3. The Profanity of Paint
AS a painter, out-of-doors, the aspens are my despair, for they are surely beyond the limitations of paint. I once set my palette with bright colours with a grove of aspens in front of me: O, but when I looked up into all the mass of shimmering leaves, spread out like a garment inwoven with gems, flowing upon the breezes and toying with the rich dyes of heaven, I shut down my box, threw myself upon the grass and sat there in idle adoration, like a heathen before hisgod. If all I beheld was meant for a revelation it was surely as beautiful as the burning bush. To Moses I am more than grateful: it is through him that God’s voice rings out against the bad artist:Thou shalt not make ... any likeness of any thing.When God said the same thing to the Chinese three thousand years ago they understood and have paintedcolourever since. Why is the western world in the dark?
O let my eyes be baptized with the sun that I may beholdcolourlike the heathen!
How long I stayed in the temple of the trees I do not know; time did not count because I was not at work: all was like a dream. If I had been aFlorentine of the olden days I would have seen here the robes of a saint, perhaps the shining garment of the Blessed Virgin.
I did well to close my box and keep my eyes unspoiled by the profanity of paint, leaving the pure impression to some happy occasion when the memory of it all will be sufficient for my picture.