A worrying few days as the senior pooch we have been looking after started refusing food, including the ham wrapped meds he needs to take.
I am not kidding, I did barely anything on Saturday other than sit and watch him breathing, praying that I wasn’t going to be faced with a horrible situation.
I mean I have to give them a dog when they return from holiday.
As things progressed, it became obvious he had an upset tummy, and as that, shall we say, passed through him, things began to improve. First with eating food, and now back to accepting meds.
Feeling somewhat less stressed about my charge, I managed to push myself to pick up a paint brush. I moved an easel downstairs, and set up a space, so it would be weird if I didn’t use it at all.
Now, I have this painting that I started last year, a painting of the very dog that has been the focus of my mostly internal drama this week.
The painting has been languishing in the unfinished stack, mostly because I got tight with it, and didn’t like what I had done. In other words, it’s in an ugly stage, and I’ve lost the confidence to bring it back to the way I want it.
Here’s the painting:
I want to finish it, but there’s a block now, so I have to get out of my own way to do that.
So today I grabbed one if my Shitty Brushes, and a cheap sketchbook with a gessoed page, and I just played with loose sketching. It felt good to be painting again, because I haven’t touched a brush for a short age, and it feels good to be tackling this project, albeit from a different angle.
Til the morn,
Suzanne
135/200
Thrummie Bizzum 
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