![]() ![]() Long derided as a regressive paragon of self-reliance and retardataire realism, Wyeth in fact continually pursued a world outside of his body, a world beyond embodiment itself. I remember it when I laugh.”Ī recently discovered group of drawings made by Andrew Wyeth, the painter, attends in its own way to the overlapping of life, death, and art. ![]() ![]() It is a grief from which I have never been able completely to rid myself. Here we have Oscar Wilde on a suicide in Balzac: “One of the greatest tragedies of my life is the death of Lucien de Rubempré. Recall Dostoevsky, driven to the verge of an epileptic attack by Holbein’s supine, open-eyed Christ, or the men who, so moved by the excavated Laocoön and His Sons, began to writhe in imitation of the marble serpents and their prey. WHEN DO YOU STOP MOURNING a casualty of art? Some never do. ![]() © Andrew Wyeth/Artists Rights Society (ARS) Collection of the Wyeth Foundation for American Art.Ī golden rule: to leave an incomplete image of oneself. Andrew Wyeth, Snow Hill, 1989, tempera on panel, 48 × 72". ![]()
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