Writing Is A Strong Easement For Perplexity.

Be Careful That You Do Not Write Or Paint Anything That Is Not Your Own, That You Don't Know In Your Own Soul.

Oh, Spring! I Want To Go Out And Feel You And Get Inspiration. My Old Things Seem Dead. I Want Fresh Contacts, More Vital Searching.

What Do I Want To Express? The Subject Means Little. The Arrangement, The Design, Colour, Shape, Depth, Light, Space, Mood, Movement, Balance, Not One Or All Of These Fills The Bill. There Is Something Additional, A Breath That Draws Your Breath Into Its Breathing, A Heartbeat That Pounds On Yours, A Recognition Of The Oneness Of All Things.

Indians Do Not Hinder The Progress Of Their Dead By Embalming Or Tight Coffining. When The Spirit Has Gone They Give The Body Back To The Earth. The Earth Welcomes The Body-coaxes New Life And Beauty From It, Hurries Over What Men Shudder At. Lovely Tender Herbage Bursts From The Graves, Swiftly, Exulting Over Corruption.

Oh I Do Want That Thing, That Oneness Of Movement That Will Catch The Thing Up Into One Movement And Sing - Harmony Of Life.