Listening to the Firebird I thought that some music is so inherently great that its quality would shine thru even a poor performance, whereas some music demands a perfect performance
Lunch in a little maple grove near the canyon – yellow violets among the dead leaves – overhead tall budless maples gleaming with cold sunlight... the wonder of this miracle is reborn.
A wonderfully typical April day –
We decided to go to Buffalo, and pay duty calls at various exhibitions.
April 9 – Friday –
My 50th birthday – I ought to feel it some sort of milestone, but do not —
Chickweed is in bloom – flower of my earliest childhood –
First wakening – blinding fast quarter moon in a black sky; next the red horizon fading upwards; and lastly the white sun flooding the frost-coated earth...
Reflecting on the impermanence of my art, I envied that of the composers, or writers, whose art never can deteriorate but is always good as long as the human race survives on the impermanence of my art.
This is the April Winter, when there is no direction nor source of light, it seems as if the weather eternal – When green grass + flowering elms, poplars + maples belie the snow.
Heavy rains. Wonderfully mild air – the whole earth opening up...