To Bozzert’s Dam Sketching — A hot day — Bob-o-link on bending wheat — At one time utterly base thoughts took possession of me and a while later I made a most inspired sketch —
...the best back-yard in the world does not compensate for lack of unsupervised meadows, hollows & thickets—ponds, dells and unknown dusty roads.
The mediocre mind is eager to accept the impossible supernatural things, but scoffs at the most ordinary natural phenomena.
Fred, C&B& I to visit some of the caves for which that country is noted. Very beautiful and fantastic – (climbing stairs on last one, but thru solid rock – exhausted, singing Volga Boatman Song).
P.M. With W.W. to a bog he had told me about to find pitcher-plants. A rarely beautiful place, a new experience for me. The thick heavy moss was like springs under the feet...
I sit here by the windows of my little attic, almost too full of happiness to write about it – a warm moist breeze comes in at times, bringing with it a multitude of sounds –
That rhapsodic summer of 1915 – it was then that my art career began to bloom.
That rhapsodic summer of 1915 – it was then that my art career began to bloom.
Awake at 5:00 – weird yellow salmon cloud rhythms in sky– To Three trees — Sun boils forth yellow in a streaked drab sky – Meadowlarks silvery notes ascend with the light – remote cawing of crow; wind in a clattering poplar– roosters crowing from blue hazy distances, cows lowing– Silver haze all morning – Noon– wind from east – dappled sky– Afternoon dark, cool wind – evening sunburst – copious song of catbird– earth lit up with lurid yellow light from above – Robin sings lustily— At morning fierce wind-whistle in upper air—
I wish it were possible to do significant work without getting so “wrought-up”—In doing a subject like this in which memory and emotion play equal parts, nothing seems to go right, and I must start again and again; I finally reach a point when in a rage, I destroy all I have done so far,—and at that moment, unknown to myself, I have solved it.