/page/2
Another study! Out of two whole hours of drawing i only managed to get one good one out of a couple dozen. This was a 5 minute pose, so it was a little challenging to flesh out the form in that short amount of time. The proportions suffered a little as a result, it’s not as true to life as it should be. I did this one in compressed charcoal, chalk, and with a brown conte crayon.

Another study! Out of two whole hours of drawing i only managed to get one good one out of a couple dozen. This was a 5 minute pose, so it was a little challenging to flesh out the form in that short amount of time. The proportions suffered a little as a result, it’s not as true to life as it should be. I did this one in compressed charcoal, chalk, and with a brown conte crayon.

 

Mi Casa Su Casa  #homelife

 

Mi Casa Su Casa
#homelife

doodlebugged:

Color study, twenty minutes

doodlebugged:

Color study, twenty minutes


Feels so good to work with graphite and paper again :’)


Feels so good to work with graphite and paper again :’)

(Source: doodlebugged)

It is Chinese New Year, thirty hours late, fifteen thousand kilometers away from home. Everyone around me seems to be skyping their family, gushing away as their hushed overtones spill out to echo in a dark, empty living room. It is strange that a sound like that could make a place seem quieter than it is, but it does.
I haven’t given family much thought, to be honest. Or home. Church, school, music, etcetera. I feel no unction whatsoever to pick up that phone and dial. I mean, I’d pick it up to dial for pizza, easy (13 dollars for a whole cheese pizza, arrives in a half hour) but dialing home? Nah. I’ve dredged the depths of myself with only a quiet sense/acquired sense of displacement to show for it.
If you’re wondering what is wrong with me, let me assure you that I stand with you in wonder. I wonder if this speaks of dysfunction or independence. I wonder if this speaks of itinerancy or juvenile shame. I wonder if it speaks of romantic wanderlust or cynical introspection.
Maybe it’s about getting caught up in things. Maybe it’s about how instantaneous communication shrinks the world until travel doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s about an acute experience. Maybe it’s about an artistic statement. Maybe I am just impossibly self-adsorbed. There are a lot of possibilities here.
It is Chinese New Year, thirty hours late, fifteen thousand kilometers away from home.

I am content.

It is Chinese New Year, thirty hours late, fifteen thousand kilometers away from home. Everyone around me seems to be skyping their family, gushing away as their hushed overtones spill out to echo in a dark, empty living room. It is strange that a sound like that could make a place seem quieter than it is, but it does.

I haven’t given family much thought, to be honest. Or home. Church, school, music, etcetera. I feel no unction whatsoever to pick up that phone and dial. I mean, I’d pick it up to dial for pizza, easy (13 dollars for a whole cheese pizza, arrives in a half hour) but dialing home? Nah. I’ve dredged the depths of myself with only a quiet sense/acquired sense of displacement to show for it.

If you’re wondering what is wrong with me, let me assure you that I stand with you in wonder. I wonder if this speaks of dysfunction or independence. I wonder if this speaks of itinerancy or juvenile shame. I wonder if it speaks of romantic wanderlust or cynical introspection.

Maybe it’s about getting caught up in things. Maybe it’s about how instantaneous communication shrinks the world until travel doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s about an acute experience. Maybe it’s about an artistic statement. Maybe I am just impossibly self-adsorbed. There are a lot of possibilities here.

It is Chinese New Year, thirty hours late, fifteen thousand kilometers away from home.

I am content.

here’s another study! did this live during the weekly open mic at the daily grind. 20 mins, trackpad and photoshop! i think the foreground values are a little off.

here’s another study! did this live during the weekly open mic at the daily grind. 20 mins, trackpad and photoshop! i think the foreground values are a little off.

Advanced Digital Imaging 1

I

Hey. (I didn’t know you all that well.)

It still feels strange that you are gone. Missing? Silent? I don’t have the right words, and for once I am glad that I don’t, because to articulate this moment? Sensation? Thing? would do it a great injustice.

It feels weird to think about you.

But you are not dead, because dead is the tiny scrawl of black text on the unfeeling surface of a tiny phone screen that says you have passed. Look, I know there was a wake, I know there was a body, I know there will be a service.

But you are not dead, because if I shut my eyes and block everything out and thrust my soul into the vastness of space I feel you out there, somewhere, being you. And that has to mean something. It means something to me.

