In many cases, you love the things you’ve made, at least at the time you’re in the process. These are your children, so how could you not? Not just individual pieces, either, but within any one work there are elements you could consider as separate entities, and you love them. There are just some things, now and then, some children who are brats.
These jerks are full of spirit, but in ways you don’t want. They’re too bold or too sassy or too angry or too difficult in their own way.
But we have to love them anyway, in the ways we would love a kid we’d brought into the world, even though they tire us, and frustrate us. The ideas and concepts we put out there that cause us problems and exhaust our tolerance are our troubled kids. We don’t abandon them—necessarily . . . there are some metaphorical difference, of course—we try to figure out what’s going wrong for them, to help them figure out where and what they need to be. We love them because they’re ours, and they can put the rest of our lives and work into perspective, to torture the metaphor just a bit.
Love those problems just as much and see if you can’t adjust to the things they’re showing you.