Two worlds of andrew wyeth kuerners and olsons the metropolitan museum of art bulletin v.34 #2 a by alfonse K

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The MetropolitanMuseumof Artwishes to express its deep gratitudeto Mr.and Mrs.Joseph E. Levinefor their generous gifts not only for this exhibition,but also for the catalogue and two portfoliosof paintingsand drawings by AndrewWyeth.At the mutualsuggestion of Mr.Levineand Mr.Wyeth,all proceeds fromthe sale of the publications,after costs, will be shared equally by the MetropolitanMuseumand the New YorkUniversity MedicalCenter,an institutionin which Mr.Levinehas a deep personalinterest.

We are especially gratefulto Betsy James Wyeth, H. Donald Widdoes, and the BrandywineRiver Museum for providingmany of the photographs used in this publication.Other photographs were supplied by: HarryN. Abrams, Inc.; AmherstCollege; The Art Instituteof Chicago; Art Reference Bureau; Donald Brennwasser;Coe KerrGallery Inc.; EdwardCornachio;Alexander McD. Davis; M. H. De Young Memorial Museum;The WilliamA. FarnsworthLibraryand Art Museum; FrankFowler;Peter Juley; M. Knoedler& Co.; Gerald Kraus;Paulus Leeser; The MetropolitanMuseum of Art PhotographStudio; Vincent Miraglia;Museumof Fine Arts, Boston; The Museumof Fine Arts, Houston;The Museum of ModernArt, New York;Charles Patteson; TritonPress; MalcolmVaron;HerbertP. Vose; RichardD. Warner;Wildenstein& Co.; and AlfredJ. Wyatt. Editors:KatharineStoddertGilbertand Joan K. Holt Design: Barnett/Goslin/Barnett Copyright? 1976 by The MetropolitanMuseumof Art IllustrationsNos. 183-184: Copyright? 1973 by The Tri-CountyConservancyof the Brandywine,Inc.

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Wyeth: Two Worldsof Andrew and Olsons Kuerners Thisexhibitionhas been madepossiblebya grantfrom Mr.and Mrs.Joseph E. Levine

MUSEUMOFART THEMETROPOLITAN

This catalogue is sent to MetropolitanMuseummembersas a special issue of the Museum'sBulletincombiningthe Summerand Autumnissues. Autumn1976 The MetropolitanMuseumof Art Bulletin Number2 VolumeXXXIV, Published quarterly.Second class postage paid at New York, N.Y. Subscriptions $11.50 a year. Single copies $2.95. Sent free to Museum members.Fourweeks' notice requiredfor change of address. Back issues availableon microfilmfromUniversityMicrofilms,313 N. FirstStreet, Ann Arbor,Michigan.Volumes I-XXXVIII (1905-1942) available as a clothbound reprintset or as individualyearly volumes from Arno Press, 330 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10017, or from the Museum, Box 255,Gracie Station, New York, N.Y. 10028. Editorof the Bulletin: KatharineStoddert Gilbert;Associate Editor:Joan K. Holt.Art Director:StuartSilver.Design: Barnett/Goslin/Barnett.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve, and extend access to The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 速 www.jstor.org

Two

Worlds

Andrew

Kuerners

and

Wyeth: Olsons

"Maineto me is almostlikegoingto the surfaceof the moon.Ifeelthingsarejusthangingonthesurfaceand thatit'sallgoingto blowaway.InMaine,everything withterrificspeed. InPennsylseems to be dwindling a of there's foundationunderneath, substantial vania, I of in Maine feel it's all dirt and earth. Up depths dry bonesanddessicatedsinews.That'sactuallythe differencebetweenthetwoplacesto me." AndrewWyeth

Foreword

Americahasthiscuriousandpowerfultendencyto packagethings.Iamnotspeakingaboutproductsforthe marketshelf,Imeanideas,philosophies,issues, leaders, andevencreativeimpulses.Theoriginofthisis a matterforspeculation.Itmaybe rootedinthiscountry's verybeginnings,whendoctrinaire religiouspointsof viewtendedto concentrateman'sbehaviorintoforced, boxlikeviewpoints.Or,as Iam inclinedto believe, thoughitmayhavebeenwithus a longtime,initsintensityitmaybe a morerecentphenomenon,something linkedto thecurrenttechnetronicerainwhich,paradoxandhomogenization ically,simplification appeartobe the resultof the developmentof complex and insatiably rapiddevices for communication. Adept packaging has its benefits, of course. Almost everythingpackaged becomes handier,easier to live with,moreeasily identifiable;fuzzyedges disappear, incongruitiesand ambiguitiesfade away.And all that, of course, means trouble.Itis extremelydifficult,if not impossible,to recognize or appreciatesubtletyin anything that has been neatened for quick presentationand sealed intoan intellectualBaggie. Andthat is a shame, for the perception of subtlety and complexity is the immediateprogenitorof contemplationand knowledge. For some reason or other, art historyseems to be particularlyproneto packaging;as earlyas the sixteenth century,the Florentinepainterand writerGiorgioVasari

Pencil study for The Prowler, 1975

bound up Gothic art and Renaissance art into two packages, one labeled essentially primitiveand barbaric and the other labeled rationaland lucid. Such a propensity is evidenttoday inthe instantlabelingof schools or trends and inthe packagingof specific artists.How simple and superficiallycorrect was the packaging of the masterJackson Pollockas Jack the Dripper!And how brutish! Few contemporarypaintershave been more neatly packaged than AndrewWyeth.In one bag he is an

"anachronistic realist";inanother, nineteenth-century

a "humblepainterrevealingthe true Americanbucolic scene"; in another,"a photographer";in another,"an avant-gardeabstract-realist";in yet another, "antiacademic." The veryname AndrewWyethconjures up stereotyped responses and controversy,rangingfrom descriptions of his works as honest bulwarksof clarityin defense against degenerate abstraction,to those that call his endeavors sickeninglypopular,purposefully reactionary,and coldlytrite.Bothswings of the pendulumare fancifuland amusing. This exhibition,TwoWorldsof AndrewWyeth:Kuerners and Olsons, attemptsto unwrapsome of the package-or packages-that surroundthe artist.We are neithertryingto create an image norto dismantleone. We seek to examine Wyethveryclosely, withoutpreconceptions or labels: to observe, to reveal, perhapsto

complicate ratherthan simplifyhis work.To pursue this task, we have chosen worksonlyfromthe two essential environmentsof AndrewWyeth'sartisticlife,where he has practiced for a generation: Kuernersfarmat Chadds Ford,Pennsylvania,and Olsons farmin Gushing, Maine.Forthis examination,the artisthas very graciously allowed us to see and exhibitany of the 1,500 studies thathe made forthe finished Kuernersand Olsons paintings.Inthis way, this exhibitionis unique. Inaddition,the exhibitionmust be considered only

a prefaceto thingsto come, forit is the Metropolitan

Museum'sintentionto prepareand producea catalogue raisonneof all of AndrewWyeth'sproductioninthese two environments.

Inthe formationof this exhibition,thanksare due to John K.Howat,Curatorof AmericanPaintingsand Sculptureat the Metropolitan,KarlKatz,Chairmanfor Special Projects,James Pilgrim,DeputyVice-Director forCuratorialAffairs,BradfordD. Kelleher,Publisher, and KatharineStoddertGilbertand Joan K.Holt,editors. Special thanksare due to the artisthimselfforsuffer-

to hiswife, ingtheexactingtaskof hoursof interviews;

Betsy James Wyeth,withoutwhose calm and orderly organizationalabilitiesthe show would not have hap-

lendersto theexhibition, pened;andtothedistinguished to Mr.and Mrs.Joseph E. Levine, and particularly

whose enlightenedgenerositymadethe exhibition possible. Agreatdealhas beenwrittenaboutAndrewWyeth byadmirersandbycriticsovertheyears,andtherehas beenconsiderablespeculationaboutthe natureof his art.Muchof ithas been inaccurate.Somehashitthe mark.Butall of it is eclipsed by whatWyethhimselfhas

to say abouthis work.Reticent,faintlyembarassedthat he mightseem garrulous,the artisthas allowedfew on art-historical extensiveconversations subjectsto interview, appearinprint.Indeed,the mostilluminating withtheauthorandeditorRichardMeryman, occurred almostfifteenyearsago. Therefore,Iasked AndrewWyethto bringthe record

upto date,to talkabouta broadrangeof subjects, arthistorical,andhe didthisforfivedaysat his primarily studioandfarmatChaddsFord,discussingnotonly a numberof paintingsrelatedto Kuerners andOlsons, butalso his earlytraining,development,techniques,and his philosophyof painting.Hesitantat first,he soon warmedupto it,andhisarticulate andpenetrating observationsinthefollowingconversationsarethe result. ThomasHoving Director TheMetropolitan MuseumofArt

~I ~ntro~oduI~coti~oo~n Introduction

1, 2. Pencil and watercolordrawingsby Andrew Wyethat the age of

eight

3. An oil painting by N. C. Wyeth, Andrew Wyeth's father, illustrating "The Black Arrow" by Robert Louis Stevenson (Scribner's Illustrated Classics, 1916)

"How did it all start? How did you become a painter?

Whatareyourearliestrecollections?"

"Well,I sort of backed into art, and I learned backf m Most tend to too. wards, people begin tight, frugal, in an academic manner,almost fearful or at least overly respectfulof getting it right. I startedoff just the opposite

- wild, free, and even explosive."

"Butartwas inthe airat ChaddsFord,wasn'tit?Your fatherwas a highlysuccessfulartist,a famousi lustratordea whoproduceda considerablenumberof dramatic, sometimesromanticillustrations for bookssuch as TreasureIsland,RobinHood,TheLastof theMohicans. Thismusthavehada profoundeffectuponyou." "Artwas in the air, as you say, but not so much for me, curiously enough. I was the youngest of the five children and was frail, unhealthy. I never wentto formal school but was tutored, and consequentlyfelt on the outskirts of the family. My sisters,Henriette and Carolyn, who showed early talent for painting, were broughtvery quickly into the studio by my father. I was almost forgotten. So I played alone, and wandered a great deal over the hills, painting watercolorsthat literallyexploded, slapdashover my pages, and drew in pencil or pen and ink in a wild and undisciplinedmanner.My earliest things were landscapes, hills near our house, romanticimages of medieval castles, knights in armor, a lot of drawingsof doughboys, soldiersof the First World War, because I was just fascinated by a collec-

tion of lead soldiersI had of that period. My fatherdid see the work, but casually. I wasn't exactly ignored, it was just that I wasn't focused in upon like the rest of the family. Then, one evening, when I was about fifteen, I showed my father a miniaturetheaterI had made out of cardboard,with painted scenery and the like, and told him about a playlet I had written- at that time I was much influencedby Shakespeare,as I am to this day and he looked at it, rathercasually I thought at the time. But, offhand, he said, 'Andy, next week I want;n.

you to comeup to thestudio,drawfromcasts,andget startedin academic training.'"

' 2

4. Charcoal still life done by Andrew Wyeth when he was fifteen 5. Pen drawing of Crusaders, by Wyeth at the age of fourteen

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"Iwonderwhetheryourfatherwasreallyignoringyou, but, rather, was considerably impressed with your

on that ofa childprodigy. lent ing s a border he [5]show ta was waitingforright skilledworkand justthe naturally a t of the A some moment. early things, those glane freedom. recognized too abinherent Perhapsvery yourng,father penandinkscenes of ca stlesandm edievalsoldiers formal training too early, because that might blunt the

their arefacile sure, strong despite yet rather They Iwould 'fortunate' and what callthe freedomnd emotional wildnessof thoseyouthfulskills." be sleight-of-hand to startyouon the dohis would worstIthing inthat to could almost havehe admire retrospect intrus ion. Wanting whatI suppos you e might call this recognition of a sort, I supposeI resentedit when it itand the was He atabout "That's deft, possible. quite But I remember first.gentle the regimen hate came. I did firstthing my father put up in thathe nestudio for me was I guess to interest. you my gain I resented purely something at So me first, in Well, along. quality bringing have a point. Usually he would set up for a beginnera wooden sphere and a cube, painted flat white, and arrangethem togetheron a neutralbackground.You were expected to drawthese objects very carefully in charcoal, getting getting the the proportions and and perspective, proportions and charcoal, perspective, and strangeshadows and reflectedlights perfectly accurately. With me, he did somethingthat he never did with the rest of the kids - a very interestingthing. With me, he took a marvelousflintlockpistol, a piratepistol, that he had aroundas a prop, and leaned it againstthe flat white paperbackground [4] SuddenlyI was excited resentedthe and the discipline discipline of the thetask. andno longer task.Of Of longerresented the was to me into course, bring was trying slowly me deftly, he the into course,deftly, trying bring slowly without and of direct observationof anobject and reality directobservation without object reality too abrupta change from my young, romanticfeelings. I remember For about that very very clearly. clearly. For remember that about five five months months

of that - these things last a long time - I drew this assembly

from all sides and angles very accuratelywith no color at all, just in charcoal on white paper, black and white with gradationsof tone. Then after this long period in which I actuallygot more and more interestedrather than bored, he removed the pistol and I did drawingsof the cube and sphere alone.

"Thenhe set up a still life with apples against a draperyand I did that in oil. For a long time I experimented in still life in this manner and, as a nudge, from time to time there were changes. For instance, I remember working on a copy of Beethoven's death mask. It was fascinating to observe the subtle planes of the face and to link them to the great man! Then back to more still life. I remembervividly a great cutlass against some drapery,with its long, sharp,bold form and its massive handguard. "Myfather certainlycame down upon me, firmly pressingme on, but at the same time he left me really very free. He made me get down and approachthe object, and work from it ratherthan the images from my mind. Slowly, he gave me the taste of really wanting to get closer to the image in front of me. And so, after a while, with all the freedom I had, I began to realize that there was somethingelse there, too. I didn'tget to the object, I didn'tproceed to the realismthat comes from the intent examination of the object because he told me to do it. I did it, finally, because I really wanted to. This moment of discovery of the object was quite literally an impulsive act, something sharp, like darting after a thing. It was like someone who thinks about a certain type of food, then tries it, likes it, and goes after it voraciously. It is somethingthat came throughthe back door and then I seized upon it." "Havinga fatherwho did not exert pressure upon you at an earlystage, or rigorouslydemand thatyou had to show you had what it takes in academic work,might have been one of the single greatest blessings that happened in yourformativeyears, because it preserved the naturaldualityof freedom and discipline withinyou." "There'ssimply no doubt about it. You see, my father got me to the point in realism, in observation,where I would say to myself what I had just painted or drawn isn't really like the object. It doesn't have the texture of it. It looks like a painting of the object ratherthan the object itself. I was seeking the realness, the real feeling of the subject, all the texture aroundit, everything involved with it, even the atmosphereof the very day in

which the object happened to exist. All of this just naturallycame about, with, of course, the rightpush from my fatherwho recognized that excitement I had within me. "Intime, a ratherextraordinarything would happen. When I was drawinga tree, let's say, I would walk right up and count the branches, every one of them, right down to the finesttendrils,the buds, the tiny irregularities on the bark, to be sure that I got everythingin. I got as intoxicated doing that as I had been in throwingpaint and ink aroundexuberantlyin my earliestwork. I suddenlyrealized that I wasn't after an image of something or an illusion of something. I quite literallywanted to have - in my own vision of it, of course - the real object itself, or at least primarilythe real object and only a little illusion. It was, in a sense, an almost primitive point of view, somewhat similarto the works of the Italian primitivesof the thirteenthand fourteenth centuries." "Youmean primitiveinthe sense thatalthoughthe style of theirpicturesseems unrealistic,the paintingsare super-realin thatthey are livingdogma." "Absolutely!" "Itmightamuse you to knowthatthere are legends, particularlyinthe MiddleAges, about certaincult images - a Madonnaand Child,let us say- thatappear to our eyes to be abstract,hieraticin style, primitive.The legends relatehow these carvingswere seen actually getting up offthe altarand movingaround,so realwere they in all respects, artisticallyand thus spiritually. One tale has itthatduringa small fire,one Madonnaand Childwalked out of the choir, out of the nave, climbed intoa protectivetree, and had to be coaxed down by the priest." "Marvelous.Well, in a way, that type of power of realismwas what I was after. I don't think I ever achieved it - never will - but, anyway, that was the search. My father seemed pleased with what I did, althoughhe didn'tsay too much. He would come into the studio and correct a few things, but not meddle.

6. Rope and chains, 1956. Pencil study for Brown Swiss (see No. 35)

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7. Maine watercolor,1937 8. Music and Good Luck, 1888, by WilliamHarnett. Oil on canvas, 40 x 30 in. MetropolitanMuseum, CatharineLorillard Wolfe Fund, 63.85

"WhenI waseighteenornineteen,he showedsome of mywatercolors,primarilyof Maine,to William Macbethwhohadtheonlygalleryin NewYorkthat exclusivelyhandledAmericanpaintings.AndMacbeth puton anexhibitionandtheshowwasa bigsuccess. Soldout.Thatwasunusual,forit wasat theendof the Depressionandnot too manyartistswerethatfortunate. I achieveda sortof renownforwatercolor,gained considerableconfidence,andevenmadea littlemoneyclearedaboutfivehundreddollarsafterthefreightbills. Funnything,thelateCoeKerr,whohandledmywork foryears,boughta watercolorat thatshow. "SoI returnedto ChaddsFordpleasedbutthenin a whilea bit disturbed,becauseI feltthattheworkwas stilltoo free,too deft,too popular,perhapsstill too undisciplined. Myanxietiesled meto getmore intothething,intorealism,intothehumanfigure, whichI haddonebutnot too well.So I startedon anatomy.Myfatherhelpedmegreatlyin this,givingme booksto lookat andreadandputtinga skeletonto draw in thestudio.Andthatwasa marvelousrevelation.I drewit hundredsof timesfromeveryconceivableangle. Thiswenton formonths.Thenoneday,myfather saidto me, 'Fine,nowyou'vedonethosethings.Now we'lltaketheskeletonawayandI'dlikeyouto do it frommemoryto seewhatyou'vegainedfromit.'That wassortof a blow.I hadto do it, in a sense,intuitively, lookingfromall angles,lookingdown,up,under.My fatherwasa hellof a teacher.He wantedme to see the thirddimensionof something,notsimplya frozen imagein frontof me, notthewaythenineteenthcenturyAmericantrompe-l'oeil painterWilliamHarnett wouldhavedoneit. He wantedme to comealivewith theobject." "Once again, I have the feeling thatyourfatherwas watchingyourworkand yourprogress verycarefullyand again was sensitive enough to knowthatyou were enteringintoanotherphase of creativeendeavor,even perhaps before you knew it yourself.And Ithinkit is this stage that buttressed and confirmedthat strong existence of what Imightcall 'aroundness'inyourwork - the fullness, the feeling thatthere is alwaysthe other side of the hill,the sense that everything,whetherit's a house or a figureor the branchof a tree, has been

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9. Jimmy. Oil paintingby Wyethat the age of nineteen 10. The Gulf Stream, 1889, by WinslowHomer. Watercolor, 1138 x 20 in. The Art Instituteof Chicago,Mr. and Mrs. MartinA. Ryerson Collection

observedfromallsides manytimesandlockedinyour

completenessof all sides, shapes,subtleties, and flavors. Again, it doesn'twork all the time, but that's what I try to do. "Aftergetting going on anatomy, I hired some models from the neighborhood,old men, a couple of old women, and startedpainting from life in my father's studio. From that moment on, I carriedon my training by myself. But it was no longer training, it was more

like balancing, refiningwhat I had alreadydone. The local people would come for maybe three, four hours a day and would pose in a position I wouldfix them in, and I'd work in oil or perhapscharcoal. And then one day, and this is somethingI've never told anybody before, when I'd tell them to have a rest for fifteen minutes or so, I'd really begin to work. That's when they would sit or stand or relax in odd, trulyhuman positions. That was really the humanfigure.That taught me action, taught me to capturethem in movement, made me engrave upon my mind severalnaturalpositions they'd go throughso I could drawthem later from memory. I was getting somethingabsolutelyreal, akin to human nature, fluid. Finally, even if the subjectwas not before me, I would have a subject so deeply within my memory- whetherit was still or moving rather rapidly- so that when I startedto paint it, it was there in my mind more vividly perhapsthan if it were physically present." "We'vespoken aboutyourearlytrainingand aboutthe pointat which you began to refineyourworkby yourself. Whatinfluences outside of yourfatherhelped shape yourstyle?" "I soaked up an almost bewilderingnumberof flashing impressionsof a wide varietyof works by a large numberof artists.But these influencesdid not come from any particularstudy. They, too, came in the 'back door,' kinetically, swiftly, naturally,almost the way a dry sponge soaks up the smallest drop of moisture.I loved the works of Winslow Homer, his watercolors,

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11. A YoungHare, 1502, by AlbrechtDurer. AlbertinaCollection, Vienna 12. The Large Piece of Turf, 1503, by Durer. AlbertinaCollection, Vienna 13. Grasses,1941, by Andrew Wyeth.Drybrushdrawing, 17 x 21/2 in. Private Collection 14. Oil paintingby Howard Pyle for "TheSea Robbersof New York"by ThomasA. Janvier(Harper'sNew Monthly Magazine, 1894)

whichI studiedintentlyso I couldassimilatehisvarious watercolortechniques.I wasso muchtakenby thelucid blues,silverygrays,andsubtleyetcracklingblackand brownishblackreflectionsin thewaterin reproductions of theworksof theRenaissancemasterPierodella Francesca.Butaboveall,I admiredthegraphicworkof thenorthernRenaissancegeniusAlbrechtDiirer.When I wasthirteenmyfathergaveme a splendidfacsimile publicationof certainof Diirer'swatercolors,drybrush paintings,andprints,reproducedby theViennese printinghouseof AntonSchrollin sucha mannerthat theworkstillstandstodayasmatchless.I livedwith thatmarvelousbookallmylife. See,thethingis practicallywornouton theedges,I'veturnedtheseleaves so oftenandseenso manythingswithfreshsurprise! Myfathergaveit to me becausehe sawmeporingover it. I wasmuchmoreinterestedin it thanhe was,andhe lovedDiirerverymuch,buthe realizedmyintensity. "Ihavesaidto myselfmany,manytimesthatI think Diirermusthavebeentheoriginatorof thedrybrush methodof watercolor.Peoplehavethoughtthatperhaps I was,butI certainlyamnot.I thinkhistechniquein theHare [11]is unbelievablein thewayhe didthetextureof thepelt,in sucha waythateachhairseemsto be a differenthairof thebrush.Oh,howI canfeelhis wonderfulfingerswringingoutthemoistureof that brush,dryingit out,wringingit outto getthathalf-dry, half-lingering dampnessto buildup,to weavethesurfaceof thatlittlecreature'scoat.In fact,oneof the Electorsof Nurembergwasso interestedin howit was done,it is saidthathe cameto watchhowDurerdidit. Hewascertainlythegreatestmasterof that.To me,it is his greatestwork next to The Large Piece of Turf [12].

