Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

79. May 8, 1935 – P.M.

Arthur & I to the Creek Rd. beyond E. Elma – a delightful afternoon – how could it be otherwise with a talkative active little boy, running here & there thru the woods, exclaiming, and picking flowers, and asking a thousand questions? This long wooded hill, with its dusky pine retreats, and wealth of flowers is forever hallowed by his eager tread.

May 9, 1935 -

A warm windy day - languor and aimlessness hold me powerless. A thought on my walk: an artist’s worth is determined by whether he can create under trying circumstances – and after all, what is wrong? There is no real reason for these fits of melancholy and self-doubt that assail me and render me impotent – everything is all right, I am alive and well, and have leisure to create – what then, is the matter with me? On my return from my walk I play Opus 131 of Beethoven – it seemed more beautiful & powerful to me than ever.