I took my (somewhat) annual pilgrimage down to the Brandywine River museum along with my aunt and uncle visiting from Virginia. My aunt shares my love of Wyeth, and we very happily wandered the museum enjoying N.C, Andrew, and Jamie. Today this picture struck me:
It's a watercolor called "Black Water", and I love how the woman becomes part of the landscape, her inner self hidden from view- deep and unfathomable as the water behind her. Or perhaps that's just what I'd like to read into it.
After wandering the museum we took the shuttle over to Andrew Wyeth's studio. They opened it up last year to tours, and this was really the pilgrimage part of the day. It's amazing to see the place where all the magic happens. You enter near the kitchen and see the public space, then move through a corridor to a library, then the former living room where Jamie Wyeth claimed studio space at some point and where Andrew's huge collection of lead soldiers is displayed. I was enchanted by the view out the window up the hill. The window panes making a perfect graph, revealing proportions of space and color. (Oh how I love a grid) Finally they reveal his studio space.
A huge window looks out toward route 1 over fields. Light pours in and strikes bottles of dry pigment. An easel sits in the center of the room across from a cheval mirror. Photos and sketches are pinned around the room (no originals here sadly- the poor color photocopies of watercolors and sketches were a disappointment). The ceiling and walls are crumbled, spattered, chipped. (I couldn't resist a selfie in Wyeth's studio) They look just like the textures and colors of his paintings. I stroked the light switch on my way out, to touch something he'd touched. It's silly. My daughter teased me for "fan-girling". But despite the awkwardness of a tour guide telling stories,and roped cordons dictating one's movement, and the slight oddness of a curator's touch, I was enchanted to be in his space and feel his light and sense how he caught moments around him. I understand that.
