I am busy this morning but it’s never too hectic to ignore taking a look at the work of NC Wyeth. Below is a post from back in 2009 that I have updated with a few more images and a nice video of Wyeth’s painting. Just great stuff…
NC Wyeth , who lived from 1882 until 1945, was the father of Andrew Wyeth and head of the artistic Wyeth family. He was also the preeminent illustrator of the early 20th century, illustrating some of the great books of the time.
Throughout his life, he wanted to be known not as an illustrator but as an easel painter, a fine artist. There seemed to be this fine distinction that because an illustrator brought the scenes and ideas of others’ stories to life that they were somehow below the work of those who painted solely their own ideas. I never understood that concept because it was still Wyeth who composed the paintings and created the colors and brushstrokes that distinguished the work. Wasn’t this very much the same as many Renaissance artists who painted many of their great works for the Church? Are they not considered fine artists?
I’ve always been attracted to the work of NC Wyeth having seen it innumerable times in print. There was a real dynamic quality, punch, in his paintings. However, it wasn’t until I saw his work in person that I truly appreciated how beautiful his work truly was.
He treated many of his illustrations as fine paintings, with glorious paint appplication that created beautiful surfaces within the painting. His colors were complex, hardly ever a pure single color. His blues often had glazes of red, his whites tinged with yellows. All of his colors had an earthy base that gave them a dark edge and weight. His compositions were bold and inventive, highly contrasting and dramatic to best illustrate many of the adventure stories on which he worked. In person, many of these paintings are even more stunning than on the printed page.
His non-illustrative work was much more mundane, less dramatic but well executed. His real spark seemed to be from the stories he was bringing to life. The Arthurian legends, the Leatherstocking tales of Cooper, the pirates of Robert Louis Stevenson– all seemed fresh and new in his paintings. Unlike many artists, I think being freed from having to create a narrative of his own actually gave him the opportunity to fully exploit all the knowledge of technique and composition he held. As though having the decision of what to paint taken from his hands allowed that energy that would be expended to be used on making the painting stronger. Whatever the case, whether you choose to call it fine art or illustration, the resulting work was memorable and deserves a nod. It continues to inspire to this very day.
You have most likely seen the work of Piet Mondrian, the Dutch painter who lived from 1872 until 1944.
There just doesn’t seem to be enough time in any day, with what seems like a thousand tasks gnawing at me to get done. A little anxious, I am eager to get going but it is Sunday morning and my routine dictates that I dig out a song to play here on the blog.
I have to send out heartfelt thank yous to everyone at the Principle Gallery. They are a very special group of people. Affectionate thanks to Michele, Clint, Pam, Pierre and Haley for their friendship and encouragement. There’s so much I could say but I think they know how we feel about them.
There are colors that really trigger reactions within me. Most people would no doubt think that the color red would be the main one and perhaps they are right. The Red Tree is certainly the thing that would come to mind for those who know my work. And Red Roofs and Red Chairs.
Sunday morning. It’s quiet which I like immensely. Early mornings are my favorite time, when there are fewer people stirring, fewer yahoos who feel it is their right and profound duty to create as much sound as they can in order that the universe might know they are alive. Those rare times when traveling, I like to get up early and prowl the streets of wherever we might be, taking in the landscape and buildings in a much quieter setting. The few people who are there are either early morning folks like myself who gladly soak in the quiet or they have somewhere to go and are still quietly dazed from being dragged from their bed.
Redtree Times 