Locked Pantry

Over the long weekend our home was filled with family and extended family. The best!

Then, they all left. The worst!

Worse yet, in my painful solitude I had in mind that I'd drown my sorrows by painting—forgetting that I'd dismantled my studio so my favorite granddaughters in the world could use that room as their bedroom.

Nothing was accessible! Everything was in a jumble!

No!

I felt like I was at a pantry door knowing nourishment was just inches away but locked up tight.

I was a starving artist after all, despite my claims in an earlier post that such a creature was a contradiction in terms!

Eventually, I pulled out my sketchbook and laid my hands on a pen.

Made two quick sketches.

Then turned my attention to stripping beds, deflating our air mattress and stuffing it back in a storage closet, starting a load of wash, and chipping away at reassembling my studio.

I will not use my blog to inform you of the curse words I pressed into service when I dropped a huge pile of collage materials and other paper all over the floor.