The Process

By: Bryan Rye

You see the end, the whole.  Look deeper

And imagine with me.  There is the stretched

Canvas, carefully prepared.  There the first,

Second, maybe eighth attempt at beginning.

Lines that were added, removed, extended, shortened.

Beyond that was pacing, staring and adjusting.

Music or silence may have reigned alternately.

Electric or strings, lyrical or tumultuous.

This did not happen all at once, there

Was time, meals, sunsets, sunrises.

There were phone calls in the midst

Of spattered paint and sanded surface.

Finally there was wood, metal, and wire,

Worked with precision and artistry.

All this one woman did, all for this

Work that is now before your eyes.

It was her mouth that named it,

Her smile that encouraged it.  Her

Frown that reproved it, driving it

To excellence.  This is the process.