DamiansART

DamiansART Account not monitored please email [email protected] for all things art A place to display Damians art, network and share information relating to art.

You can also purchase original works and prints from here simply by commenting on the work you like.

09/03/2026

The architecture of patience. St Mary’s Catholic Church, Ipswich. QLD.
Digital heritage etching.

18/02/2026

Return to Earth, the butterflies.
Took longer than a minute, but hope you enjoy this sped up time lapse

Finished! This is giving me Alice in Wonderland vibes a little bit. What do you think? Is it working without a backgroun...
15/01/2026

Finished! This is giving me Alice in Wonderland vibes a little bit. What do you think? Is it working without a background? I kind of like the empty space, it emphasises the relationship between the girl, skull and bird.

15/01/2026

Fleeting moments. Lots of details i to this one, but i decided against the background, i thought it might make it too busy. What do you see in this piece? I was going for youth, the end, and the movement from one to the other.

Humming bird flying in front of a young girl holding a crystal skull.

14/01/2026

Working on a tricky one, lots of textures and details. First instalment in a series of 10 dreamscapes. This one is about moments moving too fast, a sentiment that took on new meaning as a father.

30/12/2025

Last drawing for 2025. Just a happy dino boy ❤️

10/12/2025

Not the kind of fellow you hope to bump into waling alone through the forest

06/10/2025

Return to Earth is the first in a series of whimsical surrealism drawings exploring connection between people and place

I gathered the last of my resolve, pushing the small boat from the safety of the shallows into the velvet, dark waters. ...
04/10/2025

I gathered the last of my resolve, pushing the small boat from the safety of the shallows into the velvet, dark waters. Loneliness was a thick, suffocating blanket. The only sound was the hypnotic shush-thump of the oars—the water protesting with every turn. For what felt like eons, I strained ahead, the purpose of my journey still a phantom on the horizon, sustained only by the iron will to reach it.
The shores flanking me were constantly shapeshifting. Sometimes they were grassy embankments, soft and tempting, silently urging me to beach the boat and rest. Other times, they became towering, black cliffs riddled with jagged, uninviting rock. The river itself kept tempo with my unspoken fear.
More than a few times, the current seized the boat in a rapid pace, throwing white peaks of foam that snarled and raged below the hull. My light, the single, fragile burning heart, flickered wildly, threatening to be extinguished by the spray. In those desperate, troubled moments, the river always relented, settling back into a merciful calm just as my spirit was about to break.
And then, I finally saw it.
In the distance, I could faintly make it out, illuminated by the flickering light of my burning heart. Though the closer I got, the brighter and more certain my light became. I could see it clearly now.
I found her.

Chewing through some pencils as i follow the white rabbit into some new dreamscapes
01/10/2025

Chewing through some pencils as i follow the white rabbit into some new dreamscapes

The Long Life of JohnJohn once believed in progress. When the miracle pill was released, he was first in line — a drug t...
16/09/2025

The Long Life of John

John once believed in progress. When the miracle pill was released, he was first in line — a drug that promised more years, more vitality, more time to become something greater. He swallowed it without hesitation, a future burning bright ahead of him.

At first, it worked. His body healed faster, his mind linked effortlessly with the Synchronised Mind, that endless hive of shared thoughts where no idea belonged to one person alone. Machines rose to take care of everything — cooking, working, building, dreaming. Humanity was free, they said. Free to live. Free to create.

But John discovered freedom can be a hollow gift. With no struggle, no purpose, his ambition withered. His creativity slipped into silence. His hands, once restless with ideas, now clutched only a glowing screen. Days blurred into endless nights of scrolling — other people’s words, other people’s lives, other people’s thoughts, streamed directly into his skull until he could no longer tell where he ended and the machine began.

Then came the mutation. His cells, stretched far beyond their natural rhythm, twisted under the drug’s hidden curse. His body decayed, but death refused to claim him. Wrinkled skin, brittle bones, ragged flesh — and still, he lingered.

Now John sits on the park bench each day, the same park where he once walked with friends and laughed about how bright the future looked. He doesn’t notice the seasons changing. He doesn’t notice the faces that pass him by. His thumb moves in one slow, eternal motion, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.

The world has left him behind. Yet he remains.
A man promised life everlasting, with everything life life could offer at his fingertips.

The Long Life of JohnJohn once believed in progress. When the miracle pill was released, he was first in line — a drug t...
16/09/2025

The Long Life of John

John once believed in progress. When the miracle pill was released, he was first in line — a drug that promised more years, more vitality, more time to become something greater. He swallowed it without hesitation, a future burning bright ahead of him.

At first, it worked. His body healed faster, his mind linked effortlessly with the Synchronised Mind, that endless hive of shared thoughts where no idea belonged to one person alone. Machines rose to take care of everything — cooking, working, building, dreaming. Humanity was free, they said. Free to live. Free to create.

But John discovered freedom can be a hollow gift. With no struggle, no purpose, his ambition withered. His creativity slipped into silence. His hands, once restless with ideas, now clutched only a glowing screen. Days blurred into endless nights of scrolling — other people’s words, other people’s lives, other people’s thoughts, streamed directly into his skull until he could no longer tell where he ended and the machine began.

Then came the mutation. His cells, stretched far beyond their natural rhythm, twisted under the drug’s hidden curse. His body decayed, but death refused to claim him. Wrinkled skin, brittle bones, ragged flesh — and still, he lingered.

Now John sits on the park bench each day, the same park where he once walked with friends and laughed about how bright the future looked. He doesn’t notice the seasons changing. He doesn’t notice the faces that pass him by. His thumb moves in one slow, eternal motion, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.

The world has left him behind. Yet he remains.
A man promised life everlasting. With everything life has to offer at his fingertips.

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Brisbane, QLD

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