Andrew Wyeth, R.I.P.

I know he's not trendy, and his work is always described as "bleak", "lonely", "melancholy" and other such terms one might choose to dig out a thesaurus to learn mean "damned depressing". But Andrew Wyeth was unique, a painter of scenes both solid and ephemeral. And, seldom did I see the distance and bleakness that others did. His egg tempera works were finely detailed and intimate, even in wide landscape scenes. Solitude, starkness were not threatening to him, but were the bones of experience and perception, a sign of hope.

They say he was not always a nice man. They say he carried on an affair while married. They say a lot of things about him. But he, like his father and his children, left something other than simple memories of a life. Andrew Wyeth changed modern perceptions, if ever so slightly. He may be gone, but part of his soul remains on canvas.