Nature should be loved purely for her own sake. My ideal of painting is to catch the beauties of nature for their own sake not as clothes for our morals & “soul sensations” which may be the degeneracy of the age.
Last night the moon hazed by snow mist, was surrounded by a wierd (sic) circle, the lower half of which was lost in the density of the horizon - seemingly then like a rainbow, caused by moonlight striking snow!
A bright sunny day, temperature in the 20s – I found Bertha already up, as she had had difficulty sleeping.
After breakfast, to the studio. Mounted some more drawings.
During our lunch we watched the Tournament of Roses Parade. Bertha went to sleep during the latter part of it, and not much wonder considering the monotony of bizarre “floats”
The night was wonderful. Proof of its beauty may be seen in the fact that people who generally see no beauty in nature exclaimed about the night. It takes an unusual occurrence to arouse them.
I am going to buy a book, and write in it various headings, and at times I will open it and whatever the heading suggests to me there will I write the thought.
A nice letter form Frank about the picture we gave them. News that Cunningham had sent a check for “November Landscape” in Nov. which had never shown up.
A.M. To Buffalo on various errands, The day was clear and sunshiny. In particular – to Albright Gallery to sign two early watercolors for the January show or opening of the new Knox room of contemporary art ...
Mr. Herbein said he had about given me up, but Mrs. Herbein said she was sure I was “kid” enough to want to be out in the storm.; When I left, the storm seemed even milder. With my arms full of packages, the going was hard.
Oh the agony of longing for what is irrevocably past – I unpacked some of the pictures that were sent down, this evening – before I went in the shop I had paused to look at the skies – to the east the December moon partially concealed by vague mists & wispy clouds that somehow expressed the torment of my mind...
Another bad siege with the asthma and bronchitis— Before I became entirely helpless, I managed to make a painting of the Christmas Tree – It was an ordeal, but I had determined it had to be done. Everyone agreed that it did not look like the work of either a sick or an old man.