A clear air day. Patches of white pithy dapple-like clouds in the blue. Morning fresh & cold. Noon sun warm. I hear katy-dids, the first for some days. Walk to work at noon was attended by a feeling of sultriness.
I find that in my dreams of my artistic ideal I tend to worry whether the world will recognize my art once I have attained any growth. I must be constantly fighting this. The world is not, cannot be an artist’s critic. He must be his own critic. If he is sane, he will have enough to do to to the mark set by his own conscience without bothering about anyone else. I must take another trip to the Dutchman’s. In town, thoughts of the world slip into my mind. Only must one work for the joy of working. THAT AND NOTHING ELSE.
Charles E Burchfield, Sept 17, 1914