Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

November 5-1938-; During the years of his greatest painting activity, Delacroix wrote little if anything in his journal. This is easily understood when a painter is busy at his work, he has little inclination to write – in fact, writing in a journal of course is self-expression, and really only a spiritual need when the painting impulse is low.; Thus I have found little or nothing to say about my several sketching trips of the last two weeks, excursions filled with hard work and innumerable impressions. The natural effects in the country this fall are of such unusual beauty that I have the frantic feeling I had in my youth; when I felt that I simply must record everything I saw from day to day.; Wednesday & Thursday I was sketching in the country below Machias. The weather is unusual this fall, had on these two days, reached such an incredible perfection that everything seemed like a magical dream. [According to the weather bureau, no such Fall as this has occurred since records have been kept]. On Wednesday, before I found my subject, I ate lunch by the roadside, sitting on a grassy bank facing the sun. The intense heat of the sun produced in my (sic) a languor that was delightful. In the grass nearby grasshopper “clickered” and crickets chirped – or kreeked.; While I was painting I was too warm even in my shirtsleeves. ; At night when I came home, B&I for walk. Gibbous moon in a clear sky. I was all on fire, and found myself talking incessantly. Everywhere I saw pictorial ideas. Among our ramblings we included a stroll into the Lutheran cemetery on