Map of Senonches Photo Gallery
It was past nine and though he had been drinking, he was surprisingly sober. He had come to the studio to work out some of his tension, but tonight his hands felt sterile, unable to sculpt, unable to create life from clay. He tried several times to manipulate the cold, malleable substance into a pleasing form, but no matter how hard he tried, it came out as an ugly, grotesque blob. It scared him and so he left it alone. Back in that black, irrational part of his mind, Jonathan was convinced that Becca had taken possession of his clay, just as she had taken possession of his soul. She had stripped him of his talent, just as she had stripped him of his manhood and had willed that he be as impotent in his art as she had made him in their bed. It was as if he had stepped back in time, standing on a loading dock counting cartons as they were heaved onto trucks. At first, he tried to be a part of the company, he tried to be innovative. He investigated new machinery and new, more efficient ways to increase production.
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