A. M. – a wonderful heavy frost – even the tops of trees coated thickly –
P.M.- To New Albany sketching
Albany — a strange combination. Its red chimneys — the noisy brook below recalling old-time before Spring sensations — a windmill’s strident squeak at regular intervals, which a hog answered by more hideous squeals from somebody’s front yard — the old childhood sensation of North — of sad late summer afternoons — afar to the purple east a train rumbles deeply –
Home in the violet dusk by the Egypt road – The Star -
Competition! There is only one perfection and that is God. The great man never competes, he merely strives to approach the Perfect.
I am happy to be in my backyard and studio, studying pictures, working on some, planning others—It is good to be isolated from the world—(art, political or social).
A light snow in the night all things covered with white – a cold faraway winter sunrise –
Late Autumn sunlight falls aslant the side of an old house, making the putty along the window ledge glittering white...
"...Early in morning, a terrific hailstorm startles us – (deafening roar, strange black houses) lightening and thunder –..."
P.M. Walk out R.R. to beyond French Rd. and back across fields to East Ave. The wind was delightful.
Have I a soul? In so far as I am in tune with the harmonious music color and rhythm of nature losing which my soul (so called) is lost, tho I live on externally.
Rain ceases at noon and afternoon is cold and windy with white-rifted cloud-rolls tearing out the Northern Lake. I could not concentrate my mind on my work.
Evening B & I to Central Station to get Times & Newsweek. Nothing in neither one (by nothing, I mean nothing about my exhibit!)