The Bite Before the Bark - Part 4

It started with something simple—my dog, fourteen years ago.

Every day, the same look. That unwavering gaze while I ate, like every bite I took was somehow her business. It was sweet and funny—and also... not. It became a quiet pressure. A presence. And it made me wonder: how much of what we do for ourselves still feels observed, interrupted, or shared?

She was a human in a dog’s body. Or at least, she and I believed that. When those everyday looks stopped this April, I began reflecting on how she was sent to me as a teacher. And I felt called to paint something before you see it—something born from her presence, and her absence.

The painting “The Bite Before Bark” came out of our small, daily rituals around food. But as I sat with the idea, it began to shift. The setting turned surreal: a kind of junk food junction, a world of processed distractions, flickering lights, and invisible temptations. In the middle of it all, the woman—myself—reaches for an apple. A small act of choosing something nourishing. Something intentional. Something quiet in a loud world.

The dog/her leans in—not maliciously, just instinctively. Wanting to taste what isn’t hers. And suddenly, it’s not just about food. It’s about boundaries. About the connection. About how hard it is to do something good for yourself—even something small—without being tugged at, interrupted, or silently questioned.

There’s no blame here. Only reflection. Even the healthiest choice can carry tension. Even our deepest connections can hold resistance. The woman and the dog love each other deeply. But love doesn’t always come without a bite.

This painting is part of my upcoming Connection collection, which will be released in June. To see it, join the waitlist here.

Like all the works in this series, it tells a quiet story—one that’s not spoken, but felt.