Consumed.

My process holds equal weight as my outcome.

My outcome is often consumed by others.

My process is often consumed by me.

Or is it that my process is the one consuming me?

I am unbothered by life's burdens when my paintbrush touches the paper.

Yet, the burdens unfold as my process reveals itself.

No line, mark, or form can emerge without consuming me.

But, the line, mark, and form are what unties me.

We dance. We push and pull. She reveals herself slowly.

She reminds me that I am in control.

But am I? As the process consumes me.

(Works in progress.)