Jacob Lawrence, Untitled [Worker With Tools] (1997)

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Interlude. The knowledge that, while your life is in a transitory place, you're nevertheless achieving things that are important to you, for instance, the breakthrough stylistic experiments that leave you happy and, sometimes, content.

Through the summer as my work matured I found myself more and more elated, more and more afire with the sense that I was achieving more than merely something of merit. It was myself I was achieving.

I've never been more happy than in that period. That it ended in such pain seems almost inevitable, as though Life were seeking balance.

Achievement. Fulfillment, happiness. Yet always the sense of inner incompletion, as though a part of you has drifted away, to what purpose you can't say, to what end you can only vaguely apprehend, sometimes with expectation, sometimes with foreboding, never with anything like certainty. As though Life were saving up its energy for something big.

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