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Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s
Page 201
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It is not possible to make my stomach troubles through wishful thinking and a determination that it shall right itself, although there are those who would like to think so. They are te ones who didn't understand. They also have a mistaken notion that I am to blame because I haven't responded properly to treatment. My stomach however, is the boss; the ruling dictator in power. Some of my family - I am afraid - think I am a misfit. My mother however perhaps understands somewhat how it is and says she is glad I derive some comfort from my painting. Comforting is not exactly the proper word. Painting can never be comforting. It is more correct to say that it fills a need, a crying, urgent need and my destiny. Most of the theme have but slight conception of what living to an artist is like. A common mistaken notion seems to prevail among them that if I were to have complete bed-rest I would be fine. Moreover, there is an archaic idea that it is my fault that I don't get well - as though I wouldn't if I could. It is not so simple as all that. They do not take into consideration the organism, especially that part that makes it tick. They do not understand what constitutes a painter, and will express itself no matter what the odds. They are not painters. Moreover, they do not know the perpetual heckling, the nagging fermentation and unease churning on the inside which must find release. It is not to be suppressed - no, not even at the expense of the organism. Extermination; death of the organism, is really the only effective way to suppress the flame. if it is repressed it but bursts out all the more sharply and headier in another quarter. Frustrate the will and the
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It is not possible to make my stomach troubles through wishful thinking and a determination that it shall right itself, although there are those who would like to think so. They are te ones who didn't understand. They also have a mistaken notion that I am to blame because I haven't responded properly to treatment. My stomach however, is the boss; the ruling dictator in power. Some of my family - I am afraid - think I am a misfit. My mother however perhaps understands somewhat how it is and says she is glad I derive some comfort from my painting. Comforting is not exactly the proper word. Painting can never be comforting. It is more correct to say that it fills a need, a crying, urgent need and my destiny. Most of the theme have but slight conception of what living to an artist is like. A common mistaken notion seems to prevail among them that if I were to have complete bed-rest I would be fine. Moreover, there is an archaic idea that it is my fault that I don't get well - as though I wouldn't if I could. It is not so simple as all that. They do not take into consideration the organism, especially that part that makes it tick. They do not understand what constitutes a painter, and will express itself no matter what the odds. They are not painters. Moreover, they do not know the perpetual heckling, the nagging fermentation and unease churning on the inside which must find release. It is not to be suppressed - no, not even at the expense of the organism. Extermination; death of the organism, is really the only effective way to suppress the flame. if it is repressed it but bursts out all the more sharply and headier in another quarter. Frustrate the will and the
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries
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