Ralph Waldo Emerson: Waldeinsamkeit

Immortal solitude

“In the woods […] a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough,
and at what period soever of life, is always a child.
In the woods, is perpetual youth.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nature”

THE ABRUPT CHANGE in weather here in the south-east of England heralding in the new season of autumn has meant I have started yearning to travel abroad again in order to embrace the fading rays of the late summer sun—a sojourn in France or Italy beckons, even a trip to the Meteora region of Greece. Being on the road again will mean wondering, as always, how to accomplish various ongoing creative projects, which in turn has led to my pondering upon the difference between art that is produced at a desk or in a studio and that which is inspired by being en plein air.

Many writers and artists have had similar ruminations concerning the life-affirming benefits of being in nature and its effect on their art. Both Ralph Waldo Emerson (25th May 1803–27th April 1882) and John Singer Sargent (12th January 1856–14th April 1925) were advocates of producing their craft amidst the flora and fauna of existence, not least the rejuvenating and redemptive elements of being ensconced in lush woodland and verdant copse.

There is a beautiful word in German, “Waldeinsamkeit”, which literally translates as “forest loneliness”. More specifically, it is the feeling of solitude, of being joyfully alone in the woods and feeling deeply connected to the natural world. Indeed, Emerson wrote a poem by the very same name (and owned land including Walden Pond, which itself inspired Henry David Thoreau’s journal, Walden; or, Life in the Woods); similarly, Sargent produced some of his finest, light-saturated impressionistic paintings on his field trips to the European continent. And thus, herewith a confluence of artistic vision, capturing the magical and mystical potency of being in the great outdoors.

John Singer Sargent, Pool in the Garden of La Granja - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Pool in the Garden of La Granja*.
Image: Public Domain

I do not count the hours I spend
In wandering by the sea;
The forest is my loyal friend,
Like God it useth me.

John Singer Sargent, Villa Torlonia, Fountain - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Villa Torlonia*.
Image: Public Domain

In plains that room for shadows make
Of skirting hills to lie,
Bound in by streams which give and take
Their colours from the sky;

John Singer Sargent, At Frascati - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *At Frascati*.
Image: Public Domain

Or on the mountain-crest sublime,
Or down the oaken glade,
O what have I to do with time?
For this the day was made.

John Singer Sargent, Landscape Near Florence - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Landscape Near Florence*.
Image: Public Domain

Cities of mortals woe begone
Fantastic care derides,
But in the serious landscape lone
Stern benefit abides.

John Singer Sargent, Villa Corsini, Near Florence - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Villa Corsini, Near Florence*.
Image: Public Domain

Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy,
And merry is only a mask of sad,
But, sober on a fund of joy,
The woods at heart are glad.

John Singer Sargent, Boboli Gardens, Florence- The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Boboli Gardens, Florence*.
Image: Public Domain

There the great Planter plants
Of fruitful worlds the grain,
And with a million spells enchants
The souls that walk in pain.

John Singer Sargent, Florence Fountain, Boboli Gardens - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Florence Fountain, Boboli Gardens*.
Image: Public Domain

Still on the seeds of all he made
The rose of beauty burns;
Through times that wear, and forms that fade,
Immortal youth returns.

John Singer Sargent, Spanish Midday, Aranjuez - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Spanish Midday, Aranjuez*.
Image: Public Domain

The black ducks mounting from the lake,
The pigeon in the pines,
The bittern’s boom, a desert make
Which no false art refines.

John Singer Sargent, Olive and Cypress - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Olive and Cypress*.
Image: Public Domain

Down in yon watery nook,
Where bearded mists divide,
The gray old gods whom Chaos knew,
The sires of Nature, hide.

John Singer Sargent, Aranjuez - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Aranjuez*.
Image: Public Domain

Aloft, in secret veins of air,
Blows the sweet breath of song,
O, few to scale those uplands dare,
Though they to all belong!

John Singer Sargent, La Granja - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *La Granja*.
Image: Public Domain

See thou bring not to field or stone
The fancies found in books;
Leave authors’ eyes, and fetch your own,
To brave the landscape’s looks.

John Singer Sargent, Corfu - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Corfu*.
Image: Public Domain

And if, amid this dear delight,
My thoughts did home rebound,
I well might reckon it a slight
To the high cheer I found.

John Singer Sargent, Park Scene - The Culturium — John Singer Sargent, *Park Scene*.
Image: Public Domain

Oblivion here thy wisdom is,
Thy thrift, the sleep of cares;
For a proud idleness like this
Crowns all thy mean affairs.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Waldeinsamkeit”