Orpheus and Writing

I'm currently writing an essay (or another iteration or part of an essay) that defines the scope and essence of my thesis project. So I am thinking about where we locate (that is both place and find) the meaning of works. Yesterday in my discussion group we were talking about Skinner, and his insistence on 'intentionality' being the fount of meaning. But that runs contradictorily to the dictum I read yesterday too, and which seems true to me:

the writer is in a profound sense ignorant of the centre towards which his work tends and the feeling of having attained it is always illusory. [Simon Critchley, Very Little... Almost Nothing]

The writer, Critchley recounts from Blanchot, is like Orpheus, and his work or his meaning is Eurydice. He is constantly, deeply and passionately tempted to turn and look at her, even knowing that he will lose her in the moment that he does so. In other words, I want to know the meaning of my work, my project - the centre towards which it tends - and my supervisor kind of wants to know that too; but perhaps it would be better not to pay too much attention to that; any centre I thought I identified would be only an illusory one anyway.