What A Splendid Time Woo Must Have

There Was Neither Horizon, Cloud, Nor Sound; Of That Pink, Spread Silence Even I Had Become Part, Belonging As Much To Sky As To Earth.

Indian Art Broadened My Seeing, Loosened The Formal Tightness I Had Learned In England's Schools. Its Bigness And Stark Reality Baffled My White Man's Understanding... I Had Been Schooled To See Outsides Only, Not Struggle To Pierce.

Over And Over One Must Ask Oneself The Queston, 'what Do I Want To Express? What Is The Thought Behind The Saying? What Is My Ideal, What My Objective? What? Why? Why? What?

Be Careful That You Do Not Write Or Paint Anything That Is Not Your Own, That You Don't Know In Your Own Soul.

The Memory Of Cumshewa Is Of A Great Lonesomeness Smothered In A Blur Of Rain.