"Sunrise" (unfinished) - K.W. 2006
"All of a sudden, with the perfect clarity provided by half a bottle of Chianti, I can appreciate the whole anatomy of my loneliness. I finished my painting and I feel lost, empty. An orphan.
While I was painting it, every brush stroke had a story, every highlight, every shadow had a complicated but familiar identity... now, even now, and I finished the painting only this morning, everything is lost, confused in the harmonious whole of the finished picture, and everything looks farther away, colder, and I am immensely alone, separate, away from his skin and his life, on the wrong side of the frame... until this morning, I was there with him, in the painting, and without me, he would not have lived, all the shadows, all the highlights, all his destiny was in my hands, without me, he would have never lived, the painting breathed my breath, if I had died yesterday it would have died with me, if I died now, the painting would remain... our lives are not bound anymore.
I finished "Sharp Edge" and lost it.
I finished "Sharp Edge" and I will never LIVE it again.
I finished "Sharp Edge" and I am alone, alone, alone."
(From my journal, 2005)
I always have a terrific bout of depression whenever I finish any really heartfelt creative project, and I still have not quite recovered from finishing my last story ("Head-shy").
I feel as if my characters kicked me out of their world, ok, thank you, we don't need you anymore now, go play somewhere else. Assholes.