Sunday, 29 July 1883

Monday, 30 July 1883

The Engelhardts, the mother Tchoumakoff, the Bailleul woman and other regulars are travelling. We shall be more alone at dinner.

I work without being able to compare what I do — that is a disadvantage. I remember at Julian's in the early days... Nothing taught me as much as watching the others. My sculpture will be naïve — oh, certainly: no system, no technique, no example, no indication. And I am pleased with what I do; it seems to me I have made great progress since I began.

Saint-Marceaux has never said to me what everyone else says: how splendid it is to work; but you work seriously; but this is not women's work; but you have talent — in short everything everyone says. He seems to find it perfectly natural that I work, and has complimented me only on the pastel and on Irma's head.

He was a little too clever last time... Stop working, walk about and look at things in a certain way — no more craft. Had the Byzantines any craft? The Renaissance artists are already sorry figures — they know too much. Rembrandt is great though very skilled, but not because of it.

Let us also note that a visit from this great sculptor is beginning to seem to me an almost natural event. [Words blacked out: not that he comes often, but in any case] he has come three or four times in the past few months, and I am somewhat accustomed to these felicities.

I am very afraid to look again at what I painted today — it seems to me it is better... But tomorrow? And every day there is an anguish like that, unless one knows at once that it is bad.

Tuesday, 31 July 1883