The hum of a quiet space before work begins,
cold metal at my finger tips,
sorting through the mess of my bench.
Hesitation and anxeity to get started
I begin with a conversation with the materials,
with my tools, with my hands.
Materials have a way of talking back too,
in their submission or sometimes disobedience,
to being born into something new.
Thoughts wander with them, with their sounds -
grinding, hammering, snipping, blowing.
Poetry in sounds and then -
in silence.
Between them is where thinking happens,
the emotional weight of making,
where hands listen, and materials answer,
The work, a quiet dialogue -
between maker and material.