Of coursehiswoodcutsareterrific,butI thinksomeof hiswatercolorsarefabulous.Someof hiswatercolors, theviewsof town,ortheinteriorof a particularly almost courtyardatNuremberghavethisremarkable, primitiveeffect.Not primitive,perhapsthatis thewrong word- perhapsfrankis therightword.He wasdiscoveringthetruth,andwantedto putit downjustasit was.That'swhyit hasthismarvelouslyawkwardquality.He wassearching.I thinkthatone of themost importantwatercolorsis thepolicemanon thehorsethat stoodoutsideof hishousein Nuremberg,whichhe

romanticizedandlatermadeintotheKnight,Death, andtheDevil.Themundane,observed,becamethe romantic.It is definitelythesamehorseman.He has madeit a littlemorefanciful,youknow,thearmoris muchmoreintricate,butit is thesamehorseman.He justlet hisimaginationgo. Thatis exactlywhathe wanted. "Iwasalsoinfluencedto someextentby Howard Pyle [14],myfather'steacher.Somearthistorianshave saidthattheysee a significantimpactin myworkof the artof ThomasEakins.I appreciateEakins,buthe wasn'taninfluence.Eakinsis, in a realsense,more EuropeanthanAmericanandwaslessinterestingfor somereasonto me.Eakinstrainedin thestudioof the FrenchacademicpainterGerome,andis moreSpanish, roundaboutVenetian,moreVelazquezandMazothan American. "Youneverknowhowinfluencescomein. If they comewithme,theycomein casually.I'mcertainly neverconsciousof them,if I amtrulyinterestedin what I amdoing.Knowledgeof theworksof certainothersis, of course,important.Butthatdoesn'tmeanthatyou shouldthinkaboutit. Thesethingsshouldgo intoyour bloodstreamanddisappear." "Yourarthasthisduality:partgreatfreedomandpart heldbackina thoughtful control.AndIdon'tmean to whatcomesfromdiscipline. tightness,Iamreferring

As a person, you strikeme as also havinga dualitythat explains yourart.You are gregarious,butgregarious withina special group.Youare definitelynot inthe party circuitor a "hailfellowwell met" inthe politicalsense pasted smile, big hello. Butwithinyourown environment, you are extroverted,veryfree withinself-imposed restraints.Yourartcould not have come out of a formulariddenacademic trainingwhere one learns by rules about spheres and cones, or where one buildsthe human figureby intersectingdiagonal and horizontaland perpendicularlines."

"Mytrainingwas academic,you see,butit wasn'ta frozentypeof academicthing.It wasfluid.I allowed myselfto breakfreefromit andmyfatherencouraged meto do that.Somethingwastherein thebeginning,I suppose,thathada gooddealto do withinnerexcitement,thejoy of celebration.I mightshootoffin one

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15. Watercolorof a lobster, 1942

direction and then pull back. My fatherused to have some people ask him, 'Well, aren'tyou scaredthat all this academic, stiff trainingthat you'reputtingyour son throughis going to kill this marvelousfreedom?'He would say 'If it kills it, it ought to be killed.' I think that'sa very good statement.If it isn't strongenough to take the gaff of real training,then it's not worth very much. I think that'strue."

"Buteveninthewatercolorsdoneveryearly,somejust beforeyourfirstshow,somejustafter,one can observe thegrowingdesirefordisciplinewithina sense of to test and freedom,andalso a desireto experiment, for observea subject.There'sone seriesof watercolors, example,inwhichyouhavecaptureda lobsterjustfive orsix inchesbelowthesurfaceofthewateramongst to thirtysome rocks[15-17].Theremustbe twenty-five - insomethe fiveofthese,each one totallydifferent lobsteris lightgreen,orbluish,inothersblack-green, thenevena sortof reddishgreen." "That'swhat I mean about not being frozen. Why shouldn'tone make dozens and dozens of picturesof the same subject?There are so many ways to skin a cat."

"Asyouknow,withsomeyoungartiststoday- andsome notso young- thereis a renewedinterestinrealism. Doyouthinkthese peopleareinterestedingetting academictrainingofthesortyouhad?"

16, 17. Watercolorsof a lobster, 1942

18. Fence Line, 1967. Watercolor,12 x 2912 in. Mr. and Mrs. JosephE. Levine 19. Snow Flurries(see No. 89)

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"Of course, it depends on the individual. The young seem to have the freedom. They seem to want it, althoughit can be deceptive. But I'm not too certain whetherthey can get that appetitefor academic training or knowledge along with their freedom. Maybe they are so intoxicated by the freedom that it will take a while, perhaps a generation, to get to want the training.It's got to come naturally." "Anumberof people have observed thatfor several generations, broadlyspeaking, there has been not only a kindof worshipand expectancy forfreedom, buta search and worshipforthe new. And itseems - again generallyspeaking - thatsince the monumentaland history-changingexperimentsof Picasso and Braquein breakingfromearlierrestrictionsof visual realityinthe firstdecades of this century,the academic has become the search itself,the yearningitselfforthe new, the changing. It'sbeen observed frequentlythatthe pendulummay have swung too farto noveltyand freedomfor its own sake. Andthe problemis, of course, thataftera whilethe new image, pressed too far,simplybecomes anotherformof the petrified." "Whynot have both? Why not have abstractionand the real, too? Combine the two, bring in the new with the traditionaland you can't beat it. I believe, however, that I don't want to let the one take over the other. I try for an equal balance. If somehow I can, before I leave this earth, combine my absolutelymad freedom and excitement with truth,then I will have done something. I don'tknow if I can do it, probably never will, but it's certainly a marvelouschallenge to me. And yet pull it back at the last moment to make it readable- and tangible. I want the object to be there in my paintings, perhapsin all of its smallestdetail, not as a tour de force, but naturally,in such a way that I have backed into it."

"Youprobablyknowtheclassic storyaboutrealismtold bythe RomanhistorianPliny,aboutthecontestbetween thepaintersZeuxisandParasiosto see whocouldpaint Zeuxispaintedsome grapesso mostnaturalistically. stunninglyrealthatbirdsflewdownto tryto eatthem. towardhis rival'swork,Zeuxissaid, 'Well,now, Turning takethe draperyoffyourpictureso thejudgecan see the

workunderneath.'Butitturnedout thatthe draperyitself

was Parasios'painting,andZeuxiscededthe prize, saying,'Ifooledthebirds,butyoufooleda painter'seye.' Butthiskindof thingisn'twhatyouhaveinmind,is it?" "No, not at all. Because that is the pure illusion. It is tricky, marvelous,magical, and near-charlatanic,if you can say that. That's a type of realerthan real that I do not seek. That'sthe type of thing that has the blare of trumpets,the curtainparting, and there, thereit is! That'swhat WilliamHarnett and his follower John F. Peto were after. They were playing to the audience with their works. It got to be a trick, I'm afraid.But true realitygoes beyond not only realityitself, but tricks and illusion as well. You see, I don't think reality comes out of a camera. That'sonly an image. Reality is more than that to me. That's why I have never felt any competition between the camera and the realityI'm strivingfor. I've had young artistssay, 'Of course, Mr. Wyeth, I can go out and take a photographin a blizzardof that tree with the snow hitting it; and I don't know why you waste months making dozens of drawings,because I can take you back in a couple of seconds with this splendid photographthat I can work from in the studio.' I said, 'You'reforgettingone thing, you know, and that's the spiritof the object, which, if you sit long enough, will finally creep in throughthe back door and grab you. With a photographyou will lose all that.' I don't think anyone can deny it."

"Ofcourse,itdependslargelyuponhowyouview

photographyphilosophically.The Impressionistsreally emerged in partfromphotography.Theywere fascinated by it, butdidn'ttryto copy it.Theyemulated it.Their workwas not a reactionagainst earlyphotography;nor did they ever feel threatenedby, say, the daguerreotype. Theythoughtthe printshowed accuratelyand scientificallywhatthe humanretinawas trulyreflecting. Photographsfromthe earlycamera showed people slightlyfuzzy because there wasn't sufficientshutter speed fortotalstop-action. They had legs in motion,a tree in the wind- all slightlyblurred- and the Impressionists were thrilledby this. Butthis is differentfromthe realistsof today who use photos. The curiousthing is thatyourworkis so alien to the photograph,because photography,afterall, is a process that tends to immobilize images, althoughthere are techniques thatsuggest

movementbutprimarilythroughspeed. Yourwork,at least to me, is definitelynot immobile.Yourworksare hardlyever at rest.Theyare in movement,forsome strange reason. Veryrarelyare they frozen." "You bring this to my mind very clearly. People say to me, 'How can you stay in one place and paint again and again?'Well, the point is, if I were interestedas a camerawould be, I would want to recordnew objects, new images onto the film, wouldn'tI? In paintingthe whole process is different.You can look at the same object in all times of day or in your imaginationwith the myriadshifts of tones. It's like Rembrandtpainting his own face as many times as he did. A change of subject is really very unimportantto me, because there are alwaysnew revelationscoming out of that one subject. I spent almost a year on the temperaSnow Flurries [19, 89],because I was fascinatedby the motion of those cloud shadowson that hill near Kuernersfarm and by what that hill meant to me. I've walked that hill a hundred times, a thousandtimes, ever since I was a small child, so it was deathless as far as I was concerned. I could probablyjust paint a hill for the rest of my life, actually. "Someotherpeople say, 'Well, he uses too much subjectmatter.'But actually the subjectbecomes unimportantto me. I finallyget beyond it; for it means many more things to me than just one object. Sometimes, when I do a painting with people in it, I have ultimately eliminatedthem, much to the horrorof those who pose for me, because I find really that it's unimportantthat they'rethere. If I can get beyond the subjectto the object, then it has a deepermeaning. That'swhy I said I can limit the subjectwithout much trouble or else suppressit to the point where it's really not terribly important.And yet I think that at the same time I have to watch out that I don't nullify the very thing. Margaret Handy, who owns Snow Flurries, says that the one thing that bothersher about the painting is the presence of the fence posts. But by taking out the fence posts I think I would have gone too far. I think you can overdo it in simplification.You can be too Homeric, too life-eternal. I don'tlike that either. It's a very fine boundary." "You don't like a forced universality. Do you feel you've done a universal thing? Do you ever think about it?"

"I think it would be very dangerous.I don't like to think about it that way. People say sometimes, 'Will your temperaslast?'I tell them I don't give a damn. I'm painting for myself. If my paintings are worth anythingif they have quality- that quality will find a way to preserve itself. I paint for myself within the tenets of my own upbringingand my standards. "There'sa quote from Hamlet that is my guide. It comes when Hamlet is instructingthe players just before they act out the death of his father before his uncle. He tells the playersnot to exaggeratebut to hold a mirror up to nature.Don't overdo it, don't underdo it. Do it just on the line." "Even in the current swing back to realism by the young, even the 'avant-garde,' there seems to be a mirrorall right, but it's one of detachment, distance, even coldness. You don't want detachment, do you?"

"No, I don't. They do. To me, they'resomewhat cut and dried. They are, as a matterof fact, in this sense, curiouslymore abstract,more purely cerebralthan even the most abstractpainterswho produce and produced very sensitivedecorationsof deep inner excitement. I find some of the new realists are even more decorative, cold, and flat." "Youseek involvement.Do you want romance?" "No. Let it come in a very subtle way. If it's in there, fine, but watch out! Well, don't even watch out, I don't think it even matters.Romance can come in many forms. It's inside, it's part of evolution. You must be part of a thing: I can never get close enough to an object, or inside of it enough." "When you do something, how do you know you have been close enough?"

"You know only in your bones, I suppose. I'm kind of like my friend the photographerCartier-Bresson- he takes literallyhundredsof photographsto get a good one. He has told me that he doesn't think about it and that, afterward,he chooses one or two that really hit. I am the same. That's why I make a point of never

20. Kitchen Table, 1967. Watercolorstudy for Anna Christina (see No. 134), 28/s x 21/4 in. Private Collection

showingpicturesI'mworkingon to anybodybecauseif a personlikesit too much,I'mdisturbedandif a persondoesn'tlikeit, I amalsodisturbed,because somehowthatwillfreezeit andI wouldn'tdarego on withit. EitherI wantto destroyit or else I thinkit's so goodthatI don'twantto touchit. Andthat'sthe beginningof the end.That'swhyI keepmypaintings lockedup.I havepicturesall overthiscountryside in placesI callstudios,whicharenot,becausetheyare privatehomes,barns,andthelike.I don'tknow whetherornottheywill workoutorhowtheywill endup. ButI can'tshowthemto anybodyforfearthat theactof paintingmightnotbe a naturalandorganic processtowardtheircompletion.Not onlyan artist canfreezesomething,but,curiouslyenough,outsiders cantoo." Alfred "Maybeyou'relikeanotherphotographer, it because was said about him that he could Stieglitz,

take photographsno fartherthan a hundredyards from his house and have his entirecareer. Likehim,you have deep roots and can express worlds in a fairlyrestricted environment.Thatis one reason whywe picked the two environments,Kuernersand Olsons, forthis exhibition."

"Ifeellimitedif I travel.I feel freerin surroundings

thatI don'thaveto be consciousof. I'llsaythatI love theobject,orI lovethehill.Butthathillsetsme free. I couldwanderovercountlesshills.Butthisonehill becomesthousandsof hillsto me.In findingthisone object,I finda world.I thinka greatpaintingis a paintingthatfunnelsitselfin andthenfunnelsout, spreadsout.I enterin a veryfocusedwayandthenI go throughit andwaybeyondit. A paintinghasto come naturally,freely,organicallyin a sense,throughthe backdoor.Andonehasto be carefulof gettingtoo of thetechnique, wrappedupin themeticulousness or of gettingfrozenor constipated. "Forinstance,let metellyou aboutthestruggles I go throughin makinga tempera.I mayget anidea, or emotion,of whatI want.I maybe walkingfrom thebathroomdownto thekitchen.OrI maybe walking overthehill.I maybe drivingthecartoo fast.And I'llget thisidea,thisemotionthatI'vebeenthinking aboutfor a longtime,perhapssomethinghassparked it off,it'sa feelingthatI'vealwaysfelt aboutsomething, andI'llsay,'Jesus,thisis terrific.'AndI mayhold it back,purposefully,fora while,beforeI evenputit on a pieceof paperor on a panel.I thinktimingis very importantin thisthing.I mayrushintomystudio and,on a pieceof paperormaybeon a panelsitting

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out. I don't even look at what I've done. And then, the next morning, when I'm fresh, I'll run into my studio or whereverI did it, and look at it. Either it will excite me or it will not. Then, if it excites me, I'm in a nervous state. It really drivesme bats. Then I startto form my mind. I may go back and make drawings,leaving that one line. Then I go througha stage of slight boredom, doubts. And I'll go back and look at that line. That line is marvelous.Then I maybe make more drawings. I may even starton a picture. And that'sthe time when I can usually tell whetherthis is an enduringthing. Is it worthdeveloping, or is it just a flashin the pan? Perhapsit isn't worthpushing into anythingmore than that one line. That's the thing in its most pure and emotionally simple form. "I have a good friend, Rudolf Serkin,the pianist, a very sensitiveman. I was talking to him one day backstage after a concert and I told him that I thought he had played particularlysensitivelythat day. I said, 'You know, many pianists are brilliant,they strike the keys so well, but somehow you are different. Ah,'he said, 'I don't think you should ever strikea key, you should pull the keys with your fingers.'And I think this is expressiveof what I try to do in my work. I try to pull a mood from a painting ratherthan trying to strike or force somethinginto it. "There'ssomethingelse that I feel is importantabout a painting other than excitement and drawingthe mood out of it, and that is I feel that a picture mustbe abstractlyexciting before you get into the image. That sounds awfully far-fetched.But that'sexactly what I feel. I don't like to think that such and such is going to be a good painting because it looks just like Karl Kuerner,for example. I want to see if it's good even without a likeness of him. "I am continuouslyseeking, tryingout new ways. It utterly absorbsme. I am continuallyproducingdrawings, although most of them don't ever develop into anythingbecause I get anotheridea of somethingthat is betterthan that initial, sharp,idea. And sometimes I deliberatelytake something,even if I don't particularly

24. Nicholas, 1955. Tempera,32Y2x 303/4in. Private Collection

likeit, andgo on. I supposeI'vegot a NewEngland conscience;foreverynow andthenI haveto takesomethingandpushit justas hardas I possiblycan." "Itobviouslydoesn'tbotheryouthatfromtheveryquick the longprocess line,thatimmediatestroke,throughout towardthefinishedproduct,significantchangesare made." "Iexpectthat,andI obtaingreatexcitementin the changes.Becausewiththem,thepaintingbeginsto discoveritself.It beginsto roll.It'slike a snowballrolling downthehill.Theprocessof changeis extremely importantto me. That'swhatI love abouttempera.You canbuildoverit, you canleavesomethingout." "I'vebeentoldthatbetweenlayersofyourtemperas thereareoftenquitedifferentthings.Andifone could shavethose layersaway delicately,microscopically, youwouldhavemanypictures,some ratherdifferent thanwhatyoustarted." "Absolutely.Onecaseis a veryearlypictureof mine, a portraitof Nicholassittingin profile[24].I hadbeen workingformonthson a winterlandscapeherein thiscornerof the studioandI lovedthe colorof the thing- butit wasn'treallyexpressingthewayI felt. I wantedsomethingcloserto me.Nicholascamein from schoolandsatdownin thecornerandbeganto dream aboutairplanes.Andhe looked- my God.AndI said, 'Nicholas,staywhereyou are.'And I hauledthe easel overin thecomerandI paintedNickin rightover thelandscapeveryslowlyandgently.He seemedto expressmoreaboutthehill itselfthanthelandscape. He was in thiscoat withfuron the collarandwiththis fey facethathe had,he seemedto expressthewinter landscapemoodto meverypowerfully." "Atthe pointwhereyoudo reachexhaustionina painting,whatdo youdo then?Doyoudropit,ordo youdo manythingsata time?" "Well,I carryit asfaras I can andthenI'llsay,I'm done,I can'tdo anymore.SometimesI getbackto it andtake anotherlook afterweeksof working.When I'vedoneanything,I sometimesgo back,andmaybe

workon partsof it. Butrarely.I go as faras I feel right andthendropit. I'mwashedup. I drainmyselfof every ounceof whatI feel aboutthethingandthat'sthat. "There'sa veryinterestingthingwhichhashappened to me a numberof times.I maydo a paintingor a very complicateddrawing(maybeit will takeme monthsto do it), andI finishit andI willfeel exhausted.And thenthe verynext dayI will get an idea or a notion aboutwantingto do something,andit is almostthe aftereffectof theintensitythatwillmakeme do this nextthingspontaneously, andI hitit righton thenose. I thinkthereasonforthatis almosttheresidue,the creamof thenervousnessandintensitythatfinally comesto thesurfacewitha flash.OnceI wastalkingto RobertFrostabouta poemof histhatis so beautifully written,it is consideredby someto be actuallyperfect. It is called'Stoppingby Woodson a SnowyEvening.' AndI askedhim,'Youmusthaveworkeda longtime on that.It musthavebeendonein the middleof winter. Whatwasyourexperience?' He said,'Andy,I'lltell about that. I'd been you writinga verycomplicated, long-drawn-out poem,almosta storytypeof poem entitled'TheDeathof theHiredMan.'I hadfinished at twoo'clockin themorning.It wasa hot August night,andI wasexhausted.I walkedout on theporch of myhouseandlookedat thismountainrange.It came to me in a flash!I wroteit on an envelopeI hadin mypocket,andI onlychangedoneword.It cameout justlikethat.'" "Whataboutfailureswithina successful picture?Do you ever findthat?"

