Illustration XXVII - Life Cycle of Love and Pain

⬅  Check the illustration post before this, Illustration - XXVI

There are stories I keep buried. Not out of shame or regret, but because excavating them feels like performing surgery on myself. Yet here I am, sketchbook open, memories flooding back with each stroke of the pencil. Maybe some stories need to breathe again to fully heal.

Uphill in the Rain

"I wish I could sing the song I wrote for you."

Vancouver's rain has this quality—a persistent, gentle melancholy that somehow feels like forgiveness. This pencil sketch captures a silhouette cycling uphill on one of those days when the sky can't decide if it's crying or cleansing. The reflections on the wet pavement create that doubled reality effect I'm obsessed with lately—the world above and its imperfect mirror below.

I sketched this after finding lyrics I'd written years ago. Words meant to be melody that never found their voice. Strange how a song unsung can feel heavier than one performed poorly.

The uphill climb wasn't subtle symbolism. Man, I've never been good at subtle. But there's something about watching someone pushing against gravity and weather that perfectly captures that stubborn hope of early love—that belief that effort alone can overcome anything.

Golden Repair

"What better and elegant way to bring broken parts together."

Discovered Kintsugi during one of those 3 AM internet rabbit holes that start with "how to fix broken mug" and end with "ancient Japanese philosophies on impermanence." For those unfamiliar:

From Wiki - Kintsugi (金継ぎ, きんつぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as Kintsukuroi (金繕い, きんつくろい, "golden repair"),[1] is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.

The illustration shows a man singing, his body riddled with cracks filled with gold. I've been obsessing over this metaphor—how our fractures and subsequent repairs become our most beautiful features if we allow them to be visible rather than hidden.

The technical challenge was creating digital gold that felt authentic rather than gaudy. Wanted that warm metallic glow without turning the whole piece into something that looked like a tacky phone case. The transparency layers nearly broke me (and my ancient laptop).

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Jigsaw Intimacy

"Matching pieces from different sets."

This piece explores my ongoing "Caist" style—that fragmented, cubist-inspired approach that emerged during my European wanderings. Two figures that complement each other despite being from completely different "sets."

There's something fascinating about how we fit together with others—not because we're perfect matches from the same box, but because our edges and contours find surprising compatibility despite our different origins.

Created this during that weird twilight state between sleeping and waking, when the mind makes connections it wouldn't during full consciousness. The color palette intentionally creates tension—harmony through contrast rather than similarity.

Tactile Recognition

"Lover boy"

There's something overwhelmingly intimate about hands, isn't there? Before lips meet or bodies press together, it's often fingers that first intertwine, palms that first recognize each other.

This piece shows two pairs of hands examining each other against a backdrop of sky and bubbles—that moment of tactile discovery. The translucent bubbles represent the fragility surrounding new connection—how easily it can pop and vanish.

This one emerged after watching an elderly couple at a cafe, their hands still finding each other across the table after what must have been decades together. Made me wonder about the memory that lives in our skin—how our bodies remember touch long after our minds have forgotten other details.

Riverside Goodbye

"Down by the river you asked me to wait for you."

Rivers make terrible witnesses to breakups. They just keep flowing, completely indifferent to the human drama happening on their banks. This piece captures a couple sitting riverside during that moment when shared future becomes separate paths.

The compositional challenge was balancing the intimacy of their positioning with the emotional distance beginning to form between them. Used water as both literal setting and metaphor—how emotions flow away despite our attempts to cup them in our hands.

Sometimes I think all breakups happen by water, if not physically then metaphorically—that sense of something continuing to move while you remain temporarily frozen.

Blanket Boundaries

"From the box of memories I didn't think I would ever revisit this story. But as most things I know, this story is also quite unpredictable (for me at least). 'Believe me when I say, I felt it.'"

Found this sketch buried in an old portfolio I hadn't opened in years. Strange how memory works—how something can feel simultaneously distant and immediate.

The illustration shows a couple holding hands through their blanket—that thin fabric boundary representing all the things unsaid, the barriers we maintain even in our most intimate moments.

The text came from something they said to me years later when we unexpectedly reconnected: "Believe me when I say, I felt it." That simple assertion that whatever passed between us, however briefly, was authentic.

Dawn Surprise

"Didn't even realize when the sun came out."

This last piece might be my favorite of the series—a couple sleeping on a water tank as sunrise catches them unaware. There's something about unconsciousness that captures vulnerability better than any posed intimacy.

The technical aspects focused on capturing that particular quality of early morning light—how it reveals everything without judgment or harshness. The water tank setting came from a memory of falling asleep in an unexpected place, waking to find the world transformed by dawn.

Sometimes the most beautiful moments are the ones we're not awake to deliberately experience—the sun emerging while we're lost in dreams or each other.

Photos from Reminiscence

This collection wasn't planned. Each piece emerged separately, from different moments and memories. Only in arranging them together did I see the narrative they formed—the cycle of connection, fracture, and repair that defines not just romantic relationships but our relationship with ourselves.

Maybe that's what art is for me—a way to organize experiences that felt chaotic while living them, finding pattern and meaning in retrospect.

Until next time, fellow travelers on this strange journey of ink and emotion.

— Your friendly neighborhood heart-on-sleeve illustrator
Check out the next illustration Blogpost,  Illustration: XXVIII ➡