Charles E. Burchfield in his own words
From the age of seventeen until the end of his life, American watercolor painter Charles E. Burchfield wrote in journals that chronicled his artistic and intellectual development. These journals reveal much about his unique vision, love of nature and gift for writing. Burchfield’s passion for writing could not be contained in the journals alone. Throughout his career, his moods, ideas and personal critiques were also recorded on thousands of scraps of paper and studies for paintings as well as in letters to family, friends and colleagues. His complex and layered visual language points to a complex human being. The inner triumphs, struggles and ambitions of his career are reflected and recorded in his own words and serve as an inspiration for all.
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Friday, August 26, 2016
It is terrible to carry one’s moral afflictions alone: To have a problem which you can divulge to no one; not even the ones nearest and dearest (to these least of all) There is no more tragic loneliness than this.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Wakeful all night – fantastic dreams.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Summer attains its greatest dignity & power in August. In this dignity & power exist simultaneously a sinister quality, and a deeply mystical one.
Monday, August 22, 2016
"By evening the air was cleared; the clouds were scattered by a cold hard wind. The Sunset was beautiful and was like unto one in the wintertime..."
Sunday, August 21, 2016
From Little Valley we took the back road up to East Otto – at a turn in the road a large “stand” of thoroughwort and tall yellow cone-flower attracted us and we stopped.
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Friday, August 19, 2016
All day on Sphinx & Milky Way — In the morning it went slow, but by afternoon, ideas began to flow, & I succeeded in painting in the moth, the nicotiana, & other minor parts. The work went well.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
To the by-road on the Attica-Varysburg road, leading east at the school-house- wandering over hills & woods. Finding & picking my first real bouquet of hepaticas.
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
If all musical sounds were to be forever silenced – orchestras, binds, human voices, birds & insects - and I were allowed to retain one sound to cheer me, I would ask that the wind might play in the tree-tops.