I never felt happier,I never understood nature better,even down to the veriest stem or smallest blade of grass;and yet I am unable to express myself:my powers of execution are so weak,everything seems to swim and float before me,so that I cannot make a clear,bold outline. But I fancy I should succeed better if I had some clay or wax to model. I shall try,if this state of mind continues much longer,and will take to modelling,if I only knead dough.
I have commenced Charlotte's portrait three times,and have as often disgraced myself. This is the more annoying,as I was formerly very happy in taking likenesses. I have since sketched her profile,and must content myself with that.
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