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.
This one sentence I have been thinking about much “Your notion of artistic creation is as blasphemous as your notion of the contemplative life. You should not emulate God, not duplicate creation, but stay on earth and beautify.”
A cold snow-flurry day. It was a mixture of wind snowflakes and sunshine. The fluffy snow lies lightly on the ice. All morning the air was white. I went out on the porch and examined the little star- shaped flakes.
The oak-leaf—I don’t know when I first noticed the oakleaf in Cottrell’s yard—but I think it was during a snowstorm in early November—