Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 20 August 1881

I presented myself alone to Falguière the sculptor; I told him I was American and showed him some drawings, making known my desire to work. There was one he found very good, very good — all the others good. He sent me to a studio where he gives advice, and beyond that, if the arrangement did not suit me, he put himself entirely at my disposal — either for me to bring him what I had done, or for him to come to me. That is kind. But for that I already have Saint Marceaux, whom I adore, and I would be quite content with the studio where Arcangiolo — our former model, the first I ever drew — now works as an attendant.
The studio is run by another former model, Colorossi.
I shall work evenings in the men's studio — no one knows me there, on the rue de la Grande Chaumière. And besides, even if it were known, it is known that I work in a studio. Society people make no distinction between these things, and merely "the studio" already sounds improper in their ears… I shall paint from seven to one, eleven to twelve for lunch, then from twelve to four again — that makes an eight-hour session, which is all one can sustain regularly in painting; there are days one stays nine, ten hours, but that is exceptional… From four to six, rest. That is a great deal, but then — I am ill. From six to seven, dinner; at half past seven I am at sculpture until ten.
[In the margin: one could also dine at half past five to work from seven to ten.]
[Written across the page: I was not able to get my painting models at the required hours, and I was too tired that evening, and I was always expecting to leave for Biarritz — so I have postponed this work until my return in October.]
And if I am too tired… it is probable that I shall not begin until eight in the morning — giving myself an hour in the morning, I shall not take one in the afternoon and shall paint until five. One hour of rest is quite enough; I never rest as much as that, especially in full daylight. As for winter, one paints only from eight to three for want of light, sometimes until half past three — I shall have an easy time of it then. But do not imagine I am working myself to death: society people, the idle, are horrified at eight, ten hours of work a day — but ask the artists, ask the workers — one is all the better for it. As for me, if I did not work I would have killed myself by now. Besides, I allow myself four to eight hours of sleep and rest at last… I shall see Saint Marceaux on my return from the seaside…