Marking centenary of Mansfield’s death

Today marks 100 years since the death of Katherine Mansfield, an internationally celebrated writer who was born in Wellington in 1888 and died in France in 1923. This is an abridged letter sent to her friend Dorothy Brett, a painter, on October 11, 1917. In it she refers to her ‘darling’ – the draft of her story ‘Prelude’, based on her childhood move from Thorndon to Karori.

My dearest Brett,

It is a cold sharp day – I can see the sun flying in the sky like a faint faraway flag – My Japanese doll had gone into boots for the winter and the studio smells of quinces. I have to write all day with my feet in the fringe of the fire – and Oh Alas! it is sad to think that I shall be warm in front and cold behind from now until next June. It seems to me so extraordinarily right that you should be painting Still Lives just now. What can one do, faced with this wonderful tumble of round bright fruits, but gather them and play with them – and become them, as it were.

I threw my darling to the wolves and they ate it and served me up so much praise in such a golden bowl that I couldn’t help feeling gratified. I did not think they would like it at all. What form is it? you ask. Ah, Brett, it’s so difficult to say. As far as I know it’s more or less my own invention. And how have I shaped it? This is as about as much as I can say about it. You know, if the truth were known I have a perfect passion for the island where I was born.

Well, in the early morning there I always remember feeling that this little island has dipped back into the dark blue sea during the night only to rise again at beam of day, all hung with bright spangles and glittering drops. (When you ran over the dewy grass you positively felt that your feet tasted salt). I tried to catch that moment – with something of its sparkle and its flavour. And just as on those mornings white milky mists rise and uncover some beauty, then smother it again and then again disclose it. I tried to lift that mist from my people and let them be seen and then to hide them again. But I don’t feel anything but intensely a longing to serve my subject as well as I can – But the unspeakable thrill of this art business. What is there to compare! And what more can one desire. Goodbye goodbye goodbye. It is all too wonderful.