Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, April 15, 1947

Out painting. 

Altho it is a fine day, cool & sunny, I cannot get into the mood for painting. Having in mind a special idea, I cannot find the right scene as a vehicle for carrying it out. 

Stop just north of Springville to make studies of cottonwood in bloom for “Swamp-Fire”—Discover here that I had forgotten water. 

Stop at Hardware in Springville for two maple syrup cans & fill them with water there. 

Take the Otto Cattaraugus road. Stop by a stream. The first feeling of the beauty of the day—a songsparrow and a noisy stream—Thousands of small water-rounded rocks. They give me the same agonizing feeling that “wild sweet-peas” and “dried bean-pods” evoke. 

At Cattaraugus I parked by the rail-road and walked northward a bit on the it, but turn back as nothing interesting turns up.

North and toward Gowanda on Route 18—Stop by a wooded hollow to eat my lunch. The brook—hepaticas—dappled clouds dim the sun’s light.

Thru Gowanda and east on the Zoar Valley Road. When I reached the country where I painted the “Snow Remnants” I realized my quest was at an end. Here I would spend the day. Almost at once I found the subject I wanted in the huge wood extending along the north side of the road. I was soon at work, and did not stop until after six.

A short exploration southbound, then after getting two baskets of rotten hemlock wood, I drove out to the brow of the plateau facing westbound to eat my evening lunch. The sun had set, and great vague fan-shaped streamers of mist were spreading upward from the S.W. foreboding a rainy tomorrow. The calls of spring-peepers from all sides. A great loneliness which was almost unbearable. I left for home at last dusk.

When I got home B had gone to bed, but got up see my picture. She and C liked it very much. The Boston Symphony on. They played Strauss’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra”—it had moments of ravishing beauty, and long passages of dull material, and also moments of in—comprehensible antics. It is an uneven work.

In bed, I seemed to be burning up, mentally and physically.

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, April 15, 1947