One day, in answer to a gentle knock, I found a little Indian mother. There was a fat baby on her back, lased to it by a gay plaid shawl. She had a full skirt full of loud plaid material, a bright yellow silk handkerchief about her head. A…
January 17th, 1940 The owner of my house wants to sell it. I have to move from this comfortable cottage that has housed me and my pictures and my beasts for four years. It is a great upheaval. I have been happy here. At first I was dismayed at…
January 8th, 1938 I am writing “Birds [later to be named Pause] a sketch of the sanatorium in England where I stayed for eighteen months. How dreadfully real the places and people are as they come back to me! The experiences must have been burnt as in pyrography. The story is a…
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