Art by Lezanne Bianchina

Art by Lezanne Bianchina Art
(3)

28/05/2026

Did this sample some time ago. Didn't get the contract. 😭 Was looking forward to something different then the usual children book style.




03/05/2026

Practicing digital art 10min a day. Had no plan. No story. Just wanted to create an unique character. Let's just say I now have an idea for a little short film. So once I am done with this piece I am going to attempt to make a short film.




is darem mooi.

29/04/2026

The letter E.




Early in the morning, when everything was extra quiet, I was still in bed enjoying a little rest. The sun was just starting to peek in, and everything felt easy and calm.
Then,
“Eeeeeee!”
Excited little giggles echoed outside my door.
I smiled. “Enter!”
The door slowly opened, and in came my excited girl, smiling from ear to ear.
“Happy Mother’s Day!” she cheered.
She handed me an envelope and a drawing, both made with extra care.
“For you!” she said. “Because you are extra special!”
I opened the envelope. Inside was a sweet note:
“You are the best ever! You help me, you hug me, and you make everything better!”
My heart felt extra full.
“Thank you,” I said, giving her a big, warm hug.
“But wait!” she said, bouncing with energy. “I have something else!”
“Something exciting!”
She took my hand and led me to the kitchen.
On the counter was a bunch of fruit, red apples, green grapes, yellow bananas, juicy oranges, and even a big watermelon.
“Today,” she said proudly, “I am an expert chef!”
“Oh really?” I laughed. “And what are you making, expert chef?”
“A fruit salad!” she said with a big grin.
“Excellent idea,” I smiled.
She got to work right away.
She carefully cut the apples (with a little help), squeezed the oranges with extra effort, and peeled a banana… which became a little squishy.
“Oops!” she giggled. “Extra soft banana!”
There was so much energy in the kitchen, little hands moving, excited chatter, and even one grape that escaped and rolled across the floor.
“Hey! Come back here!” she laughed, chasing it.
Finally, after all the mixing and cutting, the fruit salad was ready.
“Ta-da!” she said, showing it off.
It looked a little funny, some pieces were big, some were small, and the banana was very, very mushy. But it also looked colorful and happy.
We sat down together.
“Eat it! Eat it!” she said, watching me closely.
I took a bite.
It was sweet, juicy, and full of love.
“Mmm… it’s delicious,” I said.
“Really?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Really,” I smiled. “It’s the best ever.”
She beamed with excitement and started eating too. Soon, we were laughing, chatting, and enjoying our special treat together.
As we sat there, I looked at her, so excited, so loving, so full of joy.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?” she asked.
“For everything,” I answered. “For making this day so special.”
She smiled and said, “Because you’re everything to me!”

27/04/2026

Letter D.
Busy touching up these images to publish in May.
Dawn drifted delicately through the curtains on Mother’s Day, dusting the room in a dreamy, dim gold. I was still dozing, deep in a delicious sleep, when I heard a determined whisper.
“Don’t dawdle,” my daughter declared. “This is a dress-up day.”
Before I could decide whether to dive back under the duvet, two small, determined hands dragged at my blanket. “Up, Mommy! It’s your day, and I designed something dazzling.”
Designed? That should have been my first warning.
I dragged myself up, disheveled and drowsy, hair doing its own dramatic dance, and followed her down the passage. The dining room had been dramatically transformed. Dresses, dozens of them, were draped over chairs, dangling from doors, and displayed like a deluxe department store. There were dresses with dots, dresses with daisies, dresses that sparkled with daring glitter, and one particularly daring number that looked like it had survived a duel with a disco ball.
“I did this,” she said, beaming, hands on her hips in deep pride. “Today, you don’t do dishes or duties. You do dress-up.”
I blinked. “Dress-up?”
“Yes,” she said decisively. “Different dresses. Different designs. Different… drama!”
Before I could debate, she dashed forward and delivered the first outfit, a dusty pink dress with delicate details and dramatic sleeves. “This one is for breakfast,” she declared.
“For breakfast?”
“Yes. You must be dazzling while drinking your tea.”
I didn’t dare disagree.
Soon, I was directed, decorated, and dressed in outfit after outfit. A deep blue dress for “doing absolutely nothing,” a delightful yellow dress for “dancing in the lounge,” and a dramatically oversized hat that nearly dipped into my eyes while she declared, “This is for dignified sitting.”
We did a fashion display down the hallway, my daughter delivering commentary like a devoted designer.
“And here we have Mommy,” she announced, “in a dazzling daytime dress, designed for dramatic delight and delicious cuddles.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
At one point, she disappeared and returned with a dress that was… well… debatable. It was bright, daring, and decorated with what looked like every detail she could find—buttons, ribbons, even a dangling piece of something that might once have been a decoration.
“This,” she said softly, “is the most important dress.”
I looked down at it, then back at her. “Why?”
“Because I made it,” she said, suddenly a little shy. “Just for you.”
The room felt different then. Quieter. Deeper.
I slipped into the dress without a single doubt.
It didn’t fit perfectly. It drooped in some places and pulled in others. But she looked at me like I was dazzling.
“Do you like it?” she asked, her voice delicate now.
I knelt down, drawing her into a tight, warm hug. “I don’t just like it,” I said. “I deeply love it.”
She beamed, her whole face lighting up like a bright, delighted day.
We spent the rest of the morning drifting from dress to dress, dancing, dipping, and dissolving into giggles. No dishes. No deadlines. Just delight.
And as the day drew to a close, I realized something quietly, deeply important.
It wasn’t about the dresses.
It was about the devoted little designer who just wanted a day with me.
A day of laughter. A day of love.
A day where I didn’t have to do anything… except be her Mommy.

