i am heartbroken.
Andrew Wyeth passed away in his sleep last night at the age of 91.
i fell in love with this man as an artist in eighth grade, and i've always turned to his Helga paintings as a source of inspiration when i couldn't find any in my own life.
he painted what mattered to him...not what might sell more, like water scenes and piers, docks, lighthouses. you got a sense of what life was like in Maine for those who didn't live by the shore by seeing some of his work.
and the Helga pictures... i carried around a book of his work for about 2 years during high school. i didn't dare open it up on class, because oh no, a naked woman! gasp. but when nobody else was around, i could examine the brushstrokes with my own eyes, try to see how the paintings came to be. how the light intersected the dark in exactly the right place on the canvas... how different hues and shades of color could produce the feeling of volume, in lips, in cheeks, in hair.
the man's work has always lingered in the back of my mind when i first started drawing and painting nudes, and i suspect it always will.

rest in peace, Mr. Wyeth.