Viewing page 26 of 134

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

The MacDowell Colony
Place D'Omicron
Peterborough, N.H.
December 19, 1957

Dear Nell Blaineerooney---

I just last night sent off a hurried night letter to Eliz accepting her invitation to Yaddoland from January 10th to February 21st. I hope it didn't get sent to her too late, as her letter to me (which was sent to 8 Bank Street while I was here) asked for a 10-day [[strikethrough]] replay [[/strikethrough]] reply. Yesterday was the 11th [[strikethrough]] of [[/strikethrough]] or 12th day. In any event, I am sending her another note today re-reaffirming my acceptance and, incidentally, asking for East House Studio if it is available. One of the reasons for this is that E.H. Studio has a shower. Cogent reason, what?

(If I recall correctly, you're going to be there until January 17th, right?) 

Well, to bring you briefly up to date (though I have a hunch you know pretty much everything I have to relate-- the grapevine system between the colonies is a phenomenon to be studied) I arrived here the night of December 9th, & 7:15 P.M. after a long, cold big blue Volkswagon supreme. Started out 8:30 in the AM, but took out a very enjoyable 2 hours around lunchtime to visit Mel Powell and Martha Scott (yes, he is married to her) in New Canaan. A warm fireplace and a good dinner [[strikethrough]] was [[/strikethrough]] waiting for me here, as were Glo, Helen Carlisle, Tom D., Butler Ugh, Bob Eschoo--a nice guy, painter, Teng Chou--also nice-- you met him briefly at Y., James Baldwin the writer--probably nice but Butler has latched himself onto him something fearful, Ed Fields--poet, Kimball Placcus--working on a biography of Edgar Lee Masters for the past ten or so years, a rubbery personality who seems to be drunk 20 out of 24 hours. Glo, Helen, [[strikethrough]] Bob [[/strikethrough]] left last Saturday and we are now seven of us with more men expected, no ladies. Imagine yourself 12 Angry Men. Fortunately el Butler departs Jan 1. Everyone is over at Pan's Cottage 'cepting me and I have a lovely room in the back of the Eaves, first floor, fireplace--which I light evvery [[every]] night before retiring--private entrance, private John (alas, no shower). Omicron is where I work all day and I find it perfect, near (I've taken to night work because of the company and because I really should anyway), warm, plenty of light, and sufficient chicadees to gobble up the bread crumbs. Weather here so far has not been too bad, one snowfall (not serious), some rainy days as today, but otherwise seasonally nippy, with ole Venus blazing away up there every night I leave my studio. Do you see her there? The work (now there's an irony or something because the work is a play, but it's not really a play because its work) is moving along a little better than the last time I wrote. Still it should go faster than it is. My only consolation, and it is an appreciable one, is that for the most part I do like what I do get done. And how's with the oils? (Oh, those chicadees are the flightiest!) I think I'll include now a slide or two for you. Mine came out pretty nice. I showed them to the citizens here and guess what-- I found one of your Mexican slides in the projector before I used it. I'm having a few dupes made for you, but they have not arrived yet. Could be I'll give them to you at Yaddo, yes? Thanks for your card, I shall pin it up here somewhere. No, I did not receive your zany letter. Probably enroute 

[[right margin]] 1957 / Norman Wasserman [[/right margin]]