"Oh,yes.I willsimplyrepaintit. In tempera,of course, youcanrepaint.However,in a drybrushanda watercolor,sometimesa passagethatlookslike a mistakecan be theprecisemakingof a picture,becauseit will of a pureblueor bringoutmaybethetransparency gold,nearthemussinessthatmaybe aroundit. In this caseyouhaveto buildup theso-calledmistakeand isolateit likea liquideye in a landscapeor in a poolof water.So, curiously,sometimesthemoreyou achieve an opaqueheavinessin a medium,themoreit might bringout theflashingquality.I thinkRembrandtis a

verygoodcasein point,forhe broughtoutjewelry by makingtherestratherheavyandsolid,soggyalmost. So a terriblemistaketechnicallycansometimesbring fortha depththat'sunexpected.It'sa veryfineline. You certainlydo not wantto makeanypicturea perfectionof technicalqualityso that'sallyou seewhenyou look at the thing.Therearea greatmanypianiststoday thattechnicallyareperfectin theirplaying,butI thinktheyarea bloodybore." "Abouthowlongdoes ittakeyouto do a tempera?" "Well,it dependsa littleon howbigit is, buteventhe sizedoesn'treallymatter.It takessometimesfourto six monthsorlonger.SometimesI don'tdo anytemperas in a givenyear,sometimesI'vedone as manyas three. Earlyon, I woulddo asmanyas five. "Butthereareno rulesin mythinkingaboutpainting. That'swhyI hateto teachbecausemytheoryis to haveno theoriesat all. I don'tthinkyoushouldtie yourselfup.I don'tthinkyou canbe fencedin. I don't liketeachingbecauseI haveto go through particularly thingsI havealreadydone.To be a goodteacheryou have to stickto fundamentals.I've had a good many fundamentals in mylife, butI wantto go beyond andbe experimentalandbe alwayseagerto look aroundthe nextcorner.I feel thereis sucha wide opportunityin whatI'mafterthatit'smorea matterof boilingsomethingdownto thethingthatis closest to me in myheart.AndI amnottalkingabouttechnique,whichratherboresme. Techniquewilltakecare of itself.I'vereadreviewsthatsaythatWyethhas reachedanexcellenceof technicalquality,andforthat reasonhe'sjuststandingstill.They'renot lookingat my workin therightlight.Becausetechniqueis notwhat interestsme. To me,it is simplythequestionof whether ornot I canfindthethingthatexpressesthewayI feel at a particulartimeaboutmyownlife andmyown emotions.TheonlythingthatI wantto searchforis the growthanddepthof my emotiontowarda given object.In thatwayI freemyselffromthebondsof routinetechnicalquality.I don'tthinkonecandevelop technicallyin newwaysunlessone'semotionsdictateit. To be interestedsolelyin techniquewouldbe a very

25. Pencil studyfor Brown Swiss (see No. 35)

superficialthing to me. If I have an emotion, before I die, that'sdeeper than any emotion that I've ever had, then I will paint a more powerfulpicture that will have nothing to do with just technique, but will go beyond it."

"Theparticular mediumyouuse seems to be extremely inexpressingthevarioussides ofyourperimportant sonalityandsubtleaspectsofyoursubjectmatter.Tell meaboutyourtools,these media,andyourfeelings aboutthem." "To me, pencil drawingis a very emotional, very quick, very abruptmedium. I will work on a tone of a hill and then perhapsI will come to a branch or leaf or whateverand then all of a suddenI'm drawninto the thing penetratingly.I will perhapsput in a terrificblack and pressdown on the pencil so stronglythat perhaps the lead will break, in order to emphasizemy emotional impactwith the object. And to me, that'swhat a pencil or a pen will do. Any medium is an abstractmedium, I suppose, but to me pencil is more abstractbecause it is an outline. I may go into tones at times but to me it is a very precise and a very vibratingmedium. "You must not be afraidof it, though. Pencil is sort of like fencing or shooting. You make a thrust at your opponent yet you must be ready to recoverinto the on-guardposition, and when you thrustyou must not think that you will miss the mark. Your opponent may parry, so when you thrust you've got to put your heart and soul into it and then, in a split second, withdraw.This is very much to me like pencil drawing. You've got to dartwith a sharppoint and hit it. Either you hit it or miss it, but you must have no hesitation. Pencil drawingto me can be likened to having a blade go in and out quickly. When I'm out walking, searching, observing,I am almost like a sharpshooterwhen I see something,I put my sights on an object and pull the trigger, so to speak, with my drawing. Sometimes my hand, almostmy fingertipsbegin to shiverand this affectsthe qualityof the lead pencil on the paper. It becomes dark and light, dark and light. The thing begins to move. The drawingbegins to pull itself out of the blank piece of paper. You can't concoct that.

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26. YoungBull, 1960. Drybrush,20/8 x 41/8 in. Private Collection 27. Frozen Pond, 1968. Watercolor,313/ x 3934 in. Private Collection 28. Faraway, 1952. Drybrush,1334 x 21/2 in. Private Collection

"Now about watercolor.The only virtue to a watercolor is to put down an idea very quickly without too much thought about what you feel at the moment. In some senses it is similarto drawingbut drawing in all aspects of color. With watercolor,you can pick up the atmosphere,the temperature,the sound of snow sifting through the trees or over the ice of a small pond, or against a windowpane.Watercolorperfectly expressesthe free side of my nature. You know, it's funny, some years ago I rememberseeing a book entitledMaking WatercolorBehave. That's such a ridiculousmistake. Watercolorshouldn'tbehave, it simply shouldn't. "Iwork in drybrushwhen my emotion gets deep enough into a subject. So I paint with a smallerbrush, dip it into color, splay out the brushand bristles, squeeze out a good deal of the moistureand color with my fingersso that there is only a very small amount of paint left. Then when I stroke the paper with the driedbrush, it will make various distinct strokesat once, and I startto develop the forms of whateverobject it is until they startto have real body. But, if you want to have it come to life underneath,you must have an exciting undertoneof wash. Otherwise,if you just work drybrushover a white surface,it will look too much like drybrush.A good drybrushto me is done over a very wet technique of washes. One of the very firstdrybrushpictures I ever did was entitled Faraway [28],which is the one of Jamie, my son, as a smallboy. That startedout as a straightwatercolorbut then I got interestedin the textureof a coon hat he was wearing and I kept working and working, shaping and molding, if you will, with that dried-outbrushand dryingpaint. I've done others after that, and they were an even driertechnique. But what I am afteris a mixtureof straightwatercolorwith drybrush.I consider one of my most successful ones to be Young Bull [26] - underneaththat built-up dry paint is a luxurious wash and that'swhy it works, at least for me. Drybrushis layer upon layer. It is what I would call a definite weaving process. You weave the layers of drybrushover and within the broad washes of watercolor.

"Nowtempera.I wasintroducedto thetechniqueof temperaby PeterHurd.He hadreadup a gooddeal aboutit andin a sensehe wasresponsibleforbringing thetechniquebackintousein thiscountry.He gave me a terrificgroundingin themedium.He simplifiedit downto theeggemulsionanddidn'tuseoil emulsion at all. You see, thereare a lot of mixtureswithbeeswax andmaterialslikethat,whicharenot technically soundor artisticallysatisfying. "Technicallyspeaking,temperais justa drypigment mixedwithdistilledwaterandyokeof egg.You mix halfpigmentandhalfegg.You useyourownjudgment. You cantellby puttingit on thepalette:if it skims off as a skin,you knowthatyou'veemulsifiedit right, butif it pattersoff,youknowthatyouhaven'tgot therightmixture.I thinktherealreasontemperafascinatedmewasthatI lovedthequalityof thecolors: theearthcolors,theterraverde,theochers,thereds,the Indianreds,andtheblue-redsaresuperb.I get colors fromall overthe country,even the world.Theyaren't filledwithdyes.There'snothingartificial.I really onlylikethingsthatarenatural.I lovethequalityand thefeel of it. It'sjustfabulous.I liketo pickit up and holdit in my fingers.To me, it'slike the drymudof the BrandywineValleyin certaintimesof theyearor likethesetawnyfieldsthatonecanseeoutsidemy windows.I'vebeenblamed,fromtimeto time,forthe factthatmypicturesarecolorless,butthecolorI useis so muchlikethecountryI livein. Winteris that colorhere.If I see a bluebirdor somethingspontaneous witha brilliantflashof color,I loveit, butthenatural colorsarethebest.I suppose,whenyou getdownto it, I reallylike temperabecauseit has a cocoon-likefeeling of drylostness- almosta lonelyfeeling. "There'ssomethingincrediblylastingaboutthe material,likeanEgyptianmummy,a marvelousbeehive or hornet'snest.The mediumitselfis a verylastingone,

too, becausethepuremethodof thedrypigmentand egg yolk is terrificallysticky.Tryto rubegg off a plate whenit'sdry.It'stough.It takestemperaaboutsix monthsormoreto dryandthenyou canactuallytakea scrubbingbrushto it andyouwon'tbe ableto rub offthatfinalhardness. "Itriedmanymethodsin thebeginning.I eventried applyingit witha paletteknife.I triedpaintingit as I didmywatercolors,freely.I triedmanythingsuntilI foundout whatthe qualityof thatmediumreallymeant to me.Watercolor,as I havesaid,givesmesomething free.Pencilhasthatotherqualityof freedombecause you'reableto dartin andhit theprecisesmallthing thatyou want.Drybrushhas anotherquality-it's an state.Buttemperais somethingthatI intermediate cantrulybuild.Mytemperasareverybroadlypainted in theverybeginning.ThenI tightendownon them. If you getthedesignandtheshapeof thethingyouwant to paint,you cango on andon andon. There'sno limitation.Theonlylimitationis yourself.Temperais, in a sense,likebuilding,reallybuildingin greatlayers thewaytheearthitselfwasbuilt.It all dependson what youhavein thedepthof yourbeing.If it'sshadowed, you arelikelyasnot somehowto be in shadow.I've alwaysarguedthatthisis truein anymedium.I'vehad peoplesayto me, 'Whydo youwasteyourtimewith watercolor,it'ssucha lightmedium,a fragilemedium. It lacksdepth.'Well,it isn'tthemediumthatlacks depth,it'stheartist.You canneverblamethemedium. "Youwillnoticethatin mytemperasI amnottrying to gainmotionby freedomof execution.It'sall in howyou arrangethething- thecarefulbalanceof the designis themotion.It'sa momentthatI'mafter,a fleetingmomentbutnot a frozenmoment.Temperais not a mediumforswiftness;it'smarvelous,butit's notforthequickeffect.As I said,thereareothermedia thatdo quickthingsbetter,oil orwatercolor.Whygo

29. Detail of the temperaWeatherSide (see No. 156)

to all the troubleof mixingegg tempera,emulsifying, andgettingit rightwhenyoucando it withanother medium?I seeno pointin that. "Youlearnit slowly.It'strialanderror.It'sexperience.It'salmostfatalto workin impastounlessyou buildit up veryslowly.To takea heavypaletteknife witha mixtureof eggtemperaandputit on in gobs is disastrous.It willsimplydropoffin time.You'vegot to weaveit, as if youwereweavinga rugor tapestry, slowlybuildingit up.Thedark'sthemostdifficultpart becauseyoucancoververyquicklywitha brushin dark.Withwhiteit'sa slowerprocess,so thedarkpassagesaretechnicallythe dangerouspassages.Whenyou studytheearlymen,likeBotticelli'sTheBirthof Venus, youwillnotethatalthoughit is doneon canvas, it is verybeautifullywoventogether.I've triedpainting temperaon canvas,butI didn'tlikeit. I hadit primed witha puregessobutit didn'twork.I didn'tlikethe give of thecanvas.It botheredme. Somehowthatindicated to methatthegivewasforthequickeffect,andI don'tusetemperaforthat. "Butyouhaveto watchyourselfso verycarefullyin tempera.It is a dangerousmedium,becauseyoucanget to be a mastertechnicianwithalmostanysubjectin temperaandthat'swhenyouhaveto reallywatchout. It'sa mediumthatcanleadtowardcoldtechnical quality,so I thinkyouhaveto fightthis,andI find fightingit a verygoodthing.If I juststayedin mystudio andmeticulouslyworkedpanelafterpanel,it would becomea bloodybore.In mytechniqueI constantly fighttheperfectionthatI believeI'veobtained.I tryto do thingsdeliberatelysloppilyat times.I knowI'm knownforputtingeverybladeof grassin a pictureand forbeingalmostmicroscopic,butas a matterof factI think,technically,I'msloppy.I havedonepicturesthat to me lookedliketechnicalperfectionin tempera,but aftera whileI don'tlikethem.I see thedangerin them.

"Somepeoplesaya drawingor a watercoloris the mostsensitivemedium.I thinkanymediumis sensitive if youknowhowto handleit right.Temperais on a veryfinelineof balance.If youdon'thitit right, becauseit is sucha strongmedium,it showsits weaknessquickerthanalmostanyother.You can'tfudgeit. It doesnot coverupforyou.It is notforgiving.Now drybrushcomesto me throughthefactthatafterI finisha temperaI mayfeel exhausted.I may have workedfourorfiveor sixmonthson it andI'mdesperatelytired.But thenI maysee somethingthatinterests me andwatercolordoesn'thavethestrengthsomehow. I startwitha watercolorsometimesandrealize,damn it all, I feel strongerthanthat.I wantto go into it witha littlemoredetailso I startworkingin drybrush.I start buildingit up,workingoverthewatercolor,getting morecrosshatching intoit, gettingmoretexture,weavI it. do this a on ing pieceof paper,perhapsBristol boardormaybeon a thinpieceof scrapboard,andall of a suddenit becomesa drybrush.Theone, Garret Room [30],withthe Negrostretchedout in bed, is a verygoodexample.I startedthatas a freewatercolor withbroadwashesdoneveryquicklyandthenbecame fascinatedby thepillowthathisheadwasrestingon, actuallya sugarbag madeinto a pillow,anddamnedif I wasgoingto go home (afterall,herehe wassleeping) andgrabmytemperabox andstartworkingon it. So it turnedintoa drybrush.Now therearesomeprofessionaldrybrushpainterstoday,but I don'tthinkvery muchof that.A drybrushhappens.It isn'tsomething youplanto do anymorethanI cansayI'mgoingto makea finedrawingthisafternoon.It mayturnoutto be a gooddrawing,morelikelyit'llturnoutto be a terriblething." "It'simportant,Ithink,to realizethatyou use each mediumto express exactly how you feel at the moment, somethingthatpeople have misunderstoodaboutyou.

ButIsupposetheyreallydon'tknowmaterials,since it

is reallyonly a musicianwho can tell you why at one pointthe violinis very necessary, and then at another timethe viola. "Ofthe variouscategories of subject matter- landscape, still life, portraiture-is there one thatyou particularlyfavoror dislike?"

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30. GarretRoom, 1962. Drybrush,177s x 223/4 in. Private Collection

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"No,not actually.However,I don'tthinkI'mreallya portraitpainter,becauseI onlyusea headto express somethingmore.And,if a paintingstaysjusta head,I'mnotsatisfiedwithit. If it'sanoutdoorperson, I feelthathis countenancereflectstheskieshe walks under:thecloudshavereflectedon hisfaceforhis wholelife andI tryto getthatqualityintotheportrait. Soit'smorethana portraitto me.Peoplehaveeven askedmewhatcolorI mixwhenI painta portrait.'Do youmixa neutralskintone?'theyask.Well,thatis utterlyforeignto thewayI work.It'slikepaintinga landscapeandthenpaintingthesky.To me, a skyanda landscapearetogether.Onereflectstheother.They bothmerge." "Youhave intense loyaltiesto specific places and environments,don'tyou?"

A humanbeing "Yes,andit is thetotalenvironment. is a reflectionof all of the aspects withinan environment Someotherpaintersaremaybe of thatenvironment. still-lifepaintersorlandscapepaintersor seascape paintersor portraitpainters,but to be categorized wouldbe intolerableor impossibleforme. I couldn't justsay,'NowI'mgoingto be a portraitpainter.' It couldn'twork.Oncein a whileI'llsee somethingalien in a landscape,maybeit's a new shingleroof or asbestosroofortinroofthat'sjustbeenputon a building. The shockingqualityof thatnewnessis fascinating to me, simplyas a shockingform.Butit doesn'ttake longfornatureto takeover.Takea winterof skiesor a yearof skiesandthatroofcontainsalltheseskies withinit. A child,a newbornchild,is alienfora while, it livesin changesit, doesn't butfinallytheenvironment it?In a sensethesethingsarebathedby thelightof notjustanhouror a day,butcountlesshoursand hundredsof days.Mylightis notlinkedto a specific time.UnlikeClaudeMonet,or someof theother I don'tpainta picturewiththelightof Impressionists, and eleveno'clock thentwelveo'clockandthen threeo'clock.I thinkthecamerais themasterof that. I amfascinatedby thechanging,changing,changing qualityof the sky.I wouldlike to tryto paintso nothing

is atrestin mywork.Nothingis frozen.I wouldlike peopleto senseeven in thosepaintingswithbrilliant passagesof sunlight,thatthesunlightis notreallystill butthatyoucanreallyseethepassageof thesun. "I'mnot muchforthenewthingor thenewobject. I liketo go backagainandagainbecauseI think youcanalwaysfindnewthings.Therearealwaysnew emotionsin goingbackto somethingthatI know verywell. I supposethisis veryodd,becausemost peoplehaveto findfreshthingsto paint.I'm actually boredby freshthingsto paint.To makeanold thing I'veseenfor yearsseemfreshis muchmoreexcitingto in mylife,Kuerners me.Of theessentialenvironments in PennsylvaniaandOlsonsin Maineareprobably themostimportant.Onehasthecolorsof Pennsylvania andthesurrounding area,thestrengthof theland, theenduringqualityof it, thesolidityof it; theotheris spidery,lightin color,windyperhaps,sometimesfoggy, givingtheimpressionsometimesof cracklingskeletons rattlingin theattic." "TellmeaboutKuerners farm.Whendidyoufirstcome acrossitandwhydo youhavethisdeepfascination withit?" "Youmightevensaythatit hassomethingdirectlyto do withmybackground.MyfatherwasSwiss,FrenchSwiss,anda certainGermanelementwaspresentin him.ThatmighthavebeenwhyI wasattractedto Karl Kuerner.Kuernersis rightoverthehillfromwhere I wasborn.As a smallboy,I wanderedoverthere almosteveryday.I havealwaysbeenfascinatedby thoseof theFirstWorldWar. soldiers,particularly I wasintriguedby the fact thatKarlKuernerwas a soldierwhofoughtin the Germanarmyat the Battleof theMarne,waswounded,cameto Americarightafter thewar,becamea hiredfarmer,andfinallyowned hisfarm.He wasa machinegunner,andwasdecorated by theCrownPrincehimself.StartingwhenI was veryyoung,Karlwouldtalkto me abouthiswarexperiences,in hisbrokenEnglish.You see, all of that, plusmyfathertellingmeabouthisSwissbackground, andmymotherdiscussingherPennsylvaniaGerman forebears,gotmyimaginationgoing.

