Andrew Wyeth

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I'm trying to think of something eloquent to say but all I want to do is take a walk through the frozen fields around my house. Andrew Wyeth spent his entire life painting his backyard in Chads Ford and Maine and seemed to constantly see familiar surroundings as strange and beautiful and deeply, deeply personal. I don't think anyone anyone outside of my personal life has effected me as much as Andrew Wyeth.

Out on Long Island I take the same walks over and over again. It's not a particularly large space, or rugged, but I find it fascinating every time. Each fallen tree or bend in the path takes on a meaning for me that is impossible to articulate. As these landmarks shift and decay and regrow, my thoughts and emotions associated with them deepen and become more and more abstract and harder to explain. Looking at Wyeth's work, I may not know what the associations with his surroundings are, but I understand them completely.

And it reminds me that to be alone in a frozen field can be an amazing thing.

Really, to die at home at 91 with truly the most amazing career of any contemporary artist shouldn't be such a sad thing...but he'll be missed.