Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

the urge to go on with it some more. The very fact that there seems little chance of selling pictures until the war is over seems to be a release to me, and I feel free to work on a picture like this, which would neither, even in normal times, increase my standing with the critics, or [sic] find a purchaser. Since no pictures of any kind are being bought, I might as well paint entirely for myself. This is what an artist ought to do under any circumstances, but it is not as easy as it sounds.
I feel that my best, most original work is in the field of nature, the change of seasons, and weather; yet the art world generally does not recognize this
Mar. 30 – Tues.
A.M. Take Martha to dentist again. On way home stop to get a few groceries at Loblaws.
It is warmer, and raining torrents –
Dawdling in studio most of day – Inaction and lassitude have me in their grip; I cannot decide to do anything.
Reading in Audubon’s life & journals. An amazing – and wholly enviable man.
Song sparrows are the most common singers now. At any time of the day, cold, rain, or sunshine, these song may be heard. It fills me with intangible yearning. It is an elemental sound, and has in it the secret of drippings slate banks, cotton-wood saplings, and the deep mystery of black hollows to the north.