Charles E. Burchfield Journals, August 22, 1942

Aug 22 -

            In the mail - card from rationing board that I will receive a B-book, entitling me to about 4 or 5 gals more a week, which insures that I can take some trips out sketching.

            Morning - on frames -

            P.M.  To the Allen Rd. country again. I had in mind the painting of a woods "cave", but yesterdays storm had cleared the air, and the sunlight, being more brilliant, seemed to change the effect I had noticed on Wednesday. I made a few ineffectual pencil studies and took a walk northwards along the woods edge, thru a pasture. There is a peculiar pleasure in walking over the hard close-cropped turf of an august pasture -

            I began to despair of doing any painting, but at late afternoon, going north on Center Rd, I stopped to examine some yellow flowers growing by the road. Here a woods, by the road, with dark interior, cut by white slits of sky thru the tree trunks, attracted me - a hedge of goldenrod added to the interest and altho I tired, I started work. My first attempt failed, and I started another one 0 Bright sunlight had prevailed when I started, but now a heavy blanket of cloud spread out from the west. The sinister mood of the woods was heightened thereby, but now rain threatened - I set up my umbrella, but I soon saw that a real storm was coming - the sky behind the woods grew deep blue-black, and the rumbling of thunder was incessant. I just had time to collect my materials without any order at all, and scurry into the car before the torrent commenced. The heavy rain clouds closing down swiftly toward the east, formed a rapidly shrinking (indecipherable), in which great dark thunderclouds on a light sky, seemed tossed every which way by the whim of some giant. - The whole solidly streaked by grey-violet rain; a low woods in the middle ground with deep shadows, and violet trunks.

            I noticed, by the road, that little grasshoppers had taken shelter on some [goldenrod]. Each one had clasped firmly the main stem, with his head up + under a curving leaf, touching it.

            After the main violence of the storm had subsided, I drove on a little way, to a point where I had an unhindered view to the northwest. An oatsfield, with shocks rich orange brown from the rain, a deep woods beyond - The mystery (still unexplained) why thunder after a storm has passed has such a different sound from that when a storm is coming.

           Tho it was getting dark, I felt I could still do a little more on my sketching so I returned, and started in again. I worked under great difficulties, - the afterstorm wind periodically scattered water from overhanging branches onto my paper; mesquitos pestered me unmercifully, and the fading light forced me to guess at what I was doing - But all these difficulties forced me to simplify and execute swiftly, in a manner which I would never have done had the conditions been more agreeable, or I had had more time. When I literally could not see my brush-strokes any more, I stopped.

            I drove home in contentment - Even if I had achieved nothing worthwhile, I had tried hard, and my conscience was at rest.