Intimate Friends...

The book is coming along fine, well, that is what I want to believe; keeping in mind that if I was working under the pressure of a deadline, the book would have been finished ages ago. Like many other creative minds that are not authors by profession, I find it hard to find the time to work on it as much as I really want. All things are not bad working this slow way, you have much more time for reflection and can reevalute your work as you grow old with it. I guess all aspiring authors go through this process, at least one time in their career. As they get better as storytellers, so does their craftsmanship automatically, and hopefully, when the painful experience of writing a first book is done, you (I) can start anew, much wiser and more efficient.

These past few months, I have been reading a lot of interesting material concerning Joséphine De Forget (Delacroix mistress), and from what I've gathered, they where as passionate about being lovers, as being close friends. Actually, I think their relationship was based upon mutual respect and love, not just sex. In many love affairs, there is always a party that "feels" more than the other; Eugène and Joséphine where equal in that regard. Delacroix needed Joséphine and she needed him, but that fact did not end his curiosity regarding other women. He had some other adventures, not as fulfilling, but equally important, to him at least.

Relationships in the past where as complicated as they are now, if not more. They certainly had many other functions than they have in our time. For example, it was regarded as normal in french society to take advantage of your intimate friends contacts. This early way of networking served many purposes; a way of life, I am certain - we would have hard to accept these days since we are careful of being used. Since we go about living our lives in a different way in our modern world, we expect; from ourselves - to find our own way without the help our friends. There is no doubt in my mind that we help anyone we can when they ask, but informally, we give our friends as much attention as we get from them. This "balance" is the only thing we know, and we stick to it.

Since many of Delacroix intimate friends died young, there where not that many people that he could turn to or "network" with, with utmost confidence or trust. With age he grew much more confident in himself and his art, something I believe was very important in his later life. After his nephew died, his sisters only son, he couldn't help feeling quite alone and old, and perhaps even abandoned. "J", removed some of his loneliness, but Delacroix was a complicated man, often he would refuse to meet her, not telling her directly, but going away to the countryside and later sending a mail where he stated that he had been ill.

"J", I am sure, could see through his lies, and she wrote back, very politely that although she missed him dearly, she hoped that he would feel better and come and see her. And see her Delacroix did, at least, as long as there was a need to. After they parted ways, I am sure he was sad to realize that he had once again lost a few years searching for something he would never have; a wife. All he got was the spirit of kindred spirit, but he knew that would never last.