That look so pale eyes fixed that has challenged the portrait painted by his friend Friedrich von Kügelgen, a look of hawk or eagle accentuated by the eyebrows, the flight of the eyebrows, hooked nose.
a child he had seen his brother drowning, sinking to break the ice in which the two skated. Modest celebrity he had enjoyed dissipated completely in the year of his age, shadowed by illness and poverty. He became more reclusive. Got used to taking long walks that began at sunset and lasted all night.
Friedrich stops to quickly draw a view from an elevated position and the boundless forest undulates into the horizon, and draw some farm houses near a stream or the ruins of an abbey, and only a few steps to close the large grove is always moving on the open course so precariously on it by human effort.
Each isolated tree while radiating majesty and threat. A dry oak twists up like a wounded giant. A large fir tree is a huge pagan temple before which a cross erected to guide relief and offers travelers a dubious protection. On a sheet of notebook with a very fine pen, a pencil sharpened almost to breaking, very carefully draw a tree and another tree next to him and another and another, and it seems that the hand acts faster each time and fill the trees horizontally role as an army approaching, the amazing army of Macbeth saw trees moving towards the castle.
accompaniment of Schubert's songs in Winter Journey, which are made at the time late in the life of Friedrich, I use to imagine the obstinate rhythm of their steps, like his drawings help me to hear those songs in which a man has emerged from a house where no one will miss his absence, closing the door behind him and venturing on the roads winter, muffled against cold, with no company but his shadow. Perhaps Friedrich Schubert and move us both equally because they appeal to a sense of helplessness and awe of nature that was what we received from the ancient tales, in which memory is inscribed the great forests of Europe extinct.
