On stepping away

It was upon stepping away to about six or seven feet from the drawing that both its voice and intent, or is invocation, became something concrete, or something approaching concrete by letting its content initiate something outside of its boundaries, less focused on its own making and its sense of hermetic fascination. The drawings coalesced into a painterly organization of form, not organized in a way that would initially bespeak productivity (in that they were arranged this way to produce something through their use), but if I can recall in a detached enough fashion, seemed to be messes in conflict or in contrast to, or idling gaseously over, a more Cartesian absolute, which in turn was corrupted by the mess or sometimes by a virus of its own, as if even the dependability of reference points that could transpose this mess into our world through analogy of scale or measure was at risk. Why?