Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

64. to the editor complaining about a previous article in which the editor had said he – X – has influenced my work. He was very angry and said some untrue things about my own beginnings. There followed a long season of anger, doubt, thirst for revenge on my part, of which I now am thoroughly ashamed. I berated myself, and tried to put it from me, but all to no purpose – always it returned, shorting my days, and ruining my nights eating at my peace of mind like a cancer. The thought crept in that Y’s failure to invite me might be in some way connected with the affair. All the joy for the most part went out of my trips to the Bridges; I worked mostly from duty and from a sort of desperation, always in the background was this affair, keeping me from doing my best.

     At last however, I am free; it has all fallen away from me like the passing of a cloud – the desire to “get even”, the wish to be “nasty” too was the worst; and it is gone; completely dissipated, I sit, and look at the yet uncompleted painting and know that this is all that matters. For the