Andrew Wyeth died yesterday. Age 91.
Damn great artist.
I’m showing the piece to the right, Trodden Weed, because I always feel a sense of awe when I see it.
The gorgeous color.
The daring composition.
It raises more questions in the viewer, both about the painting and the viewer himself, than it answers yet there is a sense of satisfaction.
Of completion.
Andrew Wyeth was not the darling of art critics and I think there’s a simple reason for this:
His work didn’t need them.
His work transcended the need for their explanation and validation, translating at once to the viewer.
There was no warming up to his work, no need to try to feel his message. It was immediate and powerful.
And to someone who is considered the arbiter of taste, this could only be the work of sentimentalism. This bias would not allow themselves the effort to truly see the work’s beauty and power. It’s graceful simplicity.
Well, that’s their loss. Screw them and thank you for all you gave us, Mr Wyeth.
Redtree Times 