"I didn'tgo to that farm because it was in any way bucolic. Actually I'm not terriblyinterested in farming. The abstract,almost militaryquality of that farm originally appealed to me and still does. Everythingis utilized. If they kill a groundhog,he's cut up and his innardsare made into sausages. The farm is very utilitarianin its quality. To enter that house with those heavy thick walls and have beer on draft or hard cider was an exciting thing. To see the hills capped with snow in the wintertimeor to look at the tawniness of the fields in the fall all made me want to paint it. But here again, I backed into it. I didn'tthink it was a picturesqueplace. It just excited me, purely abstractlyand purely emotionally. "Someof my earliest watercolorswere done there. When I was about ten years old, I had an urge to paint it, curiouslyenough; it never became a conscious effortor something about which I said to myself, 'I must continue this work.' I've gone on for years and not painted there. Then, all of a sudden, I'll have a strong compulsion to go back. Someone asked me a few weeks ago, 'Doesn't the fact that the MetropolitanMuseum is having a show partly about Kuernerscut you off from the farm?'But it doesn't at all, because what I'm doing now is so personal to me, it has nothing to do even with Kuernersas a specific place any more. My work aroundit has gone beyond that point. If my work changes it isn't because I'm going to stressany particular part of it or because I'm going to change my technique, it's the motivation of somethingI've found and that has moved me that is going to carryme on. I never look back. I'm always ten jumps ahead of what other people are thinking about what I'm doing. I have other thoughts in my mind. So I really feel, as I am talking to you here about Kuerners,as if I am talking about someone who has alreadyleft this world."

"Whatis Kuerners farmas a physicalentity?" "Itmust be a hundredand fifty or two hundredacres. It is quite a big farm for this locale, anyway, and it has many facets to it. There'sthe house with its multiple

sections, the woodshed, the pond, the entrance drive, the pines, the porch, the windows. But more important than its individualpartsto me is the fact that it's a place that I can walk over, climb over without feeling out of place or observed. Since he is a foreigner, Karl Kuernerseems to have an understandingof the artistthat a PennsylvaniaQuakerfarmerwouldn't have. Karl told me that years ago he had known an old German artistin the town of Miinsteroutside of the Black Forest where he had his flock. This artist came one day and asked Karl to pose and he painted his sheep. From these experiences, I think Karl gained great insight into what an artistwas all about. After that he had a certainwarmthtowardthem. So he lets me wander all over that house and paint in any room. I have the key to the house and I come and go as I please. He doesn't think of me as particularlyimportant. I don't think he even thinks of me as being around there half the time. So I don't exist as a person. That's importantfor my creativeprocess."

"Doyoulookuponthevariousroomsinthehouseofthe as partsofyourstudio?" Kuerners "No, I don't even think of it as a studio. I think of it as an environment,free, organic, and natural.As a matterof fact, I don't like the idea of having a formal studio. My father always said that living and the painter shouldn'tbe separated,they should be together. It's like eating and breathingand sleeping. Not something you denote as art and do elsewhere. It should all be together." "Whattimes of the year are you at Kuerners?" "I'mthere primarilyin the late fall, winter, early spring, and from time to time even in the summer,too." "Tellme about Olsons. Whythatfascination?" "That,too, was deeply imbeddedin my childhood. I went to Maine when I was a very young boy with my

32. Lamplight,1975. Watercolor,2112 x 291/8in. Anton A. Vreede

33. N. C. Wyeth'sstudio in a photographtaken in 1945 34. Gull Scarecrow(in the Olsons'blueberryfields), 1954. Watercolor, 27Ys x 213/4 in. Private Collection

father and mother. We were in Port Clyde firstwhen I was about ten years old or younger. Before that, my family lived in Needham, Massachusetts,where I spent a lot of my boyhood. And it was in Needham that I got a feeling for New England and particularlypine trees, which seem to say New England to me. I used to play underthe pine trees at Needham and remember them very vividly. As early as ten I began to paint Maine. I painted aroundthe islands, and did my first pen drawings,and then I went into watercolor. "Onmy twenty-secondbirthday,I met my wife Betsy. One day I drove across the river to Cushing, where I'd never been before. I had heard about a man by the name of Merle B. James, who had had a friend who had bought a watercolorof mine. I don't know exactly why I did it but on my twenty-secondbirthday I drove over to meet him. He was away but I met his daughterBetsy. That very day she told me that she wanted to show me a marveloushouse and she drove me down to Olsons, and I met Christinafor the firsttime. She had been a very close friend of Betsy's since she was a little girl. Betsy really knew her intimately- even used to comb her hair from time to time. "Throughthe Olsons I really began to see New England as it really was. It is just the opposite to the Kuerners.Overall, it's dry like bones, the house is like a tinderbox.Christinawas a remarkablewoman, as was her brotherAlvaro. And there again, they would let me wander all over and through the house. Again, I didn'thave or need a formal studio and so I used the upstairsrooms of the Olson house as a studio. I'd go down there by boat early in the morning and stay there all day long. And that is where I painted the first Christina [117], Wind From the Sea [144], Seed Corn

[164], and so on. I stayed rightwithin that environment. It was everything.The world of New England was in that house overlooking the mouth of the Georges River. Its emotional effect was powerful upon me. I remember flying over the Olson house when I'd leave late in the fall and soaring over I would think of Christina sitting in that dry, magical house. She was a cripple, and wasn'tvery attractiveto look at, but she had a marvelous mind. You know, I wasn'teven conscious when I did Christina'sWorld [122]that she was crippled.

Isn't that strange?I just thought this is a simply splendid person and I never even realized about her crippled armswhen I got her to pose outdoors. I never thought the picture was the least bit odd until people around Cushing began to say, 'God, Andy, why are you painting that old pile of bones?' The picture was posed in one sense and then in anotherutterlyunposed. It was spontaneous and it had an organic growth about it. It wasn't a preconceived idea; it just happened. Coming in contact with both places, Kuernersand Olsons, was simply a naturalextension of my life. I didn'tplan anything;it just happened." "Ifind it extraordinarythatyou were assimilated into

these two households, worked within them as environments, and that this never bothered you or them."

"Itmight have a lot to do with the fact that my father was a person of the period where the studio was an all-importantthing, like FredericRemington's studio, or Sargent'sstudio, or Hassam's studio, where they had draperyand formal objects around.My father'sstudio was jammedwith curious objects from birchbark canoes to guns and swords. It was marvelous,but I always felt that I never needed a host of special accouterments.I never wanted to add anythingto the environment where I paint. All I need is just the room and an easel and the environmentwhere I am painting. I don't like the traditionof the big studio, the mystic salon that becomes some sort of affected heart of creativity where you have afternoonteas to show off your new work that is drapedand then dramaticallyunveiled. This I abhor. It is wholly antitheticalto my feeling of creativity.I need to be casual, almost sloppy. I need my drawingsjust around, strewnaround.After the Olsons died, the people who went down there to clean out the place found a whole lot of stuff of mine that I'd forgottenI'd even left there. The drawingswere like old pieces of conversationsor thoughts, still hanging in the air. My studio is where I'm working, whereverI am. I have drawings,studies, pictures sitting all over the place. I like loose ends. It's part of my creativity.I don't think I exist really as a person, particularly.I really don't, and I'd rathernot."

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35. BrownSwiss, 1957. Tempera,30 x 60 in. Mr. and Mrs. AlexanderM. Laughlin

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36. Detail of Brown Swiss (see No. 35)

"I'd like to discuss a number of specific paintings of the

farmthatyou'vedoneovertheyears.Onethat Kuerners' particularly intriguesme is BrownSwiss[35],paintedin

1957, because in a way it's a portrait- a portraitof the farm, the house, the property, the Kuerners themselves, you in a very curious sense, light, sky, the color of a late fall afternoon."

"Ah! Brown Swiss is indeed a real portraitto me. It was like doing a person'sface - so complex! It was like a double portrait,because of the reflectionof the house in the pond. I am looking at it in one way, but then I'm looking at it in another.If you look closely at Brown Swiss, you'll see many, many very fine details: for instance, the tin pan sittingthere on the porch; and if you look in the top windows you'll see the ceiling of the attic room where there are those strangehooks on which the Kuernershang slipcovers, sheets, sausages, and onions and these hooks are even reflectedin the pond. All these things are closely related to the true sense of portraitureto me."

37. Study of one of the Brown Swiss cattle, 1957. Pencil and watercolor,8/2 x 11 in. Private Collection 38, 39. The firstdrawingsfor BrownSwiss (see No. 35)

"I'dliketo trackthroughthe process by which a picture is formednot only in yourmind,butalso by the various stages of studies and changes. Whynot BrownSwiss?" "Well, the very firstthing was a pencil study of one of the Brown Swiss cattle [37]- that'swhere the painting got its name. But then that was kind of forgotten and the real conception, that quick flash, is a drawingdone very free in black Higgins ink [38].I came in from walking over the hill late in the afternoonone November and something I'd seen out of the very corner of my eye, got me. I suddenly saw the Kuernerhouse and the hill reflectedin the pond at Kuerners,so I went into my studio a couple of hours later. A bottle of Higgins ink was on my desk, I grabbedit, and with a large, number 12 sable brush, quickly did this firstdeep impression. I wasn'tsatisfied.I put a mark throughit, turnedthe page over and did this [39],the second one, very quickly - in seconds. And this, I thought, that'sinteresting.I quickly threw it ih my drawingcabinet face up, closed it, and took off. I forgot about it. About three or four days later, I happened to open the drawerjust by acci-

dent and this black wash drawingcaught my eye. Oh, oh, that'sit, I thought. The balance, the flash of that black thing, broughtthe image of the scene crystal clear to my mind and I recalled the marvelousambercolor of the rich landscape and the lucid pond looking almost like the eye of the earthlooking up, reflectingeverything in creation. "Iput the firstimpressionaway and went back to the site itself. But I had the firstimpressionto hold myself to the originalidea. You know, it's very easy to deterioratewhen you have naturein front of you. You lose the graspof what you are seeing. You can lose the essence by detailing a lot of extraneousthings. At the scene I startedto make dozens of drawings: details of the house, the trees, the piles of stone, things on the porch. All of these were absolutely accuratedrawings. Most of them are pencil, which is terrificdiscipline. Because you don't have color, you don't have anything. You're workingwith basic materials.But again it's interpretivetoo, which it must be. You have to find a method to capture the quality of an object. And it isn't because you put in every fleck on a pile of stones or every blade of grass on the hill. That doesn't make up a

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40, 41. Pencil studiesfor Brown Swiss (see No. 35)

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42, 43. Watercolorstudiesof Kuernerspond for Brown Swiss (see No. 35)

powerfulpainting. That'swhy I feel stronglyabout a lot of so-called realismthat is done today which I think I've had a very bad influenceon. They think it's the amountof detail, and that really isn't it. Yes, a detail should be there and it should be carriedfar, but the picture'sgot to be bigger than that. Otherwise,it doesn't hang together and it doesn't give you the force of the thing. It's got to be abstractedthroughyour vision, your mind. It's a process of going throughdetail in order eventuallyto obtain simplificationand cutting out. And it's a very fine line because you can't overdo it, you can't cartoon it. It's a subtle quality, very subtle. And with less sometimesto work with, you gain more." "Inthe past you haven'treallyshown manyof your studies likethose for BrownSwiss. Occasionally,butnot veryoften." "Rarely.I showed the more completed type of drawings, but not the drawingsdone in white heat and those that get me going emotionally into a picture." "Iam veryhappythatyou feel that it's all rightto do this, now." "Yes, to me these are things that were done in my past and they'realien to me now. It's as if I were dead and someone else had painted them. That's the way I really feel about it. I can be quite dispassionateabout them. "So, in the drawingprocess for Brown Swiss, every once in a while I'd open that drawerand take a quick look at the black thing to keep it in my mind. And after maybe a month, maybe longer, I placed a big tempera panel on my easel, just a blank white panel. I may just look at the panel for days or weeks. That blank white is very exciting to me. And then with Brown Swiss one day I came in and put the drawingsin the corer and without really referringto them at all, I startedto work on the panel with charcoal, very freely, glancing at this firstblack abstractdrawing.But didn'treally follow it closely. "I don't follow anything,finally. I needed it as a

check againstpossible deteriorationfrom my original idea. It's very easy to deteriorate,you know. You may startout with a marvelousidea, and before you know it, you'regoing down a side road that doesn'tlead to anything.The firstimpressionkeeps you in line.I wanted Brown Swiss to be this double portraitof not only the house, but everythingthat is going on in that house. I got close to the house in the drawingsand then I went inside in orderto look outside correctly, then I went back outside again. There'sa big pan there that catches the light and minutelyhas the reflectionsof the sprucetree in here. One can see the attic windows reflectedin the pond. See, you'relooking directlyinto them but at the same time you'relooking undertoo. You're looking up into the ceiling and in the painting you can see details within that room. You can look rightup underthe eaves. "I rememberone day I was just looking at the whole scene and the house. I was totally lost in it, sitting up on the bank of the hill looking down at the watervery carefully. All of a sudden, a head appearedin the water and then a whole figure.It was KarlKuernerwalking in the reflectionupside down across this roof and over to the chimney. I noticed he had somethingin his hand. It turnedout to be a big slab of bacon, which he was putting down the chimney to smoke. But in the reflection of the pond, of course, he was upside down, walking alone. It was fantastic. "Oneseries I like particularlyis that of the pond at all times of the year. I was workingon this painting. They are purely abstractsof the way the pond looked to me even though it isn't reflectinganything[ 42-43]. I was interestedin being associatedwith every section of it. And here again, the picturemirrorsalmost all times of the year. I may have finallymade it late afternoon in November, but it could be almost any time of day. I needed that, I felt, for power, strength.The crystalquality of ice that was there from time to time showed up not in the pond but in the dishpan, which is very silverywith a black shadow inside of it. It's almost as if it were a pond with ice in miniature.

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44, 45. Pencil studiesfor Brown Swiss (see No. 35)T 46. ChimneySmoke, 1957. Watercolorstudyfor Brown Swiss, 21%s x 293/ in. Mrs. Oscar B. Hufman

"Thepicturedevelopedas I wentalong.Fora while I hadtreeson the spareexpanseon therightside.Then I wentbackon to a littlemoreliteralimpressionof the treesandthecattle.Fora whileI decidedthatI wanted theBrownSwissanimalsto be in thepainting.Theyare almostthetawnycolorofthe fieldshere.And I had themlineupherejustabovethepond.I thoughtthat thatwasjustwhatI wanted.SoI drewdozensof studies of thecattle,becauseI decidedI wasgoingto usethem in there,so let'sgetto reallystudyingthesecattle.Then I realizedthatjustthecattletrackswereenough- better - to expresstheirpresence.Theycameoutof thepicture entirely.That'swhyI callit Brown Swiss, becausetheir tracksexpressedthewholethingto me;therearetractor tracksin there,too.

47-49, 51. Pencil studiesfor Brown Swiss (see No. 35) 50. Hill Pasture, 1957. Watercolorstudy for Brown Swiss, 13/2 x 191/2in. Mr. and Mrs. Paul Bidwell

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52. Pencil study for Brown Swiss (see No. 35) 53 (overleaf). Watercolorstudy for Brown Swiss (see No. 35)

"Ididdo BrownSwissat a specialtimeof day, becauseit'slateafternoonlight.Funny,on theshadow thatfallson thehill,youcanseethishummockof a shadowacrosstheforeground.That'sme sittingupon thehill,castinga shadowrightthere.As thesungoes downtheshadowgraduallymovesrighton up.In the painting,I hopeyoureallygetthefeel of thisshadow creepingas thebeginningof nightcomesdown.Also, I totallyleftoutthewindowsin thehouse- simplification. "Thegreenrockson thebarerightsideof Brown Swissarestrangestuff.It is serpentinestonethatcame froma buildingacrossthewayfromKuernersfroma houseI hadknownallmylife. It burneddownin 1912. It waslocatedrightacrossfrommyfather'splace,and I usedto go upthereas a kidandseetheseruinsthat alwaysfascinatedme,becauseherewasa bathtub stickingoutin theupstairsroom;everythinghadbeen gutted,butherewasthistubhangingon thewall.And thatalwaysfascinatedme.Thathousehadstrange

feelings.Well,it turnedoutthatKarlKuerer went upthereandknockedsomeof thatgreenserpentine stonedownandusedit forhisporchandalsohisgateposts.Andin thepaintings,thisis someof theresidue. So yousee manythingswerebroughtintothatpicture. Manyarepersonalthingsto me. "Nowsomepeoplesay,well,thispictureis unbalanced.I thinkit balancesbecauseof itsveryunbalance. To mymind,thevacancyon therightbalancesthe fullnessof theleftwherethehouseis. Thelengthof the pictureis exactlywhatthefirstexcitingideawasto me. AndI triedso veryhardnotto deteriorate.You canstart clutteringsomethingupwitha lot of littleobjectsand thatkillsit. Thefirstearlyimmediatekineticthoughtit reallyturnsoutto be whatthefinalthingis. Through many,manychanges.ThepaintingBrownSwissis muchhigherin keythantheoriginalthought- notblack andwhite.I didn'twantthat.I didn'twantit to be I wantedit to be almostlikethetawny over-dramatized. brownpeltof a BrownSwissbull."

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54. Detail of Evening at Kuerners(see No. 55) 55 (overleaf). Evening at Kuerners,1970. Drybrushwatercolor, 27 x 29 in. Private Collection

"Anotherportraitof the Kuernerfarmhouse,wholly unlikeBrownSwiss butto me equallyintriguing,owing

to whatIbelieveis a differentsense of poetry,of

atmosphere, is the watercolorof 1970 entitledEvening at Kuerners[55]." "Ah, yes. I came down one twilight evening and I was struckby this magical impressionof the house sitting there like an enormous salt lick that might be out in the field where Karl'sBrown Swiss cattle are grazing. You will notice that on the left side of the house, I simply eliminated severalwindows, purely unconsciously, in order to strengthenthat impression.The house is getting the twilight glow and the moon, just out, is reflectedon the side of the building, giving it that phosphorescentglow like a salt lick. It seemed to me to be a most telling atmosphere,in part amplifiedby the water in the pond, overflowingslightly. It's darkening outside, the moon is just up, the cold light of an electric lamp is illuminatingthe house from the inside and strangely,the outside, too. It expressedto me the firstglimmeringhope of spring.The ground is just turning green and there is that messy quality of late winter, early spring,in the groundwhere the cattle have really messed it up into mud by the brook. "Technicallyspeaking, this is an interestingpicture to me. It's what I would call a drybrushwatercolor. I've used the pure rag linen paper for the electric light indoors and in the windows, which adds a glow to the picture. There is only one place in this picture where I used a bit of opaque white and that'sfor the reflected light under and upon the porch ceiling. I didn't want

any pigment there. I wanted the light there to be like a diamond, crystalclear, no haziness. I wanted it to be a pure piece of glow. But after I tried using just the paper, I knew it wouldn'twork, because you see that is reflectedlight on the undersurface of that porch ceiling. So I experimentedvery carefully with the slightest mixtureof white clay mixed with a wash and I think it works, althoughI am a little doubtful about the opaque white because it might not endurephysically. "It is very importantto know that this pictureis not describingthat time of year when one gets the smell of spring.It is still winter,but a little off balance. If the picture had gone to spring, so to speak, it would in a very real sense have lost its movement. This is ambiguous. This is nature. It's very hard to keep a picture off balance. It's nothing that you preconceive or plan. When you see it, it's a split-secondthing. "Thereare very few studies for Evening at Kuerners, because that year Karl had been very ill and many evenings I saw the light burningthere quite late. I had a strangeforeboding that this might be the end. That was the real reason for painting this picture. I'd go over there evening afterevening. I'd hear that water and I'd see that light up there in the house and I'd lie in bed at night thinking about that strange phenomenon and thinking about that squarehouse sitting in that valley. So it wasn'tthe fact that I was struckby a beautiful evening, say, in the very early springwith branches againstthat sky. I tried to get that feeling, but there's somethingelse deeply emotional there. That'swhat I meant when I say I have to back into something."

