Andrew Wyeth died today.
I suppose it is “nice” that he lived to be 91, but I am saddened by his passing.
For me it wasn’t “Christina’s World” or any of the paintings of Helga Testorf that endeared him to me. In the case of Andrew Wyeth's portfolio, I am just not going to be a deep thinker. Even though Andrew Wyeth may be my favorite American artist of all time, I don’t look at his work and attempt to church it up. I really don't care about the torment of Christina.
I suppose it is “nice” that he lived to be 91, but I am saddened by his passing.
For me it wasn’t “Christina’s World” or any of the paintings of Helga Testorf that endeared him to me. In the case of Andrew Wyeth's portfolio, I am just not going to be a deep thinker. Even though Andrew Wyeth may be my favorite American artist of all time, I don’t look at his work and attempt to church it up. I really don't care about the torment of Christina.
Instead, Andrew Wyeth spoke to me when I came across a painting that was painted in 1965 but could just as easily have been a photograph taken in my home on any given day since 1998. I refer to Master Bedroom.
The beauty of art is that it is personal. Some see a sleeping dog. Many could not care less and would relegate this painting to flea market campiness. But this painting touches my soul, and it doesn't matter to me if you like it or not.
Today America lost an amazing artist.
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