As I near the end of this drawing, adding the final layer of intricate detail to the stone and algae-like elements, I reflect. I reconsider my layers of abstracted material and how they interact, how the pooled paint is so different from the shaded transparent layers, the paper's ability to hold in some instances and crumble in others. This internal conversation about material is interesting: it is tied to a code of 'correctness' built by historic visual art practices and my experience in a visual world. I know when it is working, and I know the practical limitations of myself, the physical properties of production, and how much an image can say. The challenging part of the process is the conceptual validation. In the beginning, it is my trust in the idea that spurs production, inspiring me to dramatically clean my studio table and count brushes. As the layers deepen, my attachment moves more towards the material, and what the work wants. I become half-automatic in my reactions and responses, which, while comforting, adds genuine distance between my intention and my product. I am sure this feeling is common; the sculpture who realizes his work on paper, then sends it to the fabricator to have it put together, but how does one resolve the separation? Is it a matter of acceptance and trust? Is that a helpful place to be producing from?