Watermelon Sorbet - Eté 2006

Watermelon sorbet. Sweetness is pouring down on me and entering my body. I get more tender. And soft. I have this epiphany where I'm bathed in pink light (that is the colour of my icecream) and I understand that I ought to change. Stop cursing. It's a dirty habit. It spoils the beauty of a fine lady when she says “fucking” or “goddamn”. There are other ways to draw attention. Anyway, this attention, I don't really need it or deserve it. I'm not a sufferer and shouldn't be allowed to be one. There is enough misery in the world, I don't need to pour my additional tears on top of it. It's pointless. It's a fraud. I'm sorry for what I did, for who I've been, for what I said. I lacked the humility. I'm not humble enough. I should learn to be humble.

I can see Catherine on the chevalet. I'm doing her portrait. I don't identify with her. Shouldn't do that. It's causing unnecessary damage. I can allow myself to be haunted by her, but this shouldn't alter my attitude or my nature. This shouldn't prevent me from eating an icecream cone. No matter where I am. Even if I am in Siena.

I look at the world, now, and I'm safe out here. I'm not part of the picture. I marvel at the sight of these beautiful and lovely girls. They're moving. I wish I had a friend to laugh and dance with, but then, bitterly, I remember that I'm alone and that I'm sick somehow. My body's frozen. Or my soul is. Or both, I can't tell. Somehow it's gonna melt. And this I know.