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.