Artist Andrew Wyeth passed away today. I feel really weird about not knowing he was still alive in the first place. I thought he must be well over a 100 by now. Then again I made a "D" in Art History because I was usually asleep or helping my friend roll his cigarettes in the back of the room.
He did one of my favorite paintings:
I love the muddy colors he used, and how warm and satisfied the dog (I think it was his own dog) seems to be, ear up on the pillow.
I read once that his father, a famous children's book illustrator, criticized him for the lack of color used. I think it's funny that in the end part of Andrew Wyeth's appeal (to me) is the softness he could capture with that bleak palette. Some of his pictures were ugly and beautiful at the same time, and the best things grab me in two distinctly different ways like that.
And as much as I hate winter and fall, he looked to them for inspiration:
“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show... ”
--- Andrew Wyeth