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'SpringFed [61],yourlargetemperaof the Kuerners'

milkroomwiththe cattlemillingaroundandthe hillinthe i distanceandthestolid,everlastingwatertroughinthe ,aforegroundis one ofthestrongestimagesofthe entire Kuerner experience,at leastto me. Itexpressesvery te thatutilitarian sense ofthe placeandsomepowerfully thingenduringsomethingrockhard,butinconstant, infinitemovement. startedSpringFedbecauseI wastakenby the Ke"I in the remarkable barn.One Kueneer varietyof sounds I day becameconsciousof the soundof the running, tricklingwaterall aroundtheplace.Suddenly,it dawneduponmeone coldwintermorninghowamazing thatsoundwasandI wentintothemilkroom.Thebarn wascolderthanit wasoutsidebutI couldstillhearthat waterrunning.I steppedinsidethemilkroomwhere theKuernerswashall theirthingsandwheretheykeep thefreshmilkcoldandherewasthatcontinuouswater runningfromthespringwhichis wayupon the Kuerners'hill,tricklingwaydownandin andrunning outoverthesideof thecementtrough.Thewhole qualityof the distanceof the phenomenonandthe a helm,a knight'shelm,fasbuckethangingthere like I cinatedme. wascaught,too,by theclangof buckets, thatstrangehollowsoundof metal. "Forawhile,in somestudies,I hadMrs.Kuernerin mycompositionbutherpresencebecameunimportant andoutshecame.Moresignificantwasthefeelingof winterhillsoutsideandthattricklingwater,endlessly comingdownthehillin ringletsof water.I couldhear thewaterrunning,natureitselfrunning,running, pouringitselfout.I wasalsoexcitedaboutthehollow soundof thefeetof thecattleon thatcementcorraland thewaythelongshadowscreptacrossthearea.I think thispicturehasa lot of soundin it. And,indeed,that wasthewholereasonfordoingit. Everythingis sound, the clangof thebucket,thesoundof thehoofs,sound of thewater.If you'veeverbeenin a milkshedor creameryyoualwayssensethatcuriousechoof things. It'skindof like somesortof Egyptiantombin Chadds Ford.It'snotjusta bucolicpicture. 67

59. Watercolorstudy for SpringFed (see No. 61) 60. Detail of SpringFed (see No. 61) 61 (overleaf).SpringFed, 1967. Tempera,27s/8 x 393/8in. W. E. Weiss,Jr.

"Inthetincupon theleft sideof thepicture[60]there is someof thebesttemperapaintingI'veeverdone. Thatcupis almosttransparent againstthewall,except forthelittleglinton thelip andon thespigot.Theway thebubblescomeoutfromwherethewaterhits,makes constantmovement.I'vedrunkthatwatermanytimes, it'sthemostdeliciousfreshwaterandit'sgoingrightto thisday.Thewayit comesovertheledgeof thegreat troughandrunsdownthesideis amazing.Thereis a qualitywhenit overflows,great strangetransparent cascadesor smalltrickles,all at thesametime,some verythin,somenot. It'slife itself,endlesslymoving, makingsounds."

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62, 63. Pencil studiesfor Wolf Moon (see No. 64)

"Aparticularlysuccessful recent watercolorof Kuernersfarmis the one you call WolfMoon [64].How did thatcome about? Itwas done in 1975, wasn't it?" "Yes, it was. I was up there late one night in back of the Kuernerhouse, about one o'clock in the morning. The moon was full and illuminatedthe melted patches of snow on the hill in a mysteriousway. Suddenly,I heard a soft, regularsound from the woodshed. It was Anna Kuernerchopping wood, late at night. There was only one light on in the whole house and that was at the woodshed. God, I can still hear this chopping sound, chopping the kindling, fine, very fine, putting it into a small basket, to startthe early morningbreakfastfire. I stood there in the crisp, chill moonlight, entranced. Finally she stopped. The light in the woodshed went out and I saw other lights go on in the differentwindows as she went upstairs,turningthem on and off on the way up. And then there was silence and only the moon and the still house below and the great expanse of the hill above it with the patches of half-melted snow on the hill. I made some pencil studies to engravethe idea in my mind. So back in the studio I sat down and after more pencil studies I painted Wolf Moon in pure watercolor in one go - in an hour or a half an hour. It was something I felt about very strongly and I had to get it down as quickly as I could. I thought that it would either work or fail utterly.Next day I walked in, examined it, and never did anythingmore to it. "The composition of the firstdrawingis rathersquat. When I came to the watercolor,I took a rectangular piece of paper and freely transcribedthe preliminary idea. In the final piece, I literally shot myself higher in the air so that I was almost taking off over the house. Then I emphasizedthe shape of the pond, to pick up an icy overflowthat I had rememberedhaving slipped over coming back from the place. Actually, a muskrathad gotten in there and broken the small dam. But all these changes happened in my brush, as I worked. I felt I had to let myself go and felt also that I had to recordpast memory and the present and perhapsa bit of the future. I strengthenedthe TV antenna and eliminatedthe windows on the left side of the house to emphasizethe light of the moon on the side of the house, and worked on that golden yellow in the window to record Anna's

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64. Wolf Moon, 1975. Watercolor,40 x 28Y2 in. Private Collection

strangepresencethere.AndI useda greatdealof luxuriousblackin orderto makethe thingreallyshout.In thedrawing,thesnowon topof thehillis rathersimple andmuted,butin thewatercolorI wanteda clutterof snowpatchesto emphasizethathill.In WolfMoon,the finalwatercoloris almosta caricatureof thetruth, somethingjustthissideof bravura. like aboutthepaintingis that "WhatI particularly in can at it look everyway.It evenworksas an you abstractimagewhenyou holdit upsidedown.It captures,to me anyway,thatpenetratingqualityof the counKuernerhousebeingthehubof thesurrounding hill I all fits with the think it interlocking try. together withthebuildingandtheskymergingintothehill. "Iworkeda greatdealon thesubtlesoftgoldenyellowlightof thewoodshedwindow,andthegentle reflectionof thatlighton theoverflowof thepondwhere thecolorsuddenlybecomesgolden.I triedto capture theatmosphereof thatlatenight.Thistoneof coloris whatI lovethemost;to me it representswinter,crystal

chillair,thesoundof crackingice on a pondwhenyou skateatnight.Andthelightoverthosesnowpatches hasa specialtexturebecauseat thattimeof nightyou can'tseetoo well.All thewhitesin WolfMoonarethe purepaper.No opaquecoloris thereat all.Thereare somestrangepartsto thispicture,too. Thosepassages on thesmallshedcoveredby a corrugatedtinroof remindedmeof thefangsof theGermanShepherdwho livesnearthere.SoI deliberatelyemphasizedthateffect. Andthesnowpatcheshada wild,almostprimitive feeling.So I paintedthemthatway.You know,a young girlwhocomesoverto ourhousefromtimeto timeto clean,sawthispaintingforthefirsttimeandsaid, 'That'sApachecountry!'It'sinterestingthatshefelt that,a strangelyabstractthought.Thepaintingis likean Indian'spaintedface,darkandthenthatglaringwhite. ButWolfMoonis alsoa portraitof thathouse,a house fullof strangequalitiesandin a realsensenotpainted fromtheoutsidelookingin, butfromtheinsidelooking out andin at thesametime."

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65-67. Studiesfor GroundhogDay (see No. 74)

"You told me a little while ago that from time to time

sometimesactuallydisappear, yourmodelsinportraiture butthatthe 'portrait' forthatveryreasonis more powerfulto you.Isthatthecase inthe marveloustempera GroundhogDay [74]of 1959?"

"Well,in thatall sortsof thingsdisappearor aren't

there at all. The dog - the German Shepherd - and

Annawereoriginallyin thepicturebutweretakenout, andKarl,whois whatthepictureis all about,isn't there,which,of course,makeshistruepresenceeven morecompelling.It happenedthisway:I hadjust hadlunchone daywiththeKuerners(I do thatallthe time) andI left andwanderedaroundthe farm.ThenI wentup ontothehillwherethepinesare.I satfor a coupleof hoursandkeptthinkingaboutthatkitchen downtherewithAnnaKuernerin it. And fromthe hill I sawKarlleavingto go to a farmsalein NewHolland. becausethe Then,veryquicklyandpenetratingly, I started to make of the kitchen to got me, presence somedrawingnotationsfrommemoryshowingAnnain thecorer withthedogcurledupon thecushionnext to her.I wentbackto the houseandgot Annato pose, butshedidn'tposeverywell. "Ithoughtaboutit, keptthinkingaboutit. The dog got moreandmoreimportantto me, andI didher in manystudies.KarlcallsherNellie, ashe callsallhis

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68-70. Studiesfor GroundhogDay (see No. 74)

GermanShepherds,becausea sheepherder always callshisdogsthesamename.I keptworkingon thedog andthenI starteddoingthewindow.Thenthedog disappeared. "Igotinterestedin thetableI sawsetthere.I kept buildingon theidea,thinkingaboutit, thinkingabout it, thinkingaboutit, makingdozensof studiesof the plate,thecup,andtheknife.ThenI focusedin on the wallpaperandI keptworkingon thewallpaper.

71-72. Studiesfor GroundhogDay (see No. 74)

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"Thenthedogcameback.AfterthatI keptlookingat thelogsof a gumtreethathadrecentlybeencut.As the log wasbeinghauledneartheplace,thedogwent by quicklyandI dida watercolorof thatstrangejuxtaposition[73].I wasveryrestless,perhapsbored,so I wanderedall around.Andthenall of a sudden,the dog disappeared.Again, the ragged,chopped,sharp sliverpartof thelog became,in anotherseriesof

drawings,thedogthatwasn'tthere:theybecamethe fangsof the dog. Thatdog is nasty,you haveto watch her.Thenthetablecamebackintothepicture,but for eatingimplements,you'llnoticeonly the knife, becauseI hadnoticedthatKarleatswitha knifemostof thetime,no forkat all.I wantedto getdownto the veryessenceof themanwhowasn'tthere."

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73. WildDog, 1959. Watercolorstudy for GroundhogDay, 132 x 19 in. Mr. and Mrs. James Wyeth 74. GroundhogDay, 1959. Tempera,31 x 31 in. Philadelphia Museumof Art, Given by Henry F. duPont and Mrs. John Wintersteen,59.102.1

75, 76. Pencil studiesfor Karl (see No. 78)

"For a portraitof Karl,the one you call Karl [78] is exceedingly powerful."

"Ithinkit'sthebestportraitI everdid.You'dbe surprisedathowthatpicturecameabout.At first,I got interestedin the sausagesthathangfromthosestrange hooksin thatthird-floorroom,andI didsomeseries of studiesin pencilandwatercolorof them.You see, I wouldneverhavedoneKarl'sportraitif I hadn't donethese.Oneday,whenhe wasposingforme for earlydrawings,he reachedup suddenlyand grabbed one of thesesalamisthatwerehangingon a toughlookinghook.They'redelicious.I lookedup andsaw thewayhe pulledit roughlyoffthehook.I thought, heh,Christ,there it is. I wenthomeandstartedto think abouthimwiththosestrangehooksabovehim.He looked,to mymind,justlikea submarinecommander withhisblackturtlenecksweater... butthosehooks wereveryimportant.It'smarvelousto go overthere withlightningandsuddenlysee duringa thunderstorm theshapesof thesedamnthingsilluminated.Talk aboutabstractpower.It'sunbelievable.And as thelight changesduringthedayfrommorninglightto afternoonlight,the shadowsfromthe hookschangealmost as if theceilingweretheAustrianAlpswithskimarks in the snow." "And Anna Kuerner, what about her portrait of 1971 [83]?"

"She'sverydifficult,you know,butshe'sverysweetwith me, remarkable. Once,whenI wasoverthereI grew I went to tired, up oneof thebedroomsupstairs

77. Pencil study for Karl (see No. 78) 78. Karl, 1948. Tempera,3012 x 23/2 in. Mr. and Mrs. John D. Rockefeller III

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79-82. Studiesfor Anna Kuerner(see No. 83)

~-?5 and took a nap. I woke up hours later with a blanket carefullyplaced aroundme. She's amazing, she'll

sewbuttonson myclothes- grabtheclothesaway roughlyandbringthemback all repaired.She only speaksGerman,she can'tunderstandverymanywords

of English. For years I've always spoken to her because

I likedherverymuch.I feelherrealpresence. "Iaskedherto poseformeforyearswithno success. I reallywantedto do a penetratingportraitof her andonceaskedherspontaneously to pose.Shenodded, and I almost fainted. yes, Fortunately,I hadmy there I and equipment grabbedtheonlypanelI had. It was a tinyone. I thinkit's an interestingpicture.It's quitehighin colorkey: indeedit'sone of the most colorfulthingsI've everdone.Sheposedabsolutely stillfortwoweeks,andthenone dayshestaredatme in a strangeway,abruptlygot upandleftwithouta word. I putthefinishingtoucheson thepaintingworking twelvehoursa day, fromdaylighttill night.I never thoughtI'd everget it. It wasmarvelousthe wayshe lookedatme.I knewit wasall over."

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83. Anna Kuerner,1971. Tempera,1312 x 1914 in. W. S. Farish III

"But then, you caught both Karland Anna in one portrait in 1971 [88], didn't you?"

"Thisis a strangepicture,somethingthatactually happened.It waspurelyan accidentalthingthattook placeovera longperiodof time.I wasveryinterestedin He'sbeena crack Karlas a subjectforportraiture. in the Germanarmy. was trained since he shot ever riflewitha newscope marvelous He hadjustgottenthis in on it. I got himto posewithit up theroomon the thirdfloorwherehe keepshistrophies.I wantedhimto stand,butfoundthathe got tired,so I hadhimsitfor thehead.I workedon thethingfor abouta year anda halfandkeptfiddlingaroundwithhisheadand his bodyplacedwayoff to the left. I didn'tknowwhatI wasgoingto do on the rightsideof the painting. I thought,for a while,I mightputone of themoose trophiesthathangon thatwall.I workedon it for about a year,setit aside,thencamebackto it a yearlater. I justlet it sitthere,incomplete,fortwoyearsin his attic room.It wasgettingtowardearlyspringandI went backto it andpaintedin a moose'sheadon the right side.It didn'twork.I was dissatisfiedwithit. Oh, it was effectiveenough,butsomehowit didn'tmeananything emotionallyto me. I set it asideagain.In the meantime, I didthesmalltemperaof AnnaKuernerthatI just toldyouabout.Then,againI wentbackto thispicture andI thought,damnit all,I likeKarl'squality.I like thewaytheriflesticksout. "AndI wasworkingone daywithKarlthere,specificallyon therifle,particularlythe scopeandthebolt (which,by theway,is a purewhitepieceof paper) whenaroundnoontime,AnnaKuernercameintothe room.Shelookedat himveryquizzicallyandspoke in German,saying,'Whydidn'tyoucomedownfor dinnerwhenI calledyou?'Shewasquitesevere. She had this quizzical look, and I thought - that'sit. She

left.AndI thought,I'vegot it. God,herexpression whenshelookedat himwiththatgunby chancepointed

rightat herwasincredible.Well,I wentdownstairs laterin theafternoonandaskedherto poseforme and shesaidshewould.In themeantime,I hadgotten somesandpaperandhadsandedoutthemoosetrophy I'dpaintedon therightsideof thepicture.Andthat turnedout to be marvelous,for it gaveit the perfect textureof the realwall. Karlhadbeen a sortof frozen monumentthereandsuddenlyshecamein. You will noticethatshe'sall in whitecolor,whichI believe makeshermovemore. "Itis a ratherabstractpicturein a compositional sense,but althoughI've alwaysfelt thatabstractionis marvelous,whynothaveit alsomeansomethingto life itself?Truth.Whycan'tit depictsomething?Butit mustalsohavejustaspowerfulan abstractquality. I don'tthinkyou couldget a clearerportraitof these twopeopleandwhattheirlifehasbeenlike.He's beenwrappedupin gunseversincehe wasin theservice,he'salwaysgoingoutto hunt.Shedoesn'tthink muchof it. She'salwayslookingat himskeptically.He's lookingawayfromher.Thisis not a concoctedthing. Thisis an absoluteportraitof thosetwopeoplein a veryabstractway,butthat'sthewaytheyreallyare,too. Curiously,I lovethefeelingof figuresjustthissize. It is as if youcouldpickthemup andtakethemhome andholdthemlikedollsin yourhand. "Tome,oneof themostimportantpartsof this pictureis Anna'scap.I wantedthewhiteof hercapto comeoutjustso, nottoo much,so I rubbedmyhand overthefloorandthenkeptpolishingthepaperwhere thehatwasso thatit becameslightlytoneddown. I couldn'tget thecorrectqualitywitha washso I rubbed it. Theribbonthatkeepsthecapon herheadcarries thewhitedownaroundherchinandreflectsherskin of the tonesso thatthepassagepicksup thetemperature humanfigureandin a senseitselfbecomesepidermis. I couldn'tshowtheblueof hereyesso I showedit in her dress.I wasalsofascinatedby thepatternof her dress,whichlooksalmostmedieval."

84-85. Pencil studiesfor The Kuerners(see No. 88)

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86-87. Pencil studies for The Kuerners(see No. 88) 88 (overleaf).The Kuerners,1971. Drybrush, 25 x 391/2in. Private Collection

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89. Snow Flurries, 1953. Tempera,374 x 48 in. Private Collection

"Oneof the simplest and yet incrediblycomplex and universalpicturesnot only of the entire Kuernersseries, butpossibly of anythingyou've ever done, is the tempera

SnowFlurries[89]of 1953.Tellmeaboutit."

"Thiswasa verydifficultpictureto paint.It reallywas, becausethereis not muchin it. It'sjusta hillwhere I walkeda greatdeal.I usedto tellDr. MargaretHandy thatmanytimes,whileI waspaintingthispicture, I feltlikethrowingit throughthewindow.In it, there's verylittle to graspandyet everythingto graspactually. Margaret,as I saidearlier,hasoftenmentionedthat she'dlike it betterwithoutthe fence postsin the foreground,butthefencepostskeepit tieddownfrom goingtoo far.Theyarea threadthatholdsthepainting fromgoingoff into the air.I thinkyou see whatI mean. SnowFlurriesis theportraitof a hillwhereI have walkedmanyyears.I thinkthethingthatgot methe mostaboutit wasthefactthatDr.Handyunderstoodit enoughto wantthepicture.Godknows,whenI finished it, I justdidn'tknow.Thereagain,as I mentionedto youbefore,I wasgreatlytakenby thereflectionof the cloudsthathavemovedoverthehill. Skyandhill are united.I oncerememberan artistshowingme a picture of somehills,buttheupperpartof thepaintingwhere theskywasto be wasjustblank.I askedhim'What is this?Thelowerpartis all finished,buttheupperpart, what'sthatsupposedto be?'Andhe saidthathe had writtenon thebackof thething,'Landscapehuntingfor a sky.'I don'tthinkthatcanhappen." "Tome,one of thetrulyremarkable thingsaboutthis while one after a that is beginsto observemore picture andmorethe infinitesculpturalqualityof it.Onceyou reallybeginto knowitssubtletyyoucan come backwith youreyes andvisitagainandagain.Theselittlehillocks areextremelycomplex.Atfirstthesnowflurriestendto makethemobscure,as indeedsnowflurriesdo. And thenthe picturebeginsto defineallthese shapes in uttercomplexity.Itis almostas ifitweretheside of somebody's face."

