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Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s
Page 059
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71. plains and through the canyons of the mountains in search of sketching material. Every time we were intrigued with the landscape and saw something that really looked promising as to line, color and composition we paused. Or better still, she drew [Edsel?] up along the roadside and parked. Then we were able to inspect the scene, which had taken our fancy, more deliberately from every angle and from different points of view. If we still liked the possibilities after thoroughly "taking a look" we unloaded our paints, set up our easels and went to work. Oftentimes through, a first impression didn't built up as promisingly as we had first supposed, so we 'jumped' back in the Ford and dashed on, at twenty or twenty-five miles an hour so as not to miss anything. We did this repeatedly until we found something which exactly suited our combined Monday or Wednesday or Friday moods - or as nearly the equivalent as possible, without too much compromise on either her or my part. Sometimes we were desperately hard to please; at other times nature stepped right to the fore with material much to our liking. I remember all too well on some of these carefree days, hour after lunch a stomach-ache would creep up on me and dispel all the joy. I would lie down in the grass in the
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71. plains and through the canyons of the mountains in search of sketching material. Every time we were intrigued with the landscape and saw something that really looked promising as to line, color and composition we paused. Or better still, she drew [Edsel?] up along the roadside and parked. Then we were able to inspect the scene, which had taken our fancy, more deliberately from every angle and from different points of view. If we still liked the possibilities after thoroughly "taking a look" we unloaded our paints, set up our easels and went to work. Oftentimes through, a first impression didn't built up as promisingly as we had first supposed, so we 'jumped' back in the Ford and dashed on, at twenty or twenty-five miles an hour so as not to miss anything. We did this repeatedly until we found something which exactly suited our combined Monday or Wednesday or Friday moods - or as nearly the equivalent as possible, without too much compromise on either her or my part. Sometimes we were desperately hard to please; at other times nature stepped right to the fore with material much to our liking. I remember all too well on some of these carefree days, hour after lunch a stomach-ache would creep up on me and dispel all the joy. I would lie down in the grass in the
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries
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