I want the paintings to be finished. I want this stupid season to end. I hate this feeling on incompleteness and uncertainty and fear and isolation. What the heck, God? Why won’t you fix this? What are you doing, Sir? Hello?
I haven’t finished a single painting this summer. I started a few and continued a few, but none of them are finished. So many layers—so many paintings painted over because the previous painting didn’t work out. It’s a whirlwind when you start over on top of an old painting. Da Vinci worked on the Mona Lisa for four years and never finished it. I wish I had that kind of time. Actually no that’s overwhelming. I want all of my paintings to be over by now. I just want them to be done. I want to know how they turn out, and I want to feel freaking comfortable again. I want to go back to the security of knowing that everyone has a place in the world and it is all going to be ok and change is not looming just around the corner. I hate this. We all do. I have it the easiest, actually. I get to escape and pretend that everything is great. How am I supposed to leave all of these unfinished paintings behind? What are they going to do when they are left here in the same condition they’ve been in since December? Actually no, they’re getting worse. They’re deteriorating.
I can’t just leave here and watch from afar as my paintings deteriorate and get kicked out of their house. I hate watching them go through this. Lord, why are you doing this to them? Help them please. Please. Please make it stop. Haven’t we learned our lesson yet? Why won’t you let them thrive? I hate this waiting game. I don’t understand what you’re doing, or what we’re supposed to see. So would you please make it obvious?
My paintings’ lives are incomplete right now. It’s so so so so sad.