Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967), Sunburst, 1929-31; oil on canvas, 35 1/2 x 47 1/2 inches; Burchfield Penney Art Center, Gift of Charles Rand Penney, 1994
Charles Burchfield, Journals, January 7, 1916
Tuesday, January 7, 2020
In one of my imaginings today, I was making a trip thru the mountains enroute to the Pacific, and suddenly it came to my mind to imagine a thunderstorm in the mountains; at once I saw this.
It was raining a torrent; above the edge of a distant dark blue range of mountains, the sun was just setting; its light colored the rain so that the mountain was streaked with gold; this lasted even when the sun barely showed. At the moment the sun disappeared, the gold streaks vanished, and a livid streak of lightning shot across the range, as if the mountain had split revealing the flood of golden sky beyond, in the crevice.
A.M. for a walk. In fields before Bentley’s at sunrise. A filmy frost gives the earth a whitish look. Already, it seemed like spring. From somewhere east, I imagined I caught the notes of a song sparrow. It was possible I did, but more improbable. But I felt the same sensation as if I had. Thoreau said that after Dec 21, every which was not wintry, was like spring.
Charles E. Burchfield, January 7, 1916