Charles E. Burchfield in his own words Share Tweet

 
Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967), Winter Sun and Backyards, 1947; watercolor and charcoal on paper mounted on board, 26 ½ x 34¾ inches (Frame: 37 1/4 x 44 11/16 inches); Collection of the Burchfield Penney Art Center, Gift of Dr. Meyer H. and Ann S. Riwchun, 2000

Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967), Winter Sun and Backyards, 1947; watercolor and charcoal on paper mounted on board, 26 ½ x 34¾ inches (Frame: 37 1/4 x 44 11/16 inches); Collection of the Burchfield Penney Art Center, Gift of Dr. Meyer H. and Ann S. Riwchun, 2000

Charles Burchfield, , January 30, 1915

Friday, January 30, 2015

A.M. To “Brook” + Reding’s a Grove in search of water-cress.

A cold frosty morning - Even in the town, low bushes and lower parts of trees are filmed white in fine contrast to the sun-yellowed tops.

The steady wind of yesterday has hard the snow’s surface. Going down the meadow to the “Brook” weeds are bristled with fern like plinths of frost. The Brook was fairylike, - the black ice dotted with white bunches of fernilke frost. Here and there the water gave forth solitary warbles, like a blackbird’s liquid call.

Unsuccessful in my search for cress I proceed eastward. Near a fence I notice the snow surface asparkle with frost-plinths. I wondered a moment then a new breeze sifted thru the sapling growth on did the other side and a shower of frost came lightly down. Under the saplings them¬selves the snow was thickly coated, a maze of glitters. The weeds along the streams edge here were heavily coated white.

Along Canfield Road, Near North woods, I can just barely distinguish the distant Dutchman’s Hills thru the dense silver fog. Shrubby trees in North Woods white a wierd scene, with the taller trees around without frost.

Unsuccessful at Redinger’s Grove, I return. I wonder if the wind was created by the sunshine - it came so surely from the direction of the sun. The telegraph poles were atune, how else on such a morning? Every weed no matter how small, was surrounded by a patch of glittering frost-plinths, scattered from it by the wind.

I am glad that I love such things.

At afternoon the sun becomes an obscure glow and disappears in mist.

The remainder of the day spent in the house on account of my obstinate illness. Truly idleness is destructive.

Charles Burchfield, January 30, 1915 

 

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