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The Hazy Corot. - Corôt, who may be taken as the representative artist of the school, painted, poetically and with sentiment, a phase of nature little painted before him, which may be termed the phase of haze and grayness and mystery; his coloring, though pitched at a key somewhat lower than nature's is, as far as it goes, true, harmonious, and expressive of a certain kind of atmospheric effect. Whether his pictures are improved by the introduction of poorly-drawn fauns, dryads, and other classical persons, ill-adapted to Northern fogs, may perhaps be questioned. Mystery is certainly a powerful factor in landscape, used by nature with great effect; but nature is seldom or never all mystery. In a hazy wooded landscape — Corôt’s favorite scene—you see in the natural foreground delicately-articulated branches, weeds, and ferns, beautiful in form, and, though subdued in color, perfectly made out, giving value to the mystery beyond. You see at some distance trunks of trees still more subdued in color, but firm and solid, without a particle of indecision. Corôt makes out no form; all his lines are undecided, wavy, blurred. "He represents foliage shaken by the wind,” say his admirers. Aspens might be appropriately so represented; but Corôt’s oaks are as wavy and undecided as his aspens, and his rocks are as soft as sand-heaps. In short, nature draws as well as colors. Corôt chooses to ignore that she draws, and is content to paint one phase of her coloring. There is some difficulty in placing an artist so borné among the masters of landscape. Some of Corôt’s later pictures, in which he almost lost sight of nature, seem quite valueless — indeed worse, for they have bred a swarm of imitators who simply reproduce and exaggerate his defects. Daubigny had a far wider scope, and at one time towered above the school. Some of his early landscapes, painted from the fresh study of nature, seem to me almost perfect; but some years before his death, when he probably painted only in his studio, he became careless, coarse, and blotty. I believe that, according to a law before indicated, his later pictures are those most admired by his disciples. It seems strange that, whereas the French painter expends the utmost care and elaboration in the rendering of every object in-doors, no sooner does he go out than he seems to think the most random touch, the most careless smear, good enough for nature. - Sir Robert Collier, in Nineteenth Century.  [[/newspaper clipping]]

sketch of Warren and wants me to embody in a letter to her my estimate of him as an artist. Wrote on my wood article but it seems too unrealistic. I think I shall have to recast it. A card from Downing telling me they all got off by the boat last night.

Thursday July 8. 1880. Went with my mother down town and ordered a new cooking range of Canfield. Painted a little in the picture for Mr. Chickering and in the afternoon wrote on my camp article which does not please me at all. A letter from Gussie and a postal card from Sara saying she would be at Ogden that night (July 3)

Friday 9. The day has been very hot with a hot fierce wind a most unquieting day. Wrote to Maginness again from whom I had a letter but without the information I needed. Made a box directly after breakfast and sent off Mr. Chickering's picture to whom I wrote. Went twice to the town. Had a letter from Mr. Gordon kindly offering to assist me in getting my picture home from England and wrote instructions to my agent there today. Mr. & Mrs. Curtis (Fred Nortons sister & her husband) called with Lily and Nannie today. I this evening finished reading "Middlemarch" for the second time. It is a powerful book with very subtle delineations of character. I am all adrift about my article. It seems tame as does every thing I do. I think very much upon my inactivity and my inability to accomplish any thing and wonder whether I am in my decadence or if I will recover from this state and perhaps accomplish some thing in a new way. It will need some change of conditions or some powerful spur. My work does not attract me nor can I drive myself to it. 

Saturday 10. Packed Jellies and preserves to be sent to Hillsboro to Gussie this morning. Have written nearly all day beginning my article anew. Am not satisfied but with the best, which I am not equal to and so accomplish nothing. Heavy showers passed all about us giving us only a little from the edges. A letter from Lucy announcing Sara and Jamies 

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