Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967), Song of Spring, 1946; watercolor on paper, 24 5/8 x 28 3/4 inches; Private Collection
Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, April 8, 1915
Monday, April 8, 2019
First wakening – blinding last quarter moon in a black sky; next the red horizon fading upwards; and lastly the white sun flooding the frost-coated earth.
Thru Park: The melted frost in the frothy sun, sparkles and turn the jagged turf whitish; robins are the songsters
Returning from school, the brilliant morning sunshine flooding the trees which front me, I think how the day should be spent afield. Again,I long for absolute solitude. A cardinal resounds in the sun-shot woods; I espy him topping a remote tree; burning against the blue even at that distance. I hear a new note – Peer – Peer – Peer – Pr – Pr Pr – Ree – Pre pr – How the black trees shoot upwards against the white horizon –
At work all day on a poster. Purple grackles glistening on the lawn – sinewy blue necks and gold-bronze backs – one of the most graceful birds we have. There is something suggestive of Oriental passion dancing about them; or of the silky beauty of a snake
Walk to work – the grass is commencing to bristle but is not fresh; the season is too dry yet for a green spring – we went without Equinoctial storms.
Evening to Piano Recital by Copeland with HA. I realized tonight that music is one of the necessities – without it for several weeks, I was restless and ill at ease -; either music or to be afield.
Charles E. Burchfield, April 8, 1915