26/04/2026

Mother's Day Alphabet story comming May 2026. A few years in the making. Just touching up a bit. Letter C
Clever, curious, and completely committed, that’s my child.
She had clearly grown tired of my constant comment: “I’m too busy.”
Busy cooking. Busy cleaning. Busy clicking away on my computer. Busy, busy, busy.
So she created a clever plan.
On Mother’s Day morning, she came creeping into my room, carrying a carefully covered package, her cheeks glowing and her eyes full of cheerful excitement.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy!” she chirped, climbing close.
“Come here, cupcake,” I smiled, cuddling her close before she practically commanded, “Open it!”
Curious, I carefully peeled back the colourful wrapping…
Craft supplies.
Cardboard. Crayons. Clay. Cotton balls. Confetti. And, concerning, copious amounts of glitter.
I paused.
She beamed.
“It’s a craft kit!” she announced. “So we can create together!”
Create. Together.
I considered her for a moment, catching on quickly.
“So… this gift is for me?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said sweetly. “Because you’re always too busy. Now you have to sit with me.”
Clever girl.
I couldn’t complain. I couldn’t counter. I was completely caught.
“Well,” I sighed, smiling, “let’s commence crafting.”
Soon, the coffee table became a chaotic crafting corner. Supplies covered every corner. Glue clung to everything. Glitter coated the couch, the carpet… and somehow, the cat.
“Careful, Mommy!” she called as I cut a very crooked circle.
“I am careful,” I insisted.
“You’re cutting like a confused crab,” she commented.
I couldn’t even correct her.
She created confidently, while I struggled clumsily, following her constant commands.
“More glue!”
“Careful with the clay!”
“Choose better colours!”
We chatted constantly, about cartoons, cookies, classmates, and clouds shaped like cats.
And slowly… everything else faded.
The clock? Forgotten.
The chores? Cancelled.
The computer? Closed.
For once, I wasn’t counting tasks or chasing time.
I was just… there.
With her.
At one point, she looked up at me, calm and content.
“You’re not busy now,” she said softly.
I smiled, something warm settling in my chest.
“No,” I said gently. “I’m not.”
She grinned, wide and wonderful.
“Good,” she said. “Because this is better.”
And she was right.
Our crafts were crooked, colourful, and completely chaotic.
But her laughter? Clear.
Her smile? Constant.
Her happiness? Contagious.
That was the real gift.
Not the craft kit. Not the creations.
But the connection.
That Mother’s Day wasn’t calm or clean. It was cluttered, creative, and full of cheerful chaos.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t change a single, sparkly, sticky, special second.

