Rust - furrows in the field, rain in the sky

Rust is part of things, it's not extraneous, it's not foreign. A piece is not affected by rust: it oxidizes, it is rusty. We are our mutation, our pain, aging, malaise, panic, anxieties, desires and sighs.
I chose pencils, precise tools, unaccustomed to the unexpected because they are like people: we are all constantly trying to organize and manage, we try to have everything under control.
But then comes life.
When rust found me I wanted to let her have the field: she's uncontrolled, spiteful, she needs her time, there's nothing you can do but wait.
It's like life: you do everything to make it go as you plan but she has her own itinerary and there's not much you can do about it.
Specifically, this work investigates that inner pain that can only be silenced by self-inflicted physical pain.