You know it has been cold when it gets to 20 degrees and you feel like you can go outside without a coat on.
I was sad to see this today in the NY Times. My grandparents have a copy of Christina’s World hanging in the guest room where I used sleep as a kid. I always liked the painting and even incorporated it into one of my poems, Wigs.
Wyeth gave America a prim and flinty view of Puritan rectitude, starchily sentimental, through parched gray and brown pictures of spooky frame houses, desiccated fields, deserted beaches, circling buzzards and craggy-faced New Englanders. A virtual Rorschach test for American culture during the better part of the last century, Wyeth split public opinion as vigorously as, and probably even more so than, any other American painter including the other modern Andy, Warhol, whose milieu was as urban as Wyeth’s was rural.