Andrew Wyeth passed away last week at age 91. I don't consider myself very fluent in visual arts, its just not how my brain works, but I've always been drawn to artists who tell me stories in colors that feed me. Andrew Wyeth has been one of those artists. I think I became mildy obsessed with his work in the early age of the internet, probably just in search of an interesteing desk top image, but whatever the impetus, I found him, loved the world he painted, and kept those images close to me ever since.
I keep a print of the above painting by my desk, paired with a photograph by Sean Scully. Wyeth's paintings seem to give loneliness a sense of purpose instead of desolation. The images often appear cold, but the kind of cold you want to walk in, to focus your mind in, a briskness that makes you reflective but also awakens yearning. He makes my winter heart beat.
For a poignant and personal eulogy and reflection on Wyeth's impact, see Ed's post.
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