Lunch with Minotaur - repeated here
In the past, not having the emotional equipment
to deflect it / it ran through me.
The painted faces accuse and mock but no longer damage. In this particular illusion, the labyrinth turned ware house is set for a late night critique. Painted faces all around and torches everywhere. A nudging voice asks if I brought a sack lunch.
I got that it would be a very long trial.
There is no satisfaction. Only a glorious dissatisfaction. There is no final touch that makes a work perfect. It will always remain perfectly and clearly unfinished. It is that absolute motivation that keeps one moving on.