Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

It is pleasant to lie in bed and watch these winter dawns. The scene east of here is one of extraordinary beauty it seems to me -- Smeja’s Pine tree is now quite large, and dominates the northern sector, while the great elm and the creek fill the southern. Thru the center runs Clintons St. with its sharp bend to the right at East Ave. Cars of workers on their way to work, with their blinking lights and the 7:00 o’clock bus, are exciting, with the glow of approaching day in the sky above; the whole landscape below still shrouded in darkness, the tree deep indigo.
Mar. 29- 1944 Wed.
A disturbed frame of mind seems to preclude any indication to write in this journal. A winter of a multitude of confusing little events, worries, etc. & combined with an almost terrifying, cessation of the painting impulse. I need in Rimsky-Korsakov’s biography (which happily I was able to get to New York recently in a new revised edition) that he used the time of sterility to write the story of his career. I wished what I were able to do likewise, but thinking about it, I feel that I could not adequately write my story unless I were in a creative mood. And when suck a renewal of spirit is granted me by my creator, then it seems more important to paint. So will the story be written? I already have plans in the period of my life up to coming to Buffalo, which I want to call