Thursday, 28 September 1882

I am drawing my Magdalene while Tony comes to choose the objects from my desk for the portrait. His system, his art is exasperating — it is not art. He will teach you the craft well enough, but for the rest he is of a dissolving influence; so I listen to him only in matters of pupil's work. Nor is it he who will teach the craft of painting. His paint is dry and pallid and feeble, and when he comes to say that when I have a study under way he will show me with the brush and in fresh paint how it is done... Oh no! That would ruin me at a stroke — if only through fear of doing as he does.
Otherwise I shall always consult him — and Julian too.
I tell him I no longer want to do my painting, not feeling strong enough; he finds this very sensible — all the more so since, instead of preparing by means of [Crossed out: very sensible] studies, I went off to make clandestine studies at the Grande Jatte.
He fears that the immense effort I should put in would not produce the results I have dreamed of. He wants me to concentrate and make studies at home — passages, giving all I can.
And I answer that it would lead nowhere — I cannot paint; the harder I work the drier it is, the more papery, the thinner. And for the painting, he is quite wrong to think I shall do it better in a few months: as regards drawing, pose, composition, it will never be other than it is now — the painting is done; as for the actual painting, all that is needed is a certain feeling, and that cannot be acquired; as for executing a fine piece of painting I shall never be able to do it — so renouncing it now, hoping to do better later, is as good as renouncing forever this horrible art that martyrises — [Crossed out: I don't say this to him as I should seem to be reacting to what he] says of the plan to do the painting. But I express my discouragement and he says it is excellent — that he has had such despairs, that he has seen them in others, that it proves, etc., etc. In short I disagree with him: if this painting cannot be done, I shall do even less well with a portrait or a simple head — because there everything is in the execution — still less any modern subject. Without subject, without expression.
"Make studies, learn to paint." But since I shall never be able to!
After three years' painting Breslau had reached a level at which this same Orleanist encouraged her to exhibit — that was in 1879. He cites all the celebrated names who, according to him, took seven, eight, ten, fifteen years... I don't care.
It is nearly four years... In short, counting by years, I am at the point where Breslau was in 1880 — at her second Salon, where she was placed in the outer gallery, what Wolff called the Morgue.
And Bastien said at the time that in her portrait there was nothing — only in the small painting placed in the same Morgue was there perhaps something.
So it was not very strong. Well — mathematically I am at the same point. I do not wish to go faster than she did. But I do not believe myself to be of her calibre — that is to say, I know nothing about it; she was not risking plein air work even then. I am always saying the same things. I am in despair... I could well play some tragic role — a kind of improvisation; I feel myself on a height in the middle of a desert of snow; everything is white, everything empty, everything cold.
To take stock — it is horrible! That is where five years of work have brought me, and there is no one to blame... If it were a matter of... tormenting oneself as I do in order to arrive, it would be too easy. Tony always repeats that I am admirably gifted, that I have extraordinary aptitude, but that I lack sufficient continuity in work and fret by wanting to go faster than is possible. But no — since it is now four years that I have been painting. And... And there is nothing more to say...
No one is to blame for my being a genius struck by incapacity.
I shall see Julian... Besides, he will agree with me — not to please me, but because I am persuasive; when I set about proving something it is with such fire that people say as I do, and I am quite caught out by it, for very often I should like to be reassured.
Tony... For three years he has been reassuring me — but if I persist... I foresee the moment when he will tell me I am right and that I had better do something else. And who will paint a head then!
In the end I am going to try to do this painting — and if it fails I would rather fail at this than at anything else... In a portrait, in a technical exercise, nothing will save me — whereas there... I really must persist, for after all the Orleanist who is advising me says that if I give up it will be a great anxiety from which he will be relieved. Because he is a fool! Did he not counsel me to do it in my studio by copying outdoor studies — that is, diluting drops of wine into buckets of water. That is his painting, that is his art — that is why his canvases are pale, correct and tedious enough to... Go and have oneself painted by Amélie...