-
By a paradox of pictorial thought, the average lowland North
-
American countryside had at first seemed to me something I accepted
-
with a shock of amused recognition,
-
because of those painted oil cloths which were imported from America
-
in the old days to be hung above washstands in central European nurseries,
-
and which fascinated a drowsy child at bedtime with the rustic green
-
views they depicted: opaque, curly trees, a barn, cattle, a brook,
-
the dull white of vague orchards in bloom,
-
and perhaps a stone fence, or hills of greenish gouache.
-
So, so far the American landscape is already a work of art,
-
already part of a European memory.
-
Then something else happens: "But gradually the models of those