Sunday, 28 October 1883

I am going out of my mind at having nothing underway. I tell myself: let us go to Fontainebleau — then: but why, I can find a wooded spot close by where I can go every morning by cab, or else why not go and paint the fog on the Seine. Or else... Well then, I can see nothing clearly and do not know what I want! And why not go to Arcachon? Which resembles the East and where I could paint the Holy Women? And at the same time, as many studies as anywhere else. And the sculpture? If I travel, my statue will not get done. It is truly... As for Bastien — I no longer think of him. To break through these... indecisions, I am going to paint the fog on the Seine from a boat. That does me good. I get up at one in the morning to note that I finally feel like painting something. What I was suffering from was having no desire for anything. It is like a flame that rises, and rises; it is like the sudden sight of the one one loves; an emotion, a warmth, a joy. I blush alone at my own excitement. I want to paint the forest with its blazing leaves, those marvellous October tones, and in the midst of it one or two figures. In Bastien's Père Jacques, as I recall it, the forest was too far advanced — stripped bare and rather grey. I want red, gold, green... And yet even that will not be the painting in which I am truly myself. Only the Holy Women nag at me persistently... and I dare not approach them — positively I dare not... Let us see... A month at Fontainebleau, November, December at Arcachon... That would leave January, February and March for my statue... It could not be done... And one would have to... Let us go to sleep.