Part 9
"Non, non-merci, madame." I said that the way the floor cushions were set right up
against the wall, it gave me a good chance to practice keeping my back straight. I stood
up to show her how sway-backed I was.
After dinner, while the Yoshotos were discussing, in Japanese, some perhaps
provocative topic, I asked to be excused from the table. M. Yoshoto looked at me as if he
weren't quite sure how I'd got into his kitchen in the first place, but nodded, and I
walked quickly down the hall to my room. When I had turned on the overhead light and
closed the door behind me, I took my drawing pencils out of my pocket, then took off
my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, and sat down on a floor cushion with Sister Irma's
envelope in my hands. Till past four in the morning, with everything I needed spread
out before me on the floor, I attended to what I thought were Sister Irma's immediate,
artistic wants.
The first thing I did was to make some ten or twelve pencil sketches. Rather than go
downstairs to the instructors' room for drawing paper, I drew the sketches on my
personal notepaper, using both sides of the sheet. When that was done, I wrote a long,
almost an endless, letter.
I've been as saving as an exceptionally neurotic magpie all my life, and I still have the
next-to-the-last draft of the letter I wrote to Sister Irma that June night in 1939. I could
reproduce all of it here verbatim, but it isn't necessary. I used the bulk of the letter, and
I mean bulk, to suggest where and how, in her major picture, she'd run into a little
trouble, especially with her colors. I listed a few artist's supplies that I thought she
couldn't do without, and included approximate costs. I asked her who Douglas Bunting
was. I asked where I could see some of his work. I asked her (and I knew what a long
shot it was) if she had ever seen any reproductions of paintings by Antonello da
Messina. I asked her to please tell me how old she was, and assured her, at great
length, that the information, if given, wouldn't go beyond myself. I said the only reason
that I was asking was that the information would help me to instruct her more
efficiently. Virtually in the same breath, I asked if she were allowed to have visitors at
her convent.
The last few lines (or cubic feet) of my letter should, I think, be reproduced here--
syntax, punctuation, and all.
. . . Incidentally, if you have a command of the French language, I hope you will let
me know as I am able to express myself very precisely in that language, having spent
the greater part of my youth chiefly in Paris, France.
Since you are quite obviously concerned about drawing running figures, in order to
convey the technique to your pupils at the Convent, I am enclosing a few sketches I
have drawn myself that may be of use. You will see that I have drawn them rather
rapidly and they are by no means perfect or even quite commendable, but I believe they
will show you the rudiments about which you have expressed interest. Unfortunately
the director of the school does not have any system in the method of teaching here, I am
very much afraid. I am delighted that you are already so well advanced, but I have no
idea what he expects me to do with my other students who are very retarded and chiefly
stupid, in my opinion.
Unfortunately, I am an agnostic; however, I am quite an admirer of St. Francis of
Assisi from a distance, it goes without saying. I wonder if perhaps you are thoroughly
acquainted with what he (St. Francis of Assisi) said when they were about to cauterise
one of his eyeballs with a red-hot, burning iron? He said as follows: "Brother Fire, God
made you beautiful and strong and useful; I pray you be courteous to me." You paint
slightly the way he spoke, in many pleasant ways, in my opinion. Incidentally, may I
ask if the young lady in the foreground in the blue outfit is Mary Magdalene? I mean in
the picture we have been discussing, of course. If she is not, I have been sadly deluding
myself. However, this is no novelty.
I hope you will consider me entirely at your disposal as long as you are a student at
Les Amis Des Vieux Maitres. Frankly, I think you are greatly talented and would not
even be slightly startled if you developed into a genius before many years have gone by.
I would not falsely encourage you in this matter. That is one reason why I asked you if
"Non, non-merci, madame." I said that the way the floor cushions were set right up
against the wall, it gave me a good chance to practice keeping my back straight. I stood
up to show her how sway-backed I was.
After dinner, while the Yoshotos were discussing, in Japanese, some perhaps
provocative topic, I asked to be excused from the table. M. Yoshoto looked at me as if he
weren't quite sure how I'd got into his kitchen in the first place, but nodded, and I
walked quickly down the hall to my room. When I had turned on the overhead light and
closed the door behind me, I took my drawing pencils out of my pocket, then took off
my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, and sat down on a floor cushion with Sister Irma's
envelope in my hands. Till past four in the morning, with everything I needed spread
out before me on the floor, I attended to what I thought were Sister Irma's immediate,
artistic wants.
The first thing I did was to make some ten or twelve pencil sketches. Rather than go
downstairs to the instructors' room for drawing paper, I drew the sketches on my
personal notepaper, using both sides of the sheet. When that was done, I wrote a long,
almost an endless, letter.
I've been as saving as an exceptionally neurotic magpie all my life, and I still have the
next-to-the-last draft of the letter I wrote to Sister Irma that June night in 1939. I could
reproduce all of it here verbatim, but it isn't necessary. I used the bulk of the letter, and
I mean bulk, to suggest where and how, in her major picture, she'd run into a little
trouble, especially with her colors. I listed a few artist's supplies that I thought she
couldn't do without, and included approximate costs. I asked her who Douglas Bunting
was. I asked where I could see some of his work. I asked her (and I knew what a long
shot it was) if she had ever seen any reproductions of paintings by Antonello da
Messina. I asked her to please tell me how old she was, and assured her, at great
length, that the information, if given, wouldn't go beyond myself. I said the only reason
that I was asking was that the information would help me to instruct her more
efficiently. Virtually in the same breath, I asked if she were allowed to have visitors at
her convent.
The last few lines (or cubic feet) of my letter should, I think, be reproduced here--
syntax, punctuation, and all.
. . . Incidentally, if you have a command of the French language, I hope you will let
me know as I am able to express myself very precisely in that language, having spent
the greater part of my youth chiefly in Paris, France.
Since you are quite obviously concerned about drawing running figures, in order to
convey the technique to your pupils at the Convent, I am enclosing a few sketches I
have drawn myself that may be of use. You will see that I have drawn them rather
rapidly and they are by no means perfect or even quite commendable, but I believe they
will show you the rudiments about which you have expressed interest. Unfortunately
the director of the school does not have any system in the method of teaching here, I am
very much afraid. I am delighted that you are already so well advanced, but I have no
idea what he expects me to do with my other students who are very retarded and chiefly
stupid, in my opinion.
Unfortunately, I am an agnostic; however, I am quite an admirer of St. Francis of
Assisi from a distance, it goes without saying. I wonder if perhaps you are thoroughly
acquainted with what he (St. Francis of Assisi) said when they were about to cauterise
one of his eyeballs with a red-hot, burning iron? He said as follows: "Brother Fire, God
made you beautiful and strong and useful; I pray you be courteous to me." You paint
slightly the way he spoke, in many pleasant ways, in my opinion. Incidentally, may I
ask if the young lady in the foreground in the blue outfit is Mary Magdalene? I mean in
the picture we have been discussing, of course. If she is not, I have been sadly deluding
myself. However, this is no novelty.
I hope you will consider me entirely at your disposal as long as you are a student at
Les Amis Des Vieux Maitres. Frankly, I think you are greatly talented and would not
even be slightly startled if you developed into a genius before many years have gone by.
I would not falsely encourage you in this matter. That is one reason why I asked you if
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