The universe is a lesser place for your absence? silence? void?. You were there. You were present.

I didn’t know you all that well.

You will be missed.

doodlebugged:

Hello! You can check out my new song, “Gold” at http://youtu.be/1XDgYwkRcZ8
Or you could download the track at https://www.dropbox.com/s/vkuocl8mgzjc8h3/Gold%20-%20JAWN.mp3
Or you could hold my hand and tell me that music is a legitimate career path as I cry myself to sleep
Merry Christmas guys!! #music #singapore #local #free #whodowan

doodlebugged:

Hello! You can check out my new song, “Gold” at http://youtu.be/1XDgYwkRcZ8
Or you could download the track at https://www.dropbox.com/s/vkuocl8mgzjc8h3/Gold%20-%20JAWN.mp3
Or you could hold my hand and tell me that music is a legitimate career path as I cry myself to sleep
Merry Christmas guys!! #music #singapore #local #free #whodowan

iwriteoutofnecessity asked: a friend linked me to your piece about eczema from a while back. i too have eczema and feel your plight. I have little hair on my legs because it all died from how bad my eczema was when i was younger. They think I'm gay or weird because they think i shave my legs. Like you said, people will be people. The worst is getting splotches of it across your skin and then having the scars to show. Anyways, just wanted to say thanks for sharing your very relatable piece.

hey. i dont know what to say.

i love your writing.

do you publish?

siowjun asked: How hard was it getting into Viscomm?

hey! well, its pretty competitive, but for my year i was lucky because a lot of people wanted to go into film instead! as long as you do okay in the first year, though, you shouldn’t have a problem. :)

nevermoah:

An Audio Slideshow done for my Interactive Multimedia Journalism class.

Loci/In tracing your shadow I might nick your skin
You know, for a diagnosed serial extrovert, I don’t actually enjoy people that much. Sure, I don’t mean the people I actually know – I’m referring to the people en masse; people as a phenomenon (though one wonders how the private and the public could be colored so differently when they culminate in essentially similar things).  
People come and go through your life. They are subject to geographic upheaval, religious epiphany, and philosophical debate. Tensions fray, differences coalesce, nonchalance predominates, and as the years dilute the relationships I have, these people bleed and blur into each other like a morning palette, like fleeting shadows and dreams in the waking, like blurred, turgid blobs dimly perceived through a comatose haze. 
Admirers are wonderful. Acquaintances are nice. Friends are fickle and impermanent. Family is what you are shackled with through the circumstances of your birth.  And self?
Self is the thing you try to puzzle out every evening, and when morning illuminates the pictures you’ve assembled, you realize you hate everything you’ve ever done.  
And that’s why, in the words of my favorite spoken word poet, “I’m sorry if I hold on a little too tightly.” though to be honest, I’m not actually very sorry at all.  
What I am is trying very hard to believe that 
for the first time
in a very long time, 

someone’s decided to stay. 

Loci/In tracing your shadow I might nick your skin

You know, for a diagnosed serial extrovert, I don’t actually enjoy people that much. Sure, I don’t mean the people I actually know – I’m referring to the people en masse; people as a phenomenon (though one wonders how the private and the public could be colored so differently when they culminate in essentially similar things).  

People come and go through your life. They are subject to geographic upheaval, religious epiphany, and philosophical debate. Tensions fray, differences coalesce, nonchalance predominates, and as the years dilute the relationships I have, these people bleed and blur into each other like a morning palette, like fleeting shadows and dreams in the waking, like blurred, turgid blobs dimly perceived through a comatose haze. 

Admirers are wonderful. Acquaintances are nice. Friends are fickle and impermanent. Family is what you are shackled with through the circumstances of your birth.  And self?

Self is the thing you try to puzzle out every evening, and when morning illuminates the pictures you’ve assembled, you realize you hate everything you’ve ever done.  

And that’s why, in the words of my favorite spoken word poet, “I’m sorry if I hold on a little too tightly.” though to be honest, I’m not actually very sorry at all.  

What I am is trying very hard to believe that 

for the first time

in a very long time, 

someone’s decided to stay. 

Another study! Out of two whole hours of drawing i only managed to get one good one out of a couple dozen. This was a 5 minute pose, so it was a little challenging to flesh out the form in that short amount of time. The proportions suffered a little as a result, it’s not as true to life as it should be. I did this one in compressed charcoal, chalk, and with a brown conte crayon.

