Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

I am feeling over the complete loss of this past autumn. First the too long drawn out labor on my frames, then the dull interim between finishing them and New York which I attempted to fill in with re-arranging the studio, then the trip itself to New York, finally my illness – capped by an unusually early settling down of real winter – all have combined to make a complete void of this year’s autumn – I see in my minds eye the various delights of the pageant of autumn as things remembered from a beautiful dream; and there is a feeling of intense frustration and loss, that seems unbearable. Not only that, but the various pictures I have started of this season, haunt me, and I know they must stand idle for another year – another year – there may not be another year – and if there is, it too may bring its own disturbances and duties, that will cause me to say again – well, in another year –“ Dec. 21 – (Mon.) – A Dream: Bertha Art and I out in the country – an unknown valley to the Southeast – It is Mid-December but without any snow – We are driving south in the car, and have just came to a Y in the road. The right fork leads up over a hill and back home – the left runs S.E. around the edge the northern end of a long lake – After discussing which turn we take, I