Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Feb 18, 1922 –; A thaw day –; I went sketching along the Canal; It is the kind of day that recalls muddy swamps, pussy willows & the smell of the earth fresh dug from hypaticas (sic) – ; ; Feb 21, 1922 –; A.M. Out to see Mr. Booz – He sat motionless in his chair with legs stretched out & head dropped in an attitude of dejection – He tried to press my hand but there was no strength in it – He said “I have no ambition today.” He indicated with his hand two paintings he had brought down –”I guess I’ll never finish them now.” One has a symbolical picture of an old man who had come to the end of his journey. Before him was an impassable sea in shadow, behind him a steep mountainside shutting off his retreat – the old man is looking off to some sunlit mountain tops, crying out to a superior power to save him –“If I don’t finish it, I’ll donate it to you & you can finish it for me –” I told him I would be proud of the opportunity – He said he wanted to have me out to supper before long, then his voice broke, “I wish you could work out here with me” he said later, “I do indeed” – when I went to go he clung to my hand like a child. ; ; Feb 21, 1922 –; A sugar sap day –; Brilliant sunshine turns the trees to RO & glittering white – a sharp tang to the air –