Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, February 1, 1939

February 1, 1939 (Wednesday) –

     When out walking, I have a habit of going along with my head down, deep in thought (imaginary conversations or worries, or problems) and suddenly “coming to”, and looking around at the landscape and sky, I realize what unspeakable beauty I am missing.

     A fine morning – an undefined feeling of change is not exactly a “Vorfrühling” hint, but of something not quite winter.

     Out near French Rd, a large, male red dog (part chow I imagine) took exception to Spotty’s savage warnings to keep away, and attacked her.  Before any harm was done, I managed to give the dog a kick in the jaw that sent him away dazed and crestfallen.  I got a great satisfaction out of the incident, for I hate chows as much as I do police-dogs.

     Letter from Mrs. Jameson in reply to one I sent to her thanking her for the Brooklyn visit.  I must quote one passage:

Referring to the water-colors of mine they own:

     “It is such a privilege to have things around us that are an inspiration and pleasure, and more than this, we have real affection for them too.  Thank you, very much indeed, for putting these lovely expressions on paper, so that we can see and learn from their message of beauty”

     As gracious a thing as anyone has ever said about my art; and only a real spiritual aristocrat could have thought of it.

______

     Evening all of us to Shea’s Seneca to see the two “horror” pictures (Dracula & Frankenstein) (billed as the “horror show of the century.”)  The younger children in particular were anxious to see these melodramas.  The theatre was jammed with children; probably half of the audience was composed of children under 14.  The Dracula picture was first, and failed to create its mood.  The children knew this at once, and commenced making fun.  Some youngster eventually hit upon the idea of applauding Count Dracula whenever he appeared, and all took it up.  The din & confusion was terrific.  I was irritated at it, but had to admit they were right.

     For the Frankenstein picture, however, there was almost absolute silence, except for an occasional scream.  This was because they succeeded in this picture of creating the mood they wanted to.  The Frankenstein monster as played by Karloff was really a creation.

     Early in the play, Arthur, was completely carried away by the realism of it, so that it got beyond him.  I thought he was going to faint, and pulled him over to me, and he hid his face in my coat.  He soon recovered, and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the picture.  I had him sleep with me, for fear he might suffer a reaction from it, but he slept soundly.

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, February 1, 1939