I've never seen things in a linear fashion. I have to pull back, circle the task at hand as if it is prey, and then pounce on it sort of haphazardly.
There is repetition of what resembles a cycle, but it varies enough to avoid the classification. Irregularity makes analysis difficult. The process leaves me, its host, pricked with anxiety and the feeling someone else is pulling the strings.
Logical steps or equal sections are not visible to me before I take a nice long look at the whole. I'll zoom in quickly for a detail, losing focus on the way, pull back through the blur, and reach the whole again. Necessary patches of blank quiet space are randomly pressed into the process. Mealtimes and bedtimes are sometimes forgotten. There can be waking in the fog of night with a plan. Some groggy mornings, some good.
I'll turn it inside out, then back to right. I'll hang it outside to absorb the sun and allow the breeze to move through it. Give it a curt shake, as with a giant bed sheet, just to rid it of any dust that might have settled. Look at it with a tilted head, a squint. Then it is done.
And I cannot know if it is what others will desire, only that it is done, and is somehow a portrait of who I am at this moment in my life.