90. Flock of Crows, 1953. Drybrushstudy for Snow Flurries (see No. 89), 91/2x 19 in. Private Collection

100

"OfcourseI feelthis... I havealwaysfeltthis.I don't agreewiththetheorythatsimplicitymeanslackof complexity.I feel thatthesimplerthething,themore complexit is boundto be. I'vefoundthatsomeof thesimplestpeopleareveryprofoundandactuallyvery complex.I finda lot of so-callededucated,complex peoplereallyverysimplepeople.I don'tknowif many otherswillagreewiththat,butthisis thewayI feel. Justbecauseyouhavea simplesubjectof a hill,doesn't meanthatit isn'tcomplexas hell.It shouldn'tshow too muchif it is good.It shouldbe all there,but you shouldcoverit up. Don'tshoweverymusclein thebody you arepainting,emphasizejustsalientpoints,just enough.That'swherethemastercomesin, theperson whois reallygood.I havenoticedthatpeoplewho spoutgreatknowledgeallthetimeusuallydon'thave muchknowledge.SomesimplefishermenI haveknown willlookquizzicallyat somesummerpersonwho considershimselfa fabuloussailorandwhotalksabout allsortsof technicalmattersandyet thatfisherman's knowledgeof navigationis absolutelyimpeccable. I havesailedwithso-calledgreatexpertswhoaren'tso goodandwithfishermenwhoarewonderfulsailors becausetheydo it withsuchease.Theymakeyoufeel completelyat ease. "Well,actually,thispictureis to me a wholelifetime. It summarizes an awfullot. That'sreallywhatinterests me.WhatI wasafteris whatyouget aftersugaring offmaplesugarfromthemapletree.You keepboiling it downuntilyouhavetheessenceof purity.Thatis whatI wasafter.I'mnot sayingit'sallthatpureor good,butI didwantit to be all thehillsbutyet a very definitehill.Funny,I wantedto getridof it. I thought it wouldneverwork.A thinglikethisworksor it doesn'twork." "Butthe studies workedverywell, didn'tthey?"

"Well,notreally.WhenI didthestudiesforSnow Flurries,theywerereallyonlyslicesof thewhole.One showeda treeandanold abandonedhouseat the bottomforegroundof thedrawing.Andanotherhad somecrowsin it butI eliminatedthecrows."

"Idon'tknowifthisis a correctwayof describingit,but youhadthecourageto takeawaythetreesthatinthe earlystudiesformedthevirtualcenterpartofthe picture. Imustsaythattookguts." "Youwouldbe shockedat thestagesSnowFlurries wentthrough.There'sthejettestblackin thatpicture andthejettestgreen.Once,thatpicturewasalmost literallya blackandwhite;it wasoncejustgreensand blacksandextremewhites.At one timeit was the kind of picturethatWolfMoonis, a sortof abstractcaricatureof thetruth.I keptbuildingoverit so thatI could getthattilting-inqualityof thegrass.It is very,very minutelypainted,if youlookupclose.Ontheupperleft sideyoucansee thedarktonescomingout.That'sjet blackin thereandthedarkestbrownsandthedeepest greens." Handywantsyouto explainwhatallthe red "Margaret is thatshowsupwhenthe pictureis inthesunshine." "Theredis theunderpaintupon therightof thefield, whichwasred,redbecauseit wasnew-plowedearthin JanuaryorFebruary.If a farmerhasjustploweda fieldandif it isn'tfrozenyet, it'sveryredandit just seepsupthesnowwhenit comesdown- sucksit right up.Youknow,becauseof all thelayersof colorsin SnowFlurries,thisis a veryhardpictureto reproduce. It'sveryhardforanengraverto get thoseshifting tonesthatareunderneath. "Yousee,I didn'twantto exaggeratethesky.I didn't wantto makegreatbigblackrollingdramaticclouds, becausethatwasn'tit. There'sa fantasticsubtlety in a daywhenyouget snowflurrieslikethis- subtlety andgreatpower.Thatskywaspaintedfrommy studiowindow.Thereweredayswhentherewerelots of snowflurries.If youget upcloseyouwillsee snow in theskyin partsof it. God,I workedandworkedand workedto getit right.I wouldpaintthatskyandthen I wouldtakea reallyfinebrushandmassageit and mergethosecolorsto getit downto thatgraywhichis not anobviouslyoverdramatic gray,butjustenough toneddownso thata snowflakewillcount.ButI

91-92. Pencil studiesfor Snow Flurries (see No. 89)

couldn'texaggerateit becauseyouneverget snowin an darksky,a blacksky.You canputa exaggeratedly pieceof whitepaperup againsttheskyon a daywhen it's goingto snowandyou'llfindthatthepiece of white paperalmostmergesintothesky.I havewatchedthis veryclosely.It willrainif theskygetstoo darkbutyou won'tgetsnowflurries.Thatis whythegroundplane alsohasno jetblacks,becauseI finallyrealizedthatthe wholepicturemustexpressthesametemperature. You see thisis not an exaggerationof nature.There againwe'regettingbackto ShakespeareandHamlet tellinghisplayersto mirrornature." "Ifeel thatthis is a picturethat is reallywoven. There'sa complex webbing, weavingthat's an importantpartof it."

"Thatis whyI do tempera.You aregettingto a veryfine pointandI willnowsoundveryconceitedbutthatis whatthemediumtriesto pulloutof me.I can'tsay I amtryingto pullit outof themediumbecauseit'sthe mediumthatfinallygetsit to work.Thereagain,the mediumis justa mirrorof whatI'mtryingto say and feel." "Oneofthestudieshas a burstof blackpenciloffonthe leftside thatjustcarriesbackandforth,backand forth[91].Ihaveseen itseveraltimesinyourwork,but

102

notveryoften.Does itmeananythingspecialhere?Does itsignifya pointwhenyouareaboutto moveon, or stop?" "Ah,yes,fromthatyou canseewhatthispicturewasto be fromthebeginning.I wantedthatstructureto be underit. Andif youlook at Snow Flurriesintently, you'llseetherightsidehasa verydefinitedramato it, but, andthisis important,I didn'twantthispictureto be a caricaturelike WolfMoonintowhichI wanted literallyto drivea highdramaticbrownandwhitequality. Thatwasquitea differentthing;thatwasa moonlightexaggeration.SnowFlurriesis different.It is daylight- gray, subtle daylight."

"Butyoustartedwiththe ideaofthisstunningdarkand lightlandscape." "IfindsometimesI maywantto endupwithsubtlety, butI haveto startoutboldly.I thinkyouhavegot to exaggerateto get it across.SometimesI haveheard MargaretHandyexaggerateto peoplehowill theirchild is in orderto makethemrealizehowimportantit is forthemto takecareof thechild.I'vegotto emphasize it in mymind,otherwiseit will allbecomefuzzy.All I cansayis thatyouhaveto leanovera littleto the left, andoverdoit a bit, andthencomebackinto balance." balance,thatever-important

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93-96. Studies of Anna Kuernergoing upstairs

"You have a special delight in the movement of things

andseem to achievea feelingof unrestinyourpictures thatis sometimesso subtlethatnottoo manypeople perceiveit.Inthissearchforcaptivemotion,one very recentseriesdepictingAnnaKuerner goingupa flightof stairsis especiallyintriguing[93-96]." "Inoticedhergoingup thiscircularstaircaseon the secondfloorthatgoes up to the atticwhereI painted Karlwiththeironhooks,upintothatroomwiththe smallwindows.Overtheyears,I'vebeenfascinatedby thingsdisappearing upthatstaircase.It seemedto me to saysomethingabouttheephemeralnatureof life itself.Thefirstsketchof AnnaKuernerdartingupthe stairswasmadefrommemory.I spenta monthand a halfjustwatchingherdisappear.Everytimeshe'dgo up,I'dmakea drawingor two.You willnoticethat shewearsdifferentclothesat differenttimesin the drawingsandwatercolors- ordifferentaprons.You'll noticethatin one she has a jacketon andin anothershe doesn't.I wasfascinatedby thewayshewoulddisappearup thosestairsin a waythatwouldsuggest despiteherage. strength,vigor,andanindomitability I couldn'tget herto pose, so I justsat thereandwaited eachtimethatshe'dgo up, andI'dtryto capturethe way she'd open that door - quickly - and dart up the

objectwhenit doesn'tshowin thepainting.I neverconsiderthesestudiesas drawings.All I'mdoingis thinking withmypencilandbrush.That'sall.Drawingsare such a personalthing.A beautifuldrawingsortof I happens,but if you'rea professionaldraughtsman, thinkit getsto be a bloodybore.It is possiblethatat somepointa pictureof the door,the stairs,the deep shadowof whatis goingupthosestairsmayemerge. Andif so, thisangular,indomitablefigureof Anna Kuernercrunchingupthosestairsmightnotevenbe in thefinalpicture,butthosestairsandthatdoorwould havehadherphysicalpresence.It wouldbe like a mirror,an ancientmirror,withreflectionsandimages stillspirituallywithinit, becauseI thinka person permeatesa spot,andthatlostpresencemakesthe environmenttimelessto me. A lostpresencekeepsan areaalive.It pulsatesbecauseof that.I neverfeel thatit'sa wasteof timeto makedrawings.It is likebeing in communionwiththeobject,withtheplace,which soaksup (as a spongesoaksup water) all the life that onceexistedthere." "Inthis particularseries, you say thatyou drewAnna going up those stairsfrommemory.Was there a time in yourcareer when memorywasn't possible, was there a

timewhenyouhadto havethesubjectrightthere?" stairs. "Ohyes. Therewouldhavebeen a timewhenI would "Imademanydrawingsandwatercolorsthinking havemadehundredsof close,methodical,evenoddly aboutdevelopinga tempera,butsomehowit didn't dulldrawingsof anobjectwhenI waslearningto catch work.I didn'tgo on withit becauseaftera while,it a subjectoffbalance.Andslowly,one learnsto know lookedfrozento me.ThenI thoughtfor a whilethatI couldperhapsputall of theseobservationsin one anatomy,to know structure,proportion,perspective, whento modify,whennot to, whento exaggerate, picturewithdifferentqualitiesof colorto obtainthe whento thindown.Theseareall thingsthatan artist motion,butthatseemedlike a trickywayof doingit and shouldtrainhimselfto do so thatat therightmoment, I juststopped.Somedayit mayturnintosomething. You neverknow.I mightdo a staircasedisappearing the decisivemoment,one is thereto catchit, whether it'simaginaryor graphicallyrighttherein frontof up,withoutherin it. Thesoundof herstepsimplicitin the tonalityandthe designof the picturemayexpressit you.It onlybecomesgoodwhenyouno longerthink betterwithoutheractuallybeingthere. aboutit. Whenyou'vegotto thinkabouteverymotion, "It'sveryimportantforme to go throughthisstage you'reno damngood.It'ssomewhatlikefencing,as in a picture.It is a sortof structuralor abstractattempt I'vesaid.You getto thepointwhenyou almostsense whatthe otherfellowis goingto do, whetherhe's going at thisstage,rathersimilarto layingoutthefoundation to lunge,howhe'sgoingto parryyou, evenbeforeit for a house.Thefactthattheobjectmaydisappear is irrelevant.Often,there'smoreof thespiritof the happens-a split-secondbefore.That'swhenyou get

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good.In art,you'vegot to be preparedin everyway to catchthe thing.That'swhyI like fencingso much, becauseto me, it'sverymuchlikepainting.It'sthat decisive,sharp,quickstrokethatcapturestheessenceof a subject.I amnot talkingaboutslickstrokes,but incisiveness.Mypicturesarealmostanglesof things flashinghereandthere.That'swhatexcitesme, that's whyI'llputone strokeon a panelandleaveit there to be studiedforweeks.Thatstrokemaybe offto the right-handcorer or downin the left foreground,but if it'sproportionedto thewholesizeof thepanel,I know it'srightin myownmindbeforeI evenbuildoutthe object.Is it in therightspot?I askmyself.It maylook likethewrongspotto mostpeople,butto me that's usuallytherightspot.That'swhenI knowsomethingis goingto workandnotby theillusionof beautiful drawing.You get downto muchmoreof theabstract essenceof whatthesubjectmeans. "Ienjoyedthesedrawingsof Annagoingupthe stairsandtheirabstractelements,butwhenI startedto developthepictureintosomethingmore,it seemed to freeze.It got to be academicin theworstsense.When the seriesof Annawalkingdidn'twork,I stillfelt that herfacehadsucha hauntingqualitythatI finally got herto poseforme.AndthenI thoughtsinceI'mnot goingto havehergoingup the steps,let'shavethe stepsin the background.I madetwo drawingsof her sittingthere[97],butthendecidedthatreallywasn't whatI wantedeither.I wantedsomethingevenless definiteandso I justdidn'tgo on withthething. "Iwentthroughall thesedrawingsbecauseI was

106

fascinatedby theplaceandall of its associations,the strange,discoloredivorywhiteof theplasteredwall andhowthestepscurveup to theattic,andthecool air thatcomesoutof thatdoorwhenyouopenit. Every sectionof thathouseis fullof strangefeelingsto me. I oftenthoughtI wouldlike to paintthe housetransparentlyandlook intoeachroomas if it werea seriesof thinmembranesliketheinsidesof a humanbeing. I sometimesreflecton all thedifferenttragediesthat havetakenplacein thathouseandtheraisingof a lot of verybuxomGermanFrauswithredcheeks,the hauntingqualityof Mrs.Kuernerwithherminda little elusiveat times,whenshemuttersat certaintimesof themonthandechoesthroughoutthehouse,Karl maybehavingprettystrongdrinksat timeswithhis Germanfriends,the soundof a riflecrackoutside,his cleaninghisgun,thesmellof cookingfood.Thehouse is permeatedto me withremarkable qualities,and I'dloveto be ableto combineit all someday,in something.I'vealwaysfelt up to nowthatI'vedonedetailsof it. In thetemperaGroundhogDay, I triedto express all theassociationsof thatkitchen.Karlis off atthe farmsale.He isn'tthere,buthe is comingintothatroom withthelateafternoonsunpouringthroughit. All thesethingsare,to me,poignant,powerfulfeelingsof a PennsylvaniaGermanfarmhousewithwallstwo-and-ahalf-feetthick.Thehouseis a sortof squareiceberg at thefootof thosehills.Thewholecountryseemsto hangon a pivoton thathubof a building.That'swhat theKuerners'farmreallymeansto me."

97. Anna Kuernerby the attic door, 1975. Watercolor,pencil, and drybrush,23/8 x 23 in. Private Collection

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"One of the truly strange images of the Kuerners' farm and Karl,to me, is the watercolor done last year entitled The German [99], showing him in a World War I uniform and helmet. What about that?"

"Hehadhis old uniformlockedup in thechestupstairs andhappenedto talkto me aboutit andsaid,'Doyou wantto see it?'So I hadhimputit on, andI got himto poseandI completedthewholething,workingvery rapidly.It was cold andyou can see the eyes arelike blueice. In fact,thatis whatI thoughtI'dcallthe picturefor a while,justBlueIce. Becauseyoucansee theblueice backtherein thebackground,andtherewas an echoin hiseyes. "Ibroughtthewatercolorhome,hungit in thestudio andthoughtit wasn'trightandthatI hadto do somethingto unlockthe picture.I felt thatI had got a good headandbody,butknewit wasn'tcomplete.So I picked up a bottleof blackinkandsimplydumpedit right acrossthetop of thepictureandliftedit upsidedown. You can see thedripsrunningon downthroughthe foreground.Andthoseblackstreaksbecamethetrees. I amtellingyouthatto indicatethatyoujusthave to let yourselfgo. I reallywasn'tscaredwhetherornot I wreckedthethingeventhoughit meanta lot to me, but my excitementwas so strongthatI didn'tgive a damn.It'slikeskiingdowna hillat sixtyor seventy milesanhour,youjustgottalet yourselfgo. You can't be preciousandthink,oh, I spentfivehourson that, I'llneverget it again." "Itreallyworks." "Sure,thereis a crackleaboutthatblackpart.There'sa littlegreenunderhere,whichI added,butit'smostly justblackandbecauseof thatit crackles.Thereis quite a contrastbetweentheice-blueeyesandtheice in the background.I thinkwhenyou look at it, you'rejoltedin manyways."

108

98. Pencil study for The German(see No. 99) 99. The German,1975. Watercolor,21 x 29 in. Private Collection

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theygo rightbackto theMiddleAges.) Of course,they cookedtheirmealsin them,theydideverythingin them.There'saneye thatKarlpaintedin thebackof it, beautifullypainted,andon thetop a horseshoefor luck.I guessit worked,forhe got throughthewarrela"Icallit thePineBaron.I wasdrivingmyJeepintothe tivelyunscathed.He gotthroughtheBattleof the Kuemers'entranceone dayandsuddenlyI sawthis Marneallright- he washit slightlyin thearm.It wasin helmetunderthepinetrees.I jammedon mybrakes. the middleof winterandhe andhis men hadn'tcovered My twodogs,houndanddachshund,in thebackof my thehosethattakesthecoolingsystem,andthe up carlandedin thefrontseat,I puton thebrakesso steamroseup so thattheFrenchsawthesteamrising hard.I couldn'tbelievemyeyes.Therewasa World andbeganfiringat 'em. WarI helmetfilledwithpinecones.It'swhatMrs. "Youknow,sometimesI kindof exultin thefactthat Kuemerthinksof warandherhusband'sarmyexperia pagewillbe partlydirtybeforeI start.I likethat ence.And she wasusingit justto carrythepineconesin becauseit keepsme somehowflexible.If youhavetoo to startfireswith.Everythingis usedon thatfarm,you beautifula sheetof paperandyoupreservethatwith see- pine cones burnlike a dreamandhave a beautiful greatcare,you darenotpaintit thatway.You get smell.Andhereit was.Rightaway,I grabbeda piece pickyandfinickyandparticular.I wasn'tthinking of paperthatI hadin the car.I'd usedit for something very of compositionwhenI paintedthisthing,I wastrying else, andas a matterof fact,therearesomedrawings to get downthe impactthatit had on me whenI sawit. underneathit. In thebackof myJeepthere'sall sortsof I wasn'ttryingto makea nicewatercolor.I haveseen padsandpaper.I alwayscarryalonga watercolorbox. many,manybeautifulcolordrawingswheretheyfillin AndI justdidthewatercolor,simplyputit down. thepencildrawingwithbeautifulcolortone.ButI "Thereagain,I didn'tarrangethescene.It justwas do notliketo be heldin by a linewhenI amworkingin there.I wantedto catchthehelmetas it was,not in a way watercoloror puttingdowna colornotebecausethat I mightplaceit, butthewayshehadleftit. You can freezesme.I liketo be ableto enlargethebranch neverplacea thingthewayit'snaturallydone.To me, of a tree,or the shapeof the curveof a hip or a leg. it expresseshis wholebackground,his experiencein the I can do it freely.It is constipatedif I justfillin color." BlackForestduringtheWar.I wasfascinatedby that littleairventon theside.In thebeginningof theFirst "Youknow,itjust occurredto me that I have seen very WorldWar,theyhad a steelvisorthatcamedownover infrequentuse of any pencil drawingin yourwatercolors." theface.Isn'tthatstrange?" "IfI wouldhavetakenthisdrawingof thepinesfor "Thatthing is reallylate medieval, isn't it?" PineBaronandthenhadgoneoverit withwatercolor, I wouldhavemadea nicepicture!Butthatwouldnot havebeenit. I wantedto clarifytheselittleridgesin the "Yes,it reallyis. They threwthe visorsawaybecause pinecones." theywerein theway,buttheystillkeptthefastenings becausetheyhadmadeso manyof them.I justlove the "Youmusthave to keep in practice all the time- sort of helmet'sshape.I meanI wasstruckby the abstract limberedup - so thatwhen thatsudden thing happens, symbolicshapeof thething.That'swhyI didthe you'reready,as in Pine Baron." temperasquare,becauseto me it expressedthewhole shapeof the helmet. (I love to call themhelmsbecause "Youhavegotto be readywhenyou getanemotional "Speaking of helmets, one of your most recent temperas and a drybrush watercolor and a splendid pencil drawing [100-102] all deal with a German helmet again. How did that happen?"

