oddity

What began as a simple jellyfish doodle morbidly turned into one flying scoop of melted ice cream.

I can just imagine what made it take off into the air… a childhood temper tantrum during the heat of the summertime, an adult who tripped over the curb after leaving the ice cream vendor stand or maybe just maybe this one sole scoop of ice cream is intelligent and decided it did not want to be licked or eaten, digested and 12 hours later flushed down a toilet into a sewer system built 1000 years ago.

But we’ll never know for sure as this singular scoop of enchanted ice cream has likely left earth’s stratosphere by now in search of it’s own kind.

Drawn with Faber Castell Pitt Artist pens and Derwent & Prismacolor coloured pencils on Strathmore Petal Inclusion paper. This oddity measures 5×7 inches (12,6cm by 17,5cm).

The sum of all your capabilities – 2nd illustration of The Waitress series

The Waitress Series by artist Jessica Doyle and writer Christopher DeWan

This is the second illustration in the ongoing collaborative project between myself, Jessica Doyle and writer, Christopher DeWan. You can see the first illustration in the previous blog post. There will be between 18 and 24 illustrations in all. I have bolded the section of text from the story below that is illustrated in the art above. Continue reading

There’s what you are on one hand (Limited Editon Print – no.1 – The Waitress Series)

This is the beginning of an ongoing collaborative project between myself, Jessica Doyle and writer, Christopher DeWan. I will be releasing a new limited edition print every few weeks until “The Waitress” is fully illustrated. There will be between 18 and 24 illustrations when the project is completed. Do collect them all!

This is the first illustration in The Waitress series.

  • Paper Size – 12 by 12 inches
  • Professionally printed with archival Epson inks on Epson fine art paper
  • Print is dated, numbered, signed and titled
  • Will arrive with a certificate of authenticity
  • Edition of 100 only

The Waitress by Christopher DeWan

There’s what you are, on the one hand; and on the other, there’s what you think you can be.

No, let me put that another way: there is what you are, essentially, in your heart—the sum of all your capabilities; and on the other hand, there’s the smaller set of what you’ve realized to date. There is You the Greater and You the Lesser. You whole, and you fractured.

Some people believe that you, the “real” you, is the lesser one—the tally of what you’ve achieved. “What do you do?,” we ask each other at parties. “I’m a salesman,” we answer, deftly swapping a verb of action with a verb of being.

Other people believe that you, the “real” you, is that farther-away idea: “I’m a waitress and an actress, but I also want to direct.”

You smirk when she tells you this. “She’s a dreamer,” you think. “She’s a cliché.” (And these things, too, might be a part of who she “really” is.) But clichés are lazy shortcuts, a rubber-stamp version of the truth: the outline is correct and familiar, but the details are missing. The details are the essence. The details are the differentiators. In the mind of this waitress, what she wants to do is more significant than what she is doing. To know her is to know that she wants to direct. To know her is to know that she is a bundle of potentialities, and to know which potentialities.

[When robots can bring us coffee at restaurants, then we’ll all be free to act and direct.]

[When we fall in love, is it not with a person’s wants and with their potentialities?]

It is our dream that distinguishes us—the dream, and the degree to which we are willing to chase it: the degree to which we believe we are not the man sitting in the desk chair at the office, day after day after day. No. Rather, we are the brilliant burst of light, looming just on the other side of the horizon. We eagerly, lovingly chase ourselves, to find ourselves.

Christopher resides in Los Angeles, CA, United States. He can be found writing short stories on the TheUrbanSherpa. The Waitress was first published here on Christopher’s blog and has been reproduced within this blog post with permission.

This gorgeous print can be purchased in my Art Shop on Etsy and on my personal digital download e-commerce site, . Enjoy!

The Cathedral

mandala, markers, fabriano quadrato artist journal, jessica doyle art, drawing, ink, sketchbook, sketch, pen

A short fictional story…

A simple handshake made her heart flutter… made her exhale and unable to inhale and she hasn’t been quite the same since.

On Christmas Eve everything changed. I felt electricity flowing when I turned and shook your hand and wished you Merry Christmas near the end of Mass. I haven’t been the same since. That ‘flutter’ still exists. I still didn’t know who you were. I don’t believe this has ever happened before to me.

And then you shot around the pew that separated us as the congregation stood to form lines to receive the sacrement. I couldn’t help but smile and talk to you. I know it was church and that you are not supposed to talk but your smile made me melt and your eyes mirrored what I felt. It was so cliché that I asked what your name was saying that you look familiar and did we attend high school together?

I felt blood rush to my head and nothing else existed but your smile, your face, your bright shining eyes your and second handshake upon introducing yourself while I introduced myself to you. My nerves exploded.

And we did attend high school together. We were in law class together.

You told me you worked in Alberta at the tar sands and that you had a house on the Old Rothesay Road.

I told you I bought a house over East and that I was an artist. You asked if that was hard and I said “At times” but that I rent rooms too, to supplement my income.

We walked down the length of the pew and joined the moving throngs of Catholics in the central main aisle to receive the sacrement. I wanted to keep talking… I wanted to hold your hand… wanted to scream I like you… wanted to put words to what I was feeling inside.

You had said that you likely wouldn’t be attending the 20th high school reunion but that you might attend the 25th in 2016.

I walked back to the pew after communion and the heat creeping over my body was almost more than I could endure, while kneeling to pray. When I rose to sit you were still kneeling behind me. I could barely breath. The rushes never stopped. Then the congregation rose to sing the processional hymn Silent Night. I’m singing and thinking that I need you! How do I get in touch with you.

When people began to leave the service and began talking amongst each other I turned to you and dug out a business card and gave it to you as you said you weren’t on Facebook. My folk’s were leaving and I had to go with them. I walked slowly from the church and then outside into the frigid Winter air darting my eyes to see if I could catch another glimpse of you. I didn’t see you. My mind wrestless with thoughts. Is he married? Is he single? I can’t believe I dug out a business card in church and gave it to a man.

mandala, markers, fabriano quadrato artist journal, jessica doyle art, drawing, ink, pen

I climbed into the back seat of the car while dad climbed into the front. We waited for mom. Then you walked in front of the car, crossed over and got into the drivers side of a beige pick-up truck, alone and sat there staring across at the headlights of the car I was in. And I stared back at the dark truck you were in. I wanted to jump out and run over to you. All I could do was stare and hope that you’d contact me via my website contact page as there was no phone number listed on the business card that I had given you earlier.

A star from fell from the sky that night after mass while she stood on the backyard deck around midnight.

Christmas Eve came and went.

I drew the pen marker drawing inside a Fabriano Quadrato Artist Journal on the 23rd of December while thinking about skyscrapers and how humans are stacked one on top of the other within them and how it’s better to live on the upper most floors where the street noise is faint and water and sewer pipes are not continuously flowing within the walls.