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.
Wednesday, January 22, 2020
The most pernicious bore of all is that writer on music who fancies he has achieved originality by running counter to the generally accepted estimate of a composer’s music.
Tuesday, January 21, 2020
You fool! Live one day at a time! Maybe you or some loved one will be sick tomorrow; maybe someone will come to interrupt you the day after; maybe you will die tonight; but you’ve got today. Live it!
Sunday, January 19, 2020
Workmen on their way home would cluster about the window, looking at the pictures with evident pleasure. It gave me a feeling of nostalgia and even regret, for long ago I lost contact with that kind of audience...
Saturday, January 18, 2020
P.M. A painting, from our stair-landing, of the view across Bengert’s garage. All afternoon – I was indeed “rusty” from my long idleness — It was hard to get started, and it was not until the last that anything like boldness or freedom came to me. The finished sketch … more
Friday, January 17, 2020
The January thaw.—Thick almost impenetrable fog—The pores of the earth seem to open and exude a chill dampness into the sodden air—
Thursday, January 16, 2020
It is simply part of my mental make up, that I am satisfied to express my own surroundings as nearly as possible in my own way.
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
At sundown a pale smooth cold blue – grey bank of cloud came up out of the west – it hung like there like a phantom – the houses seemed to shrink – at midnight a heavy snow is falling –
Tuesday, January 14, 2020
A dream, most of which evaporated with waking. Out there remains the memory of finding two pair of beautiful moths by the side of a dark green pool...
Monday, January 13, 2020
A week spent in reading up and relocating things in the studio — The carpenters finished up Tuesday at noon —
Sunday, January 12, 2020
A brilliant sun shone from a clear blue sky, in which there were just a few elongated cirrus cloud masses. Temp. about 20° - no wind.