MAY 26

As you know, I have a habit of moving around and making little homes for myself in the countryside. I have found another little place here, as well.

Not far from the town is a village known as Walheim. It was by chance that I found the house there. I was walking about one afternoon when I came upon a little boy sitting on a hill with a baby in his arms. I took the opportunity to draw this cute picture in my notebook. While drawing the countryside around him, I noticed this little house. It belongs to a kind, old woman, who manages a small hotel nearby. It is one of the most relaxing and peaceful places I have ever seen. I like to go there often to sit under the linden-trees with a cup of fresh coffee and read my book. Its location on a high hillside allows me to look out upon much of the countryside.

After I finished my drawing of the child, I looked at the picture and noticed that I had not added any of my own ideas to it. I simply drew what was exactly before me. Nature is much more creative than man, after all. From now on, I will just draw the world as it is. There is no need to use my imagination.

People like to follow rules when making art, because it is safer. They know that by using the rules, they will never create something terribly bad. However, rules limit the artist's expression too much. They make his work less meaningful. I will give you an example. A young man falls in love with a girl and, in order to show his love, devotes all of his time and money to her. Then he meets a gentleman who tells him: "You must give your life more balance. Some of your time must be put toward work, while the rest can be given to the girl. Budget your money well and use the extra money to buy her things, but only on important days, like her birthday and holidays." For the common man, this might be good advice to follow. For an artist, however, he cannot arrange things so clearly. The river of inspiration seldom flows, but when it does, it needs to be able to flow freely. People like this gentleman build up walls along the riverside because they fear the river. And they try to make us fear it as well.

MAY 27

I am sorry. I completely got lost in my thoughts about art and forgot to tell you about what happen to the children. A little while later, the boys' mother came along. Seeing me, she said "hello", and I politely returned her greeting. She called the older boy Philip and the younger Hans. She explained to me that she had asked Philip to take care of little Hans while she and another son of hers went into town to buy some things.

"The oldest boy broke a cooking pot of mine yesterday, while fighting with Philip for the last bit of food inside."

"And where is the boy?" I asked.

Just as she was beginning to tell me, the young fellow came running up to us. He had been guiding two geese they had bought in town back to their home. After talking with the woman a bit more, I learned that her father was the head of the local school, and that her husband was presently in Switzerland trying to collect money that a dead relative had left for him. She expressed to me that she was a little worried, because she had not heard from him since he had left. I then dug deep into my pockets and pulled out several coins to give each of her children. They became very excited and thanked me. After that, I went away.

Dear friend, meeting such a woman always manages to calm my troubled brain. Her life is simple. She is not upset by thoughts of purpose or meaning. The changing of the autumn leaves means nothing more to her than that the weather will soon turn cold. It has become my habit to visit that family quite often. I always give her children coins on Sundays and I share my food and drink with them. It is quite enjoyable to watch the children play with others. I feel that I have really gotten to know them well. I have noticed, however, that the woman worries I might feel obligated to give them money. I have been trying my best to comfort her that that is not at all my thinking.

MAY 30

I find that I always have to relate my enjoyment of nature back to art somehow. I do not know why. It is truly troublesome. Anyway, I feel that an experience I had today, would make a perfect little subject for a simple poem.

The whole thing started with a gathering of people under the linden-trees in Walheim. Again, I cannot say why, but Walheim is proving to be a most interesting place for me. Anyway, I did not enjoy being around these particular people very much, so I walked off by myself, in order to be alone for a while. As I was walking, I saw a fellow working on some farming equipment I had recently drawn in my book. I approached him and introduced myself. We then had a pleasant conversation. I learned that he was working for a young woman whose husband had recently died. It was clear to me, by the way he spoke about her, that the fellow was very much in love.

"Her husband was so terrible to her I don't think that she would ever want another one," he told me.

This man's love for her was so complete, that I could see it in his every word and movement. I could see it in his face and in his eyes. In fact, it was so complete that in order to describe it accurately, I would have to be a great poet.

What moved me even more, was the effort he made to make sure I did not misunderstand him and think that he and this woman had some sort of inappropriate relationship. He assured me of her goodness and purity. Again, it would be impossible for me to repeat to you the way he described her to me. I truly admire the man's feelings for her. I have never met such love for another person before, a love so strong and true. I must admit that it has influenced my own heart a great deal. I desperately want to meet this woman. But, on second thought, it might be best for me never to see her, for the real person might destroy the perfect image I have of her now.

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