[Rosemarie Beck Journal entries, September 1964, Yaddo]

Sept. 23.
To tell a terrible story as if you were painting a still life. or conversely to tell your still life as if a drama were unfolding.

Can’t think of sheer quantity with genius.

“He had a great wisdom regarding the vocation.”

How much conscious affirming and reaffirming of one’s own position must one do secretly in the presence of another’s triumph?

Sept. 24.
Rejoice to see review of Hilton Kramer in arts Annual #7. So, while harboring my paranoia this spring I appeared none the less flatteringly.
When an artist grows confident and audacious, he can leave the Mode wherein he was certain of his audience’s response for something larger i.e. Chaplin in Limelight or Monsieur Verdoux.
In childbirth the woman would say: this is the surprise my body prepares for me; I am my own theater (and my own audience).
You will not disburden yourself ever entirely of the fear of rejection.
As a painter I learn a lot from Beethoven.
O how pompous I am.

Knocking at one’s own ribs. See Marcia [Nardi's] I Knew the Body a Sea

Wild sloth, wild pedantry, difficult to hold onto my thoughts; and dear invasion of joy.
Wild excitement in the studio. Always way ahead or inert.