A shower in the night – Cool and muggy with low–hanging clouds.
In studio studying pictures, & looking over my 1917 work of the season.
Studies of Poppies.
Off at 6:00 Eastern time. Sky obscured by mists. Sun shines dimly. All things in a grand harmony of mist and dew. Grass is white; trees sparkle in a scarcely noticeable breeze.
Arthur’s Birthday – we had put his presents on a chair by his bed so that he could see them when he woke up.
P.M. – the T.V. Broadcast [with Burchfield on-air] – an interesting experience in one way, but a terribly crude and “low-brow” performance otherwise.
There comes a point always, in painting a picture, when it becomes a prison; I long to get away from it, to be quit of it forever; yet the only release with a clean conscience must come from carrying it thru.
A bitter cold day- A.M. to Varysburg & Wethersfield- too cold to get much.
To be a strong courageous healthy spirit — delighting in the natural world, seeing it with the innocence of a child to whom each commonplace stone, blade of grass & sapling is a miracle. That is the secret of eternal youth, the secret that Beethoven had. Happy is the man who can go out into the fields & woods and hills, a free innocent being, unburdened by the world’s smartness & sophistication, its smug acceptance of fleshly indulgences, to whom life & nature are eternal mysteries.
Evening – M & H & children over for a visit. A gay hilarious time with the youngsters.
The evening is oppressively warm; this year’s Spring has developed too rapidly; a pall is over the sky; to the south a thunderstorm hangs motionless, spreading over the heavens in a huge gray expanse‒ Four fellows in blue suits and straw hats come next door, and sit on the porch steps.