Another study! Out of two whole hours of drawing i only managed to get one good one out of a couple dozen. This was a 5 minute pose, so it was a little challenging to flesh out the form in that short amount of time. The proportions suffered a little as a result, it’s not as true to life as it should be. I did this one in compressed charcoal, chalk, and with a brown conte crayon.

 

Mi Casa Su Casa  #homelife

 

Mi Casa Su Casa
#homelife

doodlebugged:

Color study, twenty minutes

doodlebugged:

Color study, twenty minutes


Feels so good to work with graphite and paper again :’)


Feels so good to work with graphite and paper again :’)

(Source: doodlebugged)

It is Chinese New Year, thirty hours late, fifteen thousand kilometers away from home. Everyone around me seems to be skyping their family, gushing away as their hushed overtones spill out to echo in a dark, empty living room. It is strange that a sound like that could make a place seem quieter than it is, but it does.
I haven’t given family much thought, to be honest. Or home. Church, school, music, etcetera. I feel no unction whatsoever to pick up that phone and dial. I mean, I’d pick it up to dial for pizza, easy (13 dollars for a whole cheese pizza, arrives in a half hour) but dialing home? Nah. I’ve dredged the depths of myself with only a quiet sense/acquired sense of displacement to show for it.
If you’re wondering what is wrong with me, let me assure you that I stand with you in wonder. I wonder if this speaks of dysfunction or independence. I wonder if this speaks of itinerancy or juvenile shame. I wonder if it speaks of romantic wanderlust or cynical introspection.
Maybe it’s about getting caught up in things. Maybe it’s about how instantaneous communication shrinks the world until travel doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s about an acute experience. Maybe it’s about an artistic statement. Maybe I am just impossibly self-adsorbed. There are a lot of possibilities here.
It is Chinese New Year, thirty hours late, fifteen thousand kilometers away from home.

I am content.

It is Chinese New Year, thirty hours late, fifteen thousand kilometers away from home. Everyone around me seems to be skyping their family, gushing away as their hushed overtones spill out to echo in a dark, empty living room. It is strange that a sound like that could make a place seem quieter than it is, but it does.

I haven’t given family much thought, to be honest. Or home. Church, school, music, etcetera. I feel no unction whatsoever to pick up that phone and dial. I mean, I’d pick it up to dial for pizza, easy (13 dollars for a whole cheese pizza, arrives in a half hour) but dialing home? Nah. I’ve dredged the depths of myself with only a quiet sense/acquired sense of displacement to show for it.

If you’re wondering what is wrong with me, let me assure you that I stand with you in wonder. I wonder if this speaks of dysfunction or independence. I wonder if this speaks of itinerancy or juvenile shame. I wonder if it speaks of romantic wanderlust or cynical introspection.

Maybe it’s about getting caught up in things. Maybe it’s about how instantaneous communication shrinks the world until travel doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s about an acute experience. Maybe it’s about an artistic statement. Maybe I am just impossibly self-adsorbed. There are a lot of possibilities here.

It is Chinese New Year, thirty hours late, fifteen thousand kilometers away from home.

I am content.

here’s another study! did this live during the weekly open mic at the daily grind. 20 mins, trackpad and photoshop! i think the foreground values are a little off.

here’s another study! did this live during the weekly open mic at the daily grind. 20 mins, trackpad and photoshop! i think the foreground values are a little off.

Advanced Digital Imaging 1

I

Hey. (I didn’t know you all that well.)

It still feels strange that you are gone. Missing? Silent? I don’t have the right words, and for once I am glad that I don’t, because to articulate this moment? Sensation? Thing? would do it a great injustice.

It feels weird to think about you.

But you are not dead, because dead is the tiny scrawl of black text on the unfeeling surface of a tiny phone screen that says you have passed. Look, I know there was a wake, I know there was a body, I know there will be a service.

But you are not dead, because if I shut my eyes and block everything out and thrust my soul into the vastness of space I feel you out there, somewhere, being you. And that has to mean something. It means something to me.

The universe is a lesser place for your absence? silence? void?. You were there. You were present.

I didn’t know you all that well.