110

100. Drybrushwatercolorstudyfor Pine Baron (see No. 102)

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101. Pencil studyfor Pine Baron (see No. 102)

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idea of doingsomething.You do not wantto hesitate, youwantto be ableto hitit righton thenose.People realizethata pianisthasto keephistechnicalqualityup, hishandslimbered.I thinkthata painteris verymuch thesameway.I knowthisideaof beingdeliberately messyandhesitantis veryfashionable,butI do not believein it. You aregoingto be messyanyway.Nature is messy.ButI liketo comein quickandoutquick withno hesitation.AndI thinkthemoreyoudo a thing, If you consciously themoreyoudo it subconsciously. say,'Well,I amgoingto drawwelltoday,'thatis terrible. "Atanyrate,I hadto workfaston thewatercolorfor PineBaron. All I wantedto do wasto getit down beforeshecamebackandwalkedoffwithit. And,with a littlemorecare,I startedthepencildrawingof the helmetitself [101].I didthisbecauseI wantedto makea morecarefuldrawingof thepinecones,you can neverget enough.I thinkthesepaintingsanddrawings aresymbolicof one of themostimportantpartsof mycreativeprocess:thatis I reallyammovedand shockedanddelightedall at thesametimeby something of a powerfulyet extraordinarily incongruousnature, thenI leapuponit andreallyattackit in a way.This is thekindof thingthatgetsme, it'sjusta helmetsitting there,butto findit thereis strange." "Itdoes haveextraordinary impact." "Well,I'mgladyoufeel thatbecauseit hasit forme, anyway.I canonlygaugeit by whatit didto me, andmy

hairwenton end.I meanI turnedthecorer by those serpentinegateposts,andall of a suddenI sawthis gleamof metal,andit justshookme.I wasafterthat terrificfeelingof thatroadgoingendlessly,uponwhich somethinghasjustwhizzedby anddisappeared.To me, it representedalmosta lastroad.It couldbe in the AustrianAlps,or the BlackForest.I triedto get the feelingintothepictureof thelodengreenof the Germanuniformin thepinesthemselves. "Theshapeof a pineconeis alsosomethingunbelievable.Justterrific.I love the drynessof them.You willnoticethatthere'ssomethingon theedgesof eachpineconethatlookslikefrost,butit'spitchthat's driedon it. And,as I said,thesepineconesmeana great dealto me.EversinceI wasa childinNeedham I'velovedthem.There'ssomethingaboutthewind whistlingundercat sprucesandpinesthatis unbelievable.I lovethespiky,swiftgestureof pines,their sinewybranchesthatyoucan'tbreakbecausetheyare so tough,resilient,bending,strongerthansteelmarvelous!Theneedlebasethatyoufindundera pine treeis softandvelvetyandyetratherharsh. "Ialsowantedto expressthatconstantmovementat Kuerners.You go overto Kuernersaftera snowandfor a littlewhileit'sbeautiful.Aboutanhourlatertheir tractorsandcattlewillhavemessedit up.I thoughtas I workedon thisthatbecauseof themovement,the scene becamealmosta tankbattlethatthiscaptainmight havebeenin. I wasgoingto callthepictureTheSniper, becauseKarlwasa sniperalso,butthenI thought thatwouldbe too obviousandI calmeddown.

113

102. Pine Baron, 1976. Tempera, 313/8 x 3314 in. Private Collection

"Ijustwantedto makeit asrichaspossibleandto suggestwhatwashereinsidethepineswithallthe unseenbirds'nestsandotherthingsthatareso rich in pinetrees.I wanteda rectangularfeelingwithstability andplacidity,and then suddenlythis horizontal diagonalsweepof branchesgoingoutthatroad,too. I thinkthis is a complexpicture,yet it'srathersimple. Dr. Handyis nutsaboutthispicture.It'sthe firstpicture I'vedonesinceSnowFlurriesthatshelikesas well. Shesaidshefeelsthefuture,thepast,andthepresentin thepicture.Isn'tthatstrange?Now I wouldn'tthink she'dlikesomethingwitha helmet.I thoughtthatwould reallythrowheroff.Butshewasn'tthrownoff. "Iwantedalsoto capturethestrangerustyquality thatpinetreeshave at thistimeof year,so I coatedthe wholepanelwithalizarincrimson,andthenpainted thegreenoverit. It'stheonlywayI couldgetthat qualityof pulsationandvibration.In thebackground,if youlookclosely,youwillsee theplacethecattlego up into the field,wherethere'sthe post there.You see the cattlemarks?I wantedto jamthispaintingwith all therichnessthatI feel at theKuerners'farm.This pictureis notjusta nice groveof pinetreesto me."

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103. Watercolorstudy for EasterSunday(see No. 104) 104. EasterSunday, 1975. Watercolor,27 x 40 in. Private Collection 105. TroddenWeed, 1951. Tempera,20 x 1814 in. Private Collection

"Kuerners hasso manyparts,the land,thetrees,the the the houseitself,thewoodshed,the entrance, pines, milkroom,partsof the house,and its complexinterior.I don'tsupposeyouhaveeverconsciouslyattemptedto do itall.Iimaginethereareplentyof thingsthatyou

"Theporchis a partof thehouseI neverreallynoticed. But,youknow,youcanbe blindto a thingevenif you go to it againand again.You still don'tsee it. I suppose that is why I painted Trodden Weed [105].

I hadbeenill, andone daywalkingacrossthefield, lookingat my feet, watchingwhereI was walking,I becameconsciousof whatwe walkon. Sometimesyou "Oh,of course.Listen,I amconstantlyshockedby the factthatI havejustscrapedthesurfaceandhaven't stepon thingsthatarejustfantastic.I wasthenconeventouchedthe depthof it emotionally.The moreyou sciousof a few walksI havetakenwithpeople, peerwithinandgo deeper,themoreyou see,themore supposedlyverysensitivepeople.You mightbe walking thereis. It'sa questionof whetheror not I'mcapableof withthemin a springlandscapeandthey'llsay,'What a skyup there!'andthentheirgreatbig feet comedown feelingit or seeingit. AndI sayfeel andseeandnot see." and just squashsomebeautifulspringflowerorbeautiful leaf. You know,you askyourself,'Aretheyreally In "Idetectconstantgrowthinyourworkat Kuerners. sensitive?' I'veoftenwondered.At times,I don'tconsomeofyourmorerecentpictures,ofthe porch[103-104], sider myselfsensitiveat all,becauseI missso much." Isee someofyourbestthings." haven't done."

105

117

Olsons MAINE

106. Christina'sWorld,1948. Tempera,32/4 x 4734 in. The Museum of Modern Art, New York,Purchase, 1949. Lent for New York City only

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107-109. Pencil studies for Oil Lamp (see No. 110) 110. Oil Lamp, 1945. Tempera, 34 x 42 in. The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Gift of Mrs. W. S. Farish

. ; ;

"Let'stalkaboutOlsons.Althoughinmanypeople's minds,ChristinaOlsonis Olsons,you didn'tstartout withher.Actually,thefirsttemperayoudidof Olsons is OilLamp[110],datingto 1945,depictingAlvaroOlson, Christina's brother.Youtoldme howyourwife,Betsy, .. tookyouto theOlsonstheverydayyoumetandyou Howcome wereconsiderablyimpressedwithChristina. youdidn'tpaintherfirst?Isthereanyspecialsignifi-. cance inthat?".

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"Not really. I guess I thought I could more readily ask

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himthanChristina,buteventuallyhe turnedoutto be-

much more difficultthan she was. After Oil Lamp he would never pose for me again. Any drawingsor water-

colorsI didof himI hadto do on therun,as in the

drybrushI call Egg Scale [111 , which is a study that

showshimmovingaround.He didn'twantto pose.But I thinktherewasa certainlittleNew Englandobstinacy there.The fact thathis sisterhadposed,andthe picture gotto be wellknown,madehimdecidethathe was goingto do justtheopposite.I didOilLampin 1945 andmadedrawingsfor it at nightsittingin thekitchen, talkingto himlatein thefall.Thispicturewasinterrupted.I hadalmostcompletedit, butnotquite.ThenI gotwordthatmyfatherhadbeenkilledat ChaddsFord. I had to go back to Pennsylvania. By then, it was October and so I didn'tgo back to Maine. I had the picture shipped down to Chadds Ford and completed it

there,butit waspracticallyfinished.Thepaintinghas a sortof ambercolor.It is a veryoddpicture."

120

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111. Egg Scale, 1959. Drybrush, 14/8 x 177/ in. Private Collection 112. Pencil study for Egg Scale (see No. 111)

"EggScale[111]wasgoingto be a painting,andI don't knowwhathappened.It neverpannedout.ButI think it worksjustas a fragment.I wasfascinatedby thebalanceof thatscale.I triedto showhowdelicatelyhe handledaneggon thatamazingscale.I wantedto show himwiththatknifewhichhe carefullyusedto clean theeggsoff.Theknifewascurvedon thebladebecause he haddoneit so much.He wouldscrapethemperfectly andputthemintotherightbin. "I'dbe in thereeverydayfor abouthalfanhourfor weeks.He saidto melater,'Whydidn'tyouevergo on withthatpicture?'Sohe really,in a way,wantedmeto do it. In fact,I don'tknowwhyI gaveupthepainting. I thinkI feltthatit wassortof topical,youknow?I couldn'tliftit outof a genre- weighingtheeggs.ButI feel thatthefragmenthasthewholestory."

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123

FOURPAINTINGS OF CHRISTINA OLSON

113. ChristinaOlson, 1947 (see Nos. 117-119) 114. Christina'sWorld,1948 (see Nos. 106, 120-126)

115. Miss Olson, 1952 (see Nos. 127-129) 116. Anna Christina,1967 (see Nos. 133-138)

117. ChristinaOlson, 1947. Tempera,33 x 25 in. Private Collection

"The portraitentitled Christina Olson [117], done in

ofthe Olsons' 1947,is reallythefirstmajorportrait environment despiteOilLamp.Tellme, ifyouwill,about thefineportraits of Christina andwhatshe meantto you." "Christina Olson,to me,is a reallyhauntingpicture. As I said,I metChristinathroughBetsy,whohadknown hereversinceshewasa littlegirl.Owingto Christina's realfondnessforBetsy,sheacceptedmemuchmore readilythanI supposesheordinarilywouldhave.She andAlvaro,too, finallygaveme completelibertyto wanderoverthehouseas I wanted.I finallyusedthe upstairsroomalmostas a permanentstudio.Christina Olsoncameaboutlikethis:one dayI camein andsaw heron thebackdoorstepin thelateafternoon.Shehad finishedallherworkin thekitchen,andthereshewas sittingquietly,witha far-offlookto thesea.At thetime, I thoughtshelookedlike a woundedseagullwithher bonyarms,slightlylonghairbackoverhershoulder, andstrangeshadowsof hercaston thesideof the weathereddoor,whichhadthiswhiteporcelainknobon it. Andthatwasthebeginningof thepainting.Shedidn't mindbeingdisturbedat all, actuallysheenjoyedit. "Wehada greatcommunion.Wecouldgo forhours withoutsayinganything;andthensometimeswe would do a greatdealof talking.That'sNew England.SometimesI wouldevenwashherface.Shewouldcookovera woodstoveandsometimesshewouldgetdirtall over herface andI'dsayI'dbetterwashyourfaceandshe'd sayall right.SometimesI wouldcombherhair.Touching thatheadwasa terrificexperienceforme andin a sense,I reallywasin aweof it. Christinahadremarkable eyes,penetratingeyes.I becamereallyfondof heras a friend.Shehadreada greatdeal.Herlettersto me in the wintertimewerefabulous,tellingme of mooseandfoxes thatshewouldsee crossingtheopenfieldson moonlight nights.Shewouldwritein thisstrange,ancient,Gothic script,almosta German-likescribble,in a strangelyabstractmanneracrossthepaper." "Wasthe relationship youhadwithherdifferentthan thatyouhadwiththe Kuerners?" "Well,of course,everythingis different.Everypersonality,justas everylandscape,hasits ownatmosphere.

117

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~words.

I oftenlookbackon a summer'sworkorwinter'swork andthinkof thedifferentmoodsof mystudioor of the locationwhereI amworking.Theatmosphereof that winteror thatsummeris alwaysso different.You know youcan'tcontinue.You thinkyou aredoingit in the sameplaceandit is goingto be thesame,butit isn't. Yourattitudechanges.You can'tstandstill.That'sthe thingthatfascinatesme so. Butit is verysadin some waystoo. I wouldliketo retainsomething,buttheonly wayyoucando thatis in whatyou'retryingto paint. "Inthevariousportraitsof Christinatherewereremarkablechanges.In somecasesyoumightneverknow it wasthesameperson.Butbehindeverything,therewas alwaysthatstrangerelationshipwe had,oneof perfect withouttoo many naturalness,excellentcommunication Everyoncein a whilewe wouldtalkabouther life,thetwoweeksshespentin Bostonyearsbeforeto be checkedon by doctors,whichwastheonlytimeshe'd beento Bostonin herlife. Sheremembered everyday andhourof thetripandvisit.Shetoldme righton down to detailsof howshetookthetrain,whowason the train,to whomshetalked,absolutedescriptionsso indeliblycarvedin hermemory.Shewouldtellof a few timeswhenshewentupto launchingsof largeschooners in Thomaston,whichwasoncea greatshipbuilding town,andshewouldgetin thesloopthatherfather owned,sailuptheGeorgesRiver,beachher,andthen watchthelaunchings.Theywerefestiveoccasionswith bannersflying.Shewouldtellpreciselywhattheyhad forlunchthoseyearsandyearsago,thesandwiches, coffee,andcakes. "Shewasa veryintelligentperson.WheneverI had whichis thelocalmuan exhibitionat theFarnsworth, seumin Rockland,I wouldtakeherupto see it, andI showedherwhatI hadthere- thewatercolors,thetemperas- andaskedherwhatshelikedthebest:tempera always,andI askedherwhichtemperashelikedthe best,and,of course,Christina'sWorldwasherfavorite. Of the portraitsof her, there are ChristinaOlson [113,117], Christina's World [106, 114, 122], Miss Olson [115, 129], and Anna Christina [116, 134].

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"Christina's Worldis morethanjustherportrait.It her was wholelife andthatis whatshelikedin it. really Shelovedthefeelingof beingoutin thefield,whereshe couldn'tgo finallyattheendof herlife. I sawherin thefield,notexactlyin thatlocation,buta lot of it came outof whatshetoldme. Shewasout gettingsomevegetablesandshewaspullingherselfslowlybacktoward thehouse.It waslateafternoon,andI happenedto look outof thethird-floor window,whereI wasfinishingthe picture called Seed Corn [164],and there she was. I just

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gotto thinkingaboutit thatdaywhileI tookmydory backto myfarm.Wehada gatheringin theafternoonat Betsy'shouse.Wehada fewdrinksandthenI leftthe party,wentoutintothebarn,pickedup a pieceof paper, andmadethatfirstnotationin pencil[120].Thenextday I didtheseconddrawingwhichis squaredofffortransferto a panel [121].ThenI drewit a littlein mymindane imagination.I gota panel48 x 32, squaredit off,becauseI likethepositionI hadgottenin thatfirstdrawing.I squaredit offandlinedit up.Thereit wasbefore me andI knewit wasright.ThenextdayI putthepanel in thebackof theJeep,droveit to Olsons,tookit upstairsontotheeasel,satthere,andlookedat it. It wasn'tuntilthefollowingweekthatI couldreallybegin anything.I wantedto thinkaboutit, andatthesame timeI neededto get somethingtangibledown,so I'd knowthatwaswhatI wanted.Youhaveto getsomethingdown,so youcanrelaxa littleandthink.Butyou simplyhavegotto get somethingtangible.You know, it isn'ttiringto actuallyworkon a painting,butit is terriblytiringwhenyouhavenothingon thepanelbut justone strokeandyou arefillingin betweenthelines of what'snotthere.Thosearethetimesthatarethemost exhaustingto me.That'swhenI loseweightlikemad, becauseI amseeingsomethingthatdoesn'tyet exist. OnceI getgoingandgetrolling,I canworkforlong hourswithno fatigue.

.44

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"Iworkedon thatpicturefromeighto'clockuntil five-thirtyeverydayforweeks.I hadthatroomupstairs, andI'dmovethetemperapanelaroundto different roomsto lookat it whileI wasworking.I wasworried thatsheknewwhatI wasdoing.I knowI wasgetting prettycloseto puttingChristinain thepositionI wanted, thearmsandeverything,youknow,whereit showedthe tragedyas wellas thejoyfulnessof herlife. Therewere twosidesto her.Butthenone day,suddenly,I noticed thatmychairhadbeenmovedandI couldseeby the duston thefloorthatsomethinghaddraggeditselfalong acrossthesteps.Thefloorwaspolishedslightly.She knewwhatI wasdoing,all right,andneversaid anything."

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122. Christina'sWorld,1948. Tempera,3214 x 473/4 in. The Museumof ModernArt, New York,Purchase,1949 123-126. Studiesfor Christina'sWorld

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"Intheportraitof herthatI callMissOlson[129],I used to seeherwiththatkittenandI decidedto do herwithit. I decidedin thispaintingto tryto getrightintoher.I am a verystrangeportraitpainter.Mostportraitpaintersstaythreeor fourfeet awayfromthemodel.I don't,

I may be six inches and sometimes even closer than that

to themodel.I likethecommunication. You cansee the poresandtheactof breathingandyoucanalmostfeel themoisthotbreath.I decidedto usethekittenbecause a veryfortunatethinghappened,at leastforme. The\ kittenhadbeenill foraboutthreeor fourdaysbecause it hadeatentoo manymicethatits motherhadbrought it. AndChristinaheldit andI wasableto paintthat. Thehairon thatlittlekittenwassortof matted.It wasa strange,scrawnykitten. "Inmy portraitsof Christina,I go from Christina

Olson,whichis a formalone, a classicposein thedoorway,allthewaythroughChristina'sWorld,whichis a magicalenvironment,thatis, it'sa portraitbutwitha muchbroadersymbolism,to thecompleteclosenessof

focusing in Miss Olson. Miss Olson was a shock to some

peoplewhohadtheillusionthatthepersonin Christina's Worldwasa young,beautifulgirl.Andthatis onereasonwhyI didit, in orderto breaktheimage.ButI didn't wantto ruintheillusionreally,becauseit'snot a questionof that.Onehasto havebothsides:one,thehighly poetic;theother,theclosescrutiny. "It'sveryinterestingthatChristina'sWorldhassuch a wideappeal.Peopleseemto putthemselvesintoit. I getliterallyhundredsof lettersa yearfrompeoplesayingthatit'sa portraitof themselves.Andthenthey describetheirownlife. Andtheyrarelymentionthe crippledquality.Theydon'tseethat.It doesn'tseemto enterintoit. In a veryrealway,Christinawasnot crippledat all. I rememberonceI ranintoa veryprominentlawyerin Rocklandandhe saidthathe hadseen Christinathatdayandhe said,'Whata monumentof a tragicfigureshe is!'ThateveningI wentdownandsaw Christinaandshesaid,'Andy,I sawa friendof yours whocomesfromherebuthasto spendhistimein New YorkCity.Whata tragicmanhe is.' Who'sin thecage?" 134

i ,

.. 128

127. Miss Olson and a Kitten, 1952. Pencil study for Miss Olson (see No. 129). Mr. and Mrs. John D. Rockefeller III 128. Pen study for Miss Olson (see No. 129) 129. Miss Olson, 1952. Tempera,25 x 28/2 in. Mr. and Mrs. John D. RockefellerIII

129

130

130. Room after Room, 1967. Watercolor,287/8x 227/8in. PatriciaAnne Leonard 131-132. Studiesfor Room after Room (see No. 130)

"Let'sdiscusssomeofthe portraits of Christina. What aboutthe drybrush andwatercolorcalledTheApron,and AnnaChristina? Howdoes RoomafterRoomfitinhere?" "Roomafter Room [130]predatesAnna Christina[134],

but it wasdonethesamesummer.I firstgottheideaof her in thekitchenlookingthroughthefulllengthof the house.If you'llnoticein RoomafterRoomit'sthesuccessionof roomsthatmakestheimpact.You arelooking waydownthehall,butpasther,throughthedoor,into thelivingroom.Thelightpullandthewholethingis there.I wassittingin thewoodshed,andlookedup and hereshewassittingthere.I wantedto getthewhole depthof thehouse,thelengthof it, thedifferentcompartmentsof it. Andso I didthiswatercolor,Room afterRoom,whichis ratherfreelypainted.Thereare alsoa coupleof blackandwhitedrawingsforit."