25/04/2026

Did this a few years ago. Just fixing up a little bit before publishing the book. Dedicated to my eldest.
Abc Mother's day book.
Letter B
Back when my eldest was still my bold, busy, brilliantly boisterous five-year-old boy, back before brothers or sisters began barging into his business, we planned a big, blazing beach break.
The beginning was a battle.
“Bring my blue bucket.”
“Not that bucket—
, the better bucket.”
“The BIGGEST bucket!”
By the time we were done, I was bent beneath a back-breaking bundle of beach baggage, bags, blankets, buckets, balls, beverages, and a badly balanced boogie board that bumped into everything.
My boy? Barefoot, bouncing, and bursting with boundless bravery.
The beach was a bright, breezy, beautiful bay, with booming breakers and busy beach bodies basking in the blazing sun.
He paused.
Hands on hips.
Brows bunched.
“Hmm,” he muttered, like a bossy beach boss. “This is… a good beach.”
High praise.
Then came the bravery bit.
He marched boldly toward the bubbling breakers, chest puffed like he was about to battle the breakers itself.
He stepped in.
Stopped.
Slowly turned back to me.
“Mama… why is it so freezing?” he demanded, deeply bothered by this betrayal.
Before I could answer,
BACKWARD BOUNCING ESCAPE.
He blasted out of the water like it had bitten him, legs beating, making big dramatic breathing sounds.
“That water is badly behaved,” he announced, bundling himself into the blanket like a brave but betrayed beach boss.
But boredom doesn’t belong to five-year-old boys for long.
Soon, he was back in business, the Big Building Battle had begun.
“I’m building a BIG base,” he declared. “The BEST base. Bigger than everyone’s.”
I was promoted to builder’s buddy.
“Bring more sand!”
“No, better sand!”
“Build it BIGGER!”
At one point, he bent down, studied my work, and said, “That’s a bit broken.”
I fixed it. Immediately.
We built a bumpy but beloved base, part castle, part bunker, part… something slightly bizarre.
Then came the slap chips situation.
We bought a big, beautiful batch of hot, salty slap chips, steaming, soft, and basically begging to be bitten. We sat down, bags between us, both ready for a blissful beach bite.
He grabbed a chip.
I grabbed a chip.
Balance.
Then,
Out of absolutely bloody nowhere,
A bold, brazen, one-legged seagull came bouncing in.
Not flying.
Not gliding.
Bouncing.
Like a bossy little bandit with a personal mission.
Before we could blink,
BAM!
Beak in bag.
Chips everywhere.
My boy froze.
Chip halfway to his mouth.
Eyes big.
Brain buffering.
The seagull, this battle-hardened, one-legged bandit, balanced beautifully, grabbed a beak-full of chips, and bounced back like it had done this before. Because honestly… it probably had.
Silence.
Blink.
Blink.
Then,
“MAMA! THAT BIRD STOLE OUR CHIPS!”
His voice boomed across the beach like breaking news.
“But it only has ONE LEG!” he added, deeply baffled, as if that made the betrayal both worse and more impressive.
We watched as the bold little bandit bobbed away, proudly chewing, completely unbothered.
A nearby bystander burst out laughing. Another offered us backup chips, becoming an instant beloved beach benefactor.
My boy accepted with a very serious nod.
“Thank you for being brave,” he said again, like he was handing out bravery badges.
By the end of the day, we were both beautifully battered, bodies buried in sand, bags bursting, everything slightly sticky and smelling faintly of salt and slap chips.
He lay back on the blanket, blinking slowly at the big blue beyond.
“That was the best beach,” he mumbled.
I smiled, brushing sand from his brow.
Because between the badly behaved water, the bold building battle, and the one-legged slap chip bandit…
It truly was a big, busy, brilliantly bonkers beach day.

24/04/2026

Digital painting Attempt



22/04/2026

Finishing small details of a project a started a few years ago. I have improved tremendously since I created this piece. This is the mother's day I publish this book.

Little bit of sketching and a little bit of bird watching.
13/04/2026

Little bit of sketching and a little bit of bird watching.

Leaves. 20 years ago
03/04/2026

Leaves. 20 years ago

A page from a Children's book I recently illustrated. The Adventures of McKenzie and Muffin by Faye Patricia Naude.
17/01/2026

A page from a Children's book I recently illustrated. The Adventures of McKenzie and Muffin by Faye Patricia Naude.


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