You will be missed.

doodlebugged:

Hello! You can check out my new song, “Gold” at http://youtu.be/1XDgYwkRcZ8
Or you could download the track at https://www.dropbox.com/s/vkuocl8mgzjc8h3/Gold%20-%20JAWN.mp3
Or you could hold my hand and tell me that music is a legitimate career path as I cry myself to sleep
Merry Christmas guys!! #music #singapore #local #free #whodowan

doodlebugged:

Hello! You can check out my new song, “Gold” at http://youtu.be/1XDgYwkRcZ8
Or you could download the track at https://www.dropbox.com/s/vkuocl8mgzjc8h3/Gold%20-%20JAWN.mp3
Or you could hold my hand and tell me that music is a legitimate career path as I cry myself to sleep
Merry Christmas guys!! #music #singapore #local #free #whodowan

iwriteoutofnecessity asked: a friend linked me to your piece about eczema from a while back. i too have eczema and feel your plight. I have little hair on my legs because it all died from how bad my eczema was when i was younger. They think I'm gay or weird because they think i shave my legs. Like you said, people will be people. The worst is getting splotches of it across your skin and then having the scars to show. Anyways, just wanted to say thanks for sharing your very relatable piece.

hey. i dont know what to say.

i love your writing.

do you publish?

siowjun asked: How hard was it getting into Viscomm?

hey! well, its pretty competitive, but for my year i was lucky because a lot of people wanted to go into film instead! as long as you do okay in the first year, though, you shouldn’t have a problem. :)

nevermoah:

An Audio Slideshow done for my Interactive Multimedia Journalism class.

Loci/In tracing your shadow I might nick your skin
You know, for a diagnosed serial extrovert, I don’t actually enjoy people that much. Sure, I don’t mean the people I actually know – I’m referring to the people en masse; people as a phenomenon (though one wonders how the private and the public could be colored so differently when they culminate in essentially similar things).  
People come and go through your life. They are subject to geographic upheaval, religious epiphany, and philosophical debate. Tensions fray, differences coalesce, nonchalance predominates, and as the years dilute the relationships I have, these people bleed and blur into each other like a morning palette, like fleeting shadows and dreams in the waking, like blurred, turgid blobs dimly perceived through a comatose haze. 
Admirers are wonderful. Acquaintances are nice. Friends are fickle and impermanent. Family is what you are shackled with through the circumstances of your birth.  And self?
Self is the thing you try to puzzle out every evening, and when morning illuminates the pictures you’ve assembled, you realize you hate everything you’ve ever done.  
And that’s why, in the words of my favorite spoken word poet, “I’m sorry if I hold on a little too tightly.” though to be honest, I’m not actually very sorry at all.  
What I am is trying very hard to believe that 
for the first time
in a very long time, 

someone’s decided to stay. 

Loci/In tracing your shadow I might nick your skin

You know, for a diagnosed serial extrovert, I don’t actually enjoy people that much. Sure, I don’t mean the people I actually know – I’m referring to the people en masse; people as a phenomenon (though one wonders how the private and the public could be colored so differently when they culminate in essentially similar things).  

People come and go through your life. They are subject to geographic upheaval, religious epiphany, and philosophical debate. Tensions fray, differences coalesce, nonchalance predominates, and as the years dilute the relationships I have, these people bleed and blur into each other like a morning palette, like fleeting shadows and dreams in the waking, like blurred, turgid blobs dimly perceived through a comatose haze. 

Admirers are wonderful. Acquaintances are nice. Friends are fickle and impermanent. Family is what you are shackled with through the circumstances of your birth.  And self?

Self is the thing you try to puzzle out every evening, and when morning illuminates the pictures you’ve assembled, you realize you hate everything you’ve ever done.  

And that’s why, in the words of my favorite spoken word poet, “I’m sorry if I hold on a little too tightly.” though to be honest, I’m not actually very sorry at all.  

What I am is trying very hard to believe that 

for the first time

in a very long time, 

someone’s decided to stay. 

I

About:

Hi! I'm Jon Chan. I sing and draw and write and stuff. I'm currently studying Visual Communications at ADM, and this is where i put all the things i do - works in progress, random musings, and stories i like to tell.

Stick around. I hope you like what you see. :)


If you want to get in touch, my email's jonchandrawsthings at gmail dot com. Hit me up! Let's make magic happen. :)