Portrait of the Artist in the Act of Creating

This is a portrait of me creating. When I paint or write I feel like I divide myself and converse with myself and part of me loses words and part of me uses words and part of me looks at the rest of me and at what we're making and if I hold my hands just right and suspend disbelief I can later see what we created and wonder where it came from.

I'm not sure which end of the conversation is in control. Which is the puppet. I do know that part of me feels that all of me is better off when I can open up to the infinite possibilities of all of us. It's a weird place, and I can't always get there, and it's hard to stay for long.

But it feels like home.