March 2nd 1939
Where are you, and what are you doing? Time and again, I had the impulse of taking a taxi and dropping over to see you, then it suddenly occurred to me that there was an ocean in between. But that's not going to count for much in a few months, for I understand that we'll be able to take a taxi and just do that little thing - a week-end ! wouldn't that be grand ? In the meantime, we can only do that in our thoughts. And we do. I have been wanting to write you ever so often, but writing is a function which I still have to develop. I always understood that 'la fonction cree l'organe'is a verity, and I am proving it, for in the last couple of months, I have been painting my head off, and my latest performance - a full-sized portrait of Gordon Craig - proves the point. I have also done a portrait of Percy Mackaye - I've done some nudes, all in oils; in fact I haven't touched a piece of clay since I finished my Walt Whitman. He is now at the foundry, almost completed a - miraculous piece of casting. I am bringing him over at the end of the month : I shall probably sail on the Normandie on the 25th, Walt and all. Each and all concede its my piece of resistance. I hope its true. You shall see and tell me.
I am back in my old house, completely remodelled and renovated. What used to be the dining room is a petit salon charmant. today's a perfect spring day - the windows are open and
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