Viewing page 50 of 69

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

Sept 4 1939.

  Tonight I return to Kauai.

  The summer has been - first stimulating and sparkling, then confusing, burdening, then unsatisfying.  Today I think of the recent days.  War has come. I saw the first red headline WAR from a bus on Lilika Street.  Yesterday the great irrelevancy of people and what happens to people came to me like a strange + ridiculous realization.  Last night I went to see "Goodbye Mr. Chips."  ""[[strikethrough]] "You [[/strikethrough]] If you [[strikethrough]] have [[/strikethrough]] believe in yourself, you can go as far as you dream."  Sentimental stupidity, yet the entire show made me realize how far from my course I am.  Why should I be a teacher when I find none of the elation + happiness in the progression that the life of a true artist would give me?

  And yet at times - especially when in Honolulu, among the sophisticates, I am a bit suspicious of the fundamental soundness of landscape painting - sound to me, certainly, but sound [[strikethrough]] to the [[/strikethrough]] in relation to the thought of the day?

  And then I would suddenly regain an overwhelming sense of faith when I would think in units of time greater than the usual.  The geologist, who sees a day of a thousand years.  The astronomer, who sees beyond man's years, I claim for my circle of friends.

  I paint everyday.  If I am not painting through inspiration, I shall paint for development of technique.  (Remember how Ben Norris saves every day for painting) - Remember how Madge Tennent follows a set schedule to the minute.  I must prepare for [[strikethrough]] the Aca [[/strikethrough]] a one-man show at the Academy.  Must prepare for New York.

  I will not let anything alter my course.  I am above all a landscape painter, who paints [[strikethrough]] to express his [[/strikethrough]] because he is so moved by the loneliness and grandeur of his islands.