This entry is part 15 of 16 in the series Postcards from a Conquistador


Poem: 'Five hundred years, and I'm just learning the land's own name.'

R.I.P. Andrew Wyeth (July 12, 1917 – January 16, 2009)

Series Navigation← Love, not war


  1. Wyeth sure lived to be a ripe age. He’s from your state, isn’t he?
    I recognize that man!


  2. Yup, southeastern PA. Pretty typically Pennsylvanian in his politics and outlook, too, though most people associated him with the dour New England of so many of his subjects.

    Tom makes a good stand-in for a bearded conquistador, don’t you think? :)


  3. Bafflingly, his passing has gone largely unreported here. UK cultural imperialism.


  4. Dave, I wasn’t quite sure what you meant by “pretty typically Pennsylvanian in his politics and outlook,” but it stimulated my curiosity and I looked up Chester County, his home and my backyard, on Wikipedia. I found, among “Other Elected Officials” for that area, the following: Sire Rickenback, Haunter of Trails; Lady Halibut, Pearl Necklace Loving Chest; and Bunny Welsh, Sheriff. Yup. Idiosyncrasy rules.


  5. I immediately thought of this image when I heard of Wyeth’s passing; thanks for sharing it.


  6. Dick – Well, it might have something to do with his contested status too, perhaps. He was entirely too popular with the hoi polloi for some critics.

    Peg – Ha! Yes, what I meant by that was “anti-establishment in a cranky and/or conservative manner,” I guess. Our weird German – redneck heritage, part neatness and order, part Whiskey Rebellion.

    Lorianne – Really? Well, glad to oblige, then!


  7. I always thought she was relearning something essential. So much more hands than anything else.


  8. Yes, and Wyeth’s hyper-realism and the title of the painting are keys to its power over our imaginations, I think. Christina’s world is one in which every blade of grass is painstakingly given its due.


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