131

132

133. The Apron. Drybrush,pencil, and watercolorstudy for Anna Christina(see No. 134) 134. Anna Christina,1967. Tempera,21 Y2x 23Y2in. Amanda K. Berls and Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

"IthoughtatthetimethatI mightdo a temperaof RoomafterRoom.That'swhyI didthisclosestudy

called The Apron [133].I startedto work on that and Iwas

quiteexcitedaboutit. ThenI realized,I sensed,I don't know,I hada premonitionthatthingswerecomingto anend,andI thought,God,I'dbetterzoomrightin on head.Andso I started heranddo justherremarkable thistemperaof hersittingthere.It'scalledAnna Christina[134].I startedit at a timewhenwe haddense fog for abouta monthanda halfin Julyto August. I paintedherin thekitchenbutwiththedooropenso thatherheadwasreallyagainstthewhitefog. In the paintingyouwillnoticethatthefog creepsintoallthe tonalitiesof herskin.Thatwasfascinatingto me,becauseit broughtouttheintensityof hereyes,theslight pinksaroundtheeyelids,hermouth.Thewholething is reallya portraitof theweatherat thattime.I could heartheWhiteheadfoghornoffin thedistance,moaning, andI couldsensethestillnessof theday.Shewould poseonlyin theafternoon.I wouldgettherein the morning,andI workedon thebackgroundalonefor practicallytwoor threeweeks.If you'lllook at thepictureclosely,youwillnoticethatit is builtupverycarefully.There'sa slighttransitionof tones,it'swhitebut it'sgot a subdued,warmcastby whichI wantedto make youfeel thefog. ThiswasdonebeforeI paintedher headin. So I wouldworkthereallmorning,forthreeto fourhours,andthenabouttwelve-thirty,oneo'clock, I wouldbe outin theshedandI'dheara voice,'I'mall ready,'andI wouldcomein, movemyeaselin there, andI'dworkon thehead.So fog is reallythewhole reasonforthispicture.Otherpicturesof herarein very definitelights. I mean ChristinaOlson [117],in the door-

way,is definitelyafternoonlight."

"Yes,that'slightandshadeandverydramatic." "Right,butin thispainting,AnnaChristina,younotice there'sno definitelightor atmosphericemphasisat all. There'sa transparency aboutherskinthatis thereal reasonforthispicture.AndI wasintriguedasfarascolor is concernedwiththeflourandthegreensourapples thatshemadeherpiesout of. That'saninterestinggreen in contrastwiththetoneof herskin.There'sa tonality

133

134

135

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140

137

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135-138. Pencil studiesfor Anna Christina

in thisthatbringsout the qualityof hereyeballandthe wayshewouldlookaroundat me. Shehadthequality of a Medicihead,youknow.Therewasa terrificpower in herstrongneck,interestingthing." Olsonanddefi"Insome ofthedrawingsforChristina

nitelyin TheApronand AnnaChristina,you have that

headturnedslightly,so the eye has to wanderup the side of itssocket." "Itfascinatedme.Everynowandthenshewouldlook upat theclockwhichwasup aboveandshehadthe strangestexpression.Amazing,justamazing." "Insome ofthedrawingsthatprecedeAnnaChristina, she's alwayslookingslightlyasideso thenyougo to almosta totalprofile,thenyou get ridof all of the architectural elements.Becauseyou'regoingtoward thiswonderful fog. Inone ofthestudiesyouhave thewindoworthedoorinthe background, andthechair is reallyan important partof thecomposition." "There'sanotherdrawingthatshowsa stringon the chair;I neverrealizedwhysheputit there.I guess it wasto holdthechairtogether,becauseit would springoutwithoutthestring.It wasa toughchair,but used.Thisis thechairshepushedalongwithherhips andconsequentlyworeoutthelegs." "Then out comes the intriguing string."

S..

"Well,I guessI didn'tthinkit wasnecessaryto thefinal wasa powerfulfacewitha great picture.Christina's dealof fortitude.It'snota gloweringor dourface.There shewas,withoutanyaffectation.I didn'tneedto put anythingintoit. I meanthefaceis goodin itself.I've oftenwonderedwhetherI evenneededthechair,but there'ssomethingaboutthesespindlesin it thatdiddo ,

-something.

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As you know, the head is life size and I

wantedthatmass,thatbulkof theneck." "Didshe die afterthis?"

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138

"Shediedthatwinter."

139-141. Studiesfor WoodStove (see No. 143) 142. Detail of Wood Stove (see No. 143) 143. Wood Stove, 1962. Drybrush,13/4 x 263/4in. The WilliamA. FarnsworthLibraryand Art Museum, Rockland,Maine

139

"Ina sense, Wood Stove [143] is a portrait but obviously

nota directportrait becauseherface isn'tshown."

"Iwantedto makea recordof thekitchenandof the two sidesof thehouse.Thisis facingtheseaandhere sheis facingtheland.I wanteda recordof thewood stoveandall thethingsthatI knewso well,hergeraniumsandso on.It wasa documentof theinteriorof the house.I wasinterestedin theplatemetalof thestove thatgivesoff a hollowsoundandfeeling.Thisagain goesbackto myinterestin metalsandsounds,andthe lusterof metals,howtheyshineanddon'tshine.It's like all sortsof armor.In addition,it wasat thattime thatthehousewasdeteriorating veryquickly.Windowwere out and there wereterrificdrafts panes dropping in it. "Iwentup therethe dayof herfuneral.It wassnowing. I happenedto lookintothiskitchen.It hadsnowed hardduringthenight,andthesnowhadsiftedin the cracksandchinksof thedoorso thattherewasa thin line of snowrightacrossthefloorrightup overherchair anddown.It wasicy white,almostlike a fingerpointing. Damnedestthing.God, the way the snowhad sifted,verymuchhowgrainwill siftthroughthefinest sliveror opening.It waslikelightningcomingacross thechair.I waswanderingaroundandI lookedintothis darkroomfromthewindowandat thesametimeI couldhearthemusinga jackhammer to digthegrave downtherebecausethegroundwasso frozen,andI was shockedby thatline of snow."

142

140

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144. Windfrom the Sea, 1947. Tempera,19 x 28 in. Private Collection 145-147. Studiesfor Windfrom the Sea (see No. 144)

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"Oneofthe mostpoeticimagesof Olsonsto meis your temperacalledWindfromtheSea [144]."

146

"OfallmyworkatOlsonsthisseemsto meto be theone thatexpressesa greatdealwithouttoo muchin it. I walkedupintothedry,atticroomone day.It wasa hot ..:summer day in August, so hot thatI went over to that window,pushedit up aboutsix inchesandas I stood there,lookingout, allof a suddenthiscurtainthathad lyingtherestaleforyears,Godknowshowlong, 47been beganslowlyto rise,andthebirdscrochetedon it began ~ to move.Myhairaboutstoodon end.SoI drewit very quicklyandincisivelyandI didn'tgeta westwindfor a monthanda halfafterthateither.I didmanydrawingsforit becauseI wasso movedbythatsuddenthing." ;/

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148-149. Studiesfor The Revenant(see No. 150) 150. The Revenant, 1949. Tempera,30 x 20 in. The New Britain Museum of AmericanArt, HarrietRussell Stanley Fund

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thatstrange,closecolorvalue,in whichthecolorquality hasgoneoutof thepaleblueof thejacket.Myfaceis ratherdarkbecauseI wassunburned.I didn'tdo it as a ThereasonI didit wasthatI wanted realself-portrait. instanceat Olsons,ina picturecalledTheRevenant[150] a of the drynessof theplace,thatspecialsortof portrait Howdidthatcome youarethereina self-portrait. of dead flies thatareleftin a roomthat'sbeen dryness about?" closedforyears.That'sreallywhatgot me, andthe qualityof thetatteredcurtain.It hasthedryness "I'dbeenout sailingall dayandwentintothecovelate of anEgyptianmummy,youknow?That'swhatI in theafternoon,anchoredbelow,andwalkedupto the to epitomizein thepicture. wanted house.I walkedin, wentupstairs,andsuddenlyI was wholeOlsonhousehasthatfeeling;it'slike a "The startled.Therewasanotherfigurestandingthere.It was ancient,bonestypeof tinderbox,thatcrackling-dry, me in a dustymirror.It wasoneof thosedaysthatyou friend Cline (I paintedhimin The Ralph thing.My call a smokysou'wester,thesunwashiddenbutthesun I Patriot)hasa sawmilland askedhimto takedown wasburningthroughthehaze.I wasin a fadedblue cordwoodto theOlsonhousetowardtheendof their jacketandpants.I walkedin andsuddenlythisillusion to supplythemwithwoodandto billmeforit. lives, wasthere.It'sa veryoddpicture.It'smoreimpressionI remember in thespringI wentoverto seehimand isticthanmostof myotherworkbecauseI wasafter thankhimfordoingit. Theyreallyburnedwoodin that placeduringthewinter.Hehadto takedownsixor sevencordsof woodduringthewinter.'Well,'he said, 'It'slikeheatinga lobstertrap.' "ButtheOlsonsandChristinareallywere,to me, symbolsof New EnglandandMaineandancientMaine, witchcraft,all sortsof thingslikethat.That'swhat I justcouldn't reallygotme intotheOlsonsenvironment. I knew I did other while from there. pictures stayaway back to seem to have to but I'd them, gravitate always the house.Verystrange.AndwhenI'dbe offshore,I'd thinkof thathouseeventhoughI couldn'tsee it. I'd thinkof thathousesittingthereandChristinadownin thatkitchen,hearingin mymindthesoundof thelids of thestoverattling.I'dhearthescrapingof herchair beingpushedalong.She'drockit in sucha wayas to wearthelegsrightdown.Shehada terrificmuscular developmentthroughherarmsandshoulders.Herhips wereverypowerful.It wasMaine."

"You never, or almost never, put yourself physically into any of the Kuerners or Olsons experiences do you? The shadow in Brown Swiss, which is of you sitting on the hillside, can't be called a proper portrait. But in one

149

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"Anothergeneralportraitof theOlsons'wholeenvironmentis entitledAlvaroandChristina[153].Thatwas donethesummeraftertheirdeath.I wentin thereand

thatdoorseemedtometo expressthosetwo suddenly

people,thebasketandthebeautifulbluedoorwiththe strangescratcheson it thatthedoghadmade- all gone."

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148

151-152. Pencil studiesfor Alvaro and Christina(see No. 153) 153. Alvaro and Christina,1968. Watercolor,22 x 28 in. The WilliamA. FarnsworthLibraryand Art Museum,Rockland,Maine

149

154. Pencil study for WeatherSide (see No. 156) 155. Breakfastat Olsons, 1967. Watercolor,2358 x 16 in. Private Collection 156. WeatherSide, 1965. Tempera,48 x 2734 in. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph E. Levine

"AtOlsons,as atKuerners, youfocusinon the house itselfas a grandportraitof everything,the people,the land,thespirit,and,of course,the houseitself.Butin the two majorportraitsof the Olsonhouse, otherthan Christina's World,thereis an utterlydifferentfeelingthan anythingdoneat KuernersinBrownSwissandEvening at KuernersandWolfMoon,whereyoutookconsiderablelibertieswiththe houseitself,removingwindows, a bit.Inthetwoportraits changingthe architecture of OlsonI'mspeakingof, Weather Side [156],donein

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1965, and End of Olsons [165], done in 1969, there are a

remarkable numberof veryprecisestudies.Theyare almostconstruction drawings."

"You'reright.Therearemorestudiesfortheportraits of thehousethanpracticallyforanythingelse.I was intriguedwiththestructureof thatbuilding.Thatbuildingwasa monumentalthingto me. ButI hada feeling thatthehousewasmadeof thinboards,notrealtimbers, I felt it wassomethinglikejackstraws,thegame'pick-up sticks.'I hada feelingthatsomedaythehousewilllook likethatgame.In mydrawings,I literallyputthebuilding togetheras if I werethebuilder.For WeatherSide,I actuallycountedandstudiedeachof thoseclapboards. Up on theright-handsideof thepainting,nearthetop windows,nearwherethe clothis stuffedintothewindow,there'sa coupleof whitepiecesof wood.Thoseare outof myownhouse.Alvarowantedmeto repairit and I did.I wantedWeatherSideto be a trueportraitof the house- not a picturesqueportrait,buta portraitthat I wouldbe satisfiedto carryaroundin mywalletto look at, becauseI knewthehousecouldn'tlast.I didit purelyformyself.I hadthisverydeepfeelingthatit wouldnotbe longbeforethisfragile,crackling-dry, bonyhousedisappeared.I'mveryconsciousof the ephemeralnatureof theworld.Therearecycles.Things pass.Theyjustdo notholdstill.I thinkprobablymy father'sdeathdidthatto me. "InEnd of Olsons [165],I startedoff in studies by

lookingthroughthewindowat theendof thehouse, overthekitchenroof.Thenthewindowdisappearsand I camerightin on thechimney.Thechimneyto me was theearof thehouse.Endof Olsonswasdoneafter ChristinaandAlvaroweredead.ThatwasthelastpictureI didof theplace.That'swhyI calledit theEnd of

154

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157-159. Details of studiesfor WeatherSide (see No. 156)

Olsons,becauseit hasa doublemeaning.Whenthey werealive,andI wasupthereworkingon otherpictures

darksandlightsof theglass,andthelightthroughthe windows,andthedoorwithno glass.They'reextremely importantelementsin theOlsonsexperience.At Olsons, I'mverymuchcaptivatedandcarriedawayby my experience.At Kuerners,I'mcarriedaway,butin a differentway.I don'tthinkif you'retrulyemotional,you can concoct,truthfullyanyway,the sameset of values foroneplaceasyoucanforanother.A lot of people seemto be ableto carrythesamethingintosomething else. But I thinkthatshowsan unemotionalqualityand lackof trueinvolvement.I thinkan artistshouldbe a soundingboardforallthesenervousvibrationsand shouldnotjustcarrya setof rulesandtricksaroundwith him,andusethemon differentobjects. "WeatherSideis a majorworkto me in the Olsons experience.It is somewhatsimilarto SnowFlurries becauseI feltthatthehousewasa universalthing.So I startedlookingatit deeplyandpenetratingly, doing piecesof it, thebucketon the.lawn,thedrainpipe, andtheshapesof thewindows.ThethingthatI realized afterpaintingthehousein a ratherhaphazardwayfor manyyearsandafterhavingdoneportraitsof Christina, whichsharpenedmyvision,wasthatthepitchof that rooftookmeyearsto getright.That'sanoddthingfor meto say.Butthepitchof theroof,whichto mehas a Gothicquality,is verysteepcomparedto mosthouses in Maine.You knowthere'sa picturehangingoverin myhousein Maineof a housewitha houndon a chain andpeoplewillseethatandsay,'Well,that'sOlsons, isn'tit?'Butthepitchof thatroofis notnearlyas steep asOlsons.Seethepitchof thatthing?It'shardtobelieve. Whoeverbuiltthat- andit doesn'tmatter,of course, whodidit - didit differentlythanmosthouses.I think thatis whatgivestheOlsonhouseits strangequality. If you'llnoticesomeof theearlierdrawingsandpaintingsof thathouse,youcansee thatI'mwrongin that pitch.I hadgottenit too flat.ButasI beganto see clearer throughthemultipledrawings,andbeganto understandAnnaChristinaandAlvaro,I reallybeganto studythatpitchof thatroofas I wouldhavestudiedthe curveof Christina's nose.Westudya faceor anearas theabsolutetruth.We areaptto look at a hillor a buildingandnotdo it withthetruththatis there.Wethink we canget awaywithit."

like Seed Corn [164],with the window open, I could

heartheirvoicescarryingrightupthatchimneyandI Andthewaythe couldlistento theirconversations. on due to the the masonrygiving top chimneybulged wayseemedto meto be likeanearlistening.Of course, it wasn'tlisteningto me, I waslisteningto it, butjustthe same,it hadthatfeelingforme.That'stherealmeaning of thepicture.To me, a picturewillreallycontainthose thosevoices,thosefaces,thoseconverremembrances, sations.Andin thetwoportraitsof theOlsonhouse, I neverleft a windowout as I wouldsubconsciously at Kuerners.And,asyouobserve,thedrawingsof the01sons'housearemuchmoreprecisethantheKuerners' farm,rightdownto theindividualpiecesof itsmanufacture,itsnails,andpiecesof wood." "Iamfascinatedbythe profusionof studiesofthe variouswindows,whichseemto loomverylargein foryou." importance "Intheportraitsof thathouse,thewindowsareeyesor piecesof thesoulalmost.To me,eachwindowis a life.You willnoticein differentpartof Christina's WeatherSidethatthere'sanupstairswindowthathas a pinkfeeling.That'sherbedroom.I wantedeachone of thesewindowsto tellpartof thewholestory- they werenotjuststuckin thereby chance.Eachhasits specificrolein helpingto explaintheoverallpersonality of theportraitof thehouseandits occupants.There's even a hanginglampin one of the windows.Whythe hanginglamp?That'shermindandeye,in a way.You willnoticethatthereis a pieceof glassthat'sdropped outof one of thewindows,andI wasfascinatedby the clothesAlvarostuffedin a brokenpaneso thecold windwouldn'tblowthrough,andI mademanystudies of it [157].I evenusedbinocularsto studythewindows fromafar,becauseI wantedto be trulyintimatewith them.I wantedto be in thewholething,becauseI knew Christinawastherein it. ChristinaandAlvarowere notphysicallythere,buttheymustbe thereinthepicture. That'swhythesearemorethanjustwindowsforme. "Iwantedthisintimatefocuson windows,withthe

160-161. Watercolor and pencil studies for Weather Side (see No. 156)

"Well,maybeyoudon'trecognizethetruth-" "No,we justdon'tseeit." "Don'tyouthinkthata buildinghas itspersonality, whichis justas strongas the personwhobuiltitandas strongas thosewholiveinitforyears?" "Absolutely,it'slike everyear.Everyperson'searis different.Earsto me areimportantin portraits.Buta lot of peoplemakethemall look alike.They'renot. It's a matterof beingsensitive."

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"Some of your more meticulous written notes to yourself

Side,andIsuppose appearinthestudiesforWeather thatthismeansthatyouweretroubledwiththe progress of thedrawingssomehowandforcedyourselfto be veryprecise." "That'sright.Absolutely."

41 b -?F ?"C5C. iii ?I

"Whatstrikesme is thattheyreallyaren'tarchitects' drawings;theyare builders'drawingsina sense. There's a greatdifference,becausethishousedidnothave an architect."

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"No,it didn't.You'reright."

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"Ithada builder,andbecauseofthatsomehowithas a much more organic quality than what an architect perhaps would have achieved."

"You'rerightabouta builder.That'sabsolutelyit." "There's a marvelous waving quality of the sides of that

houseandthe clapboards.Imeanit'sreallylikethe

soft swell of the sea in a curious sense."

"Yes,it is."

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163

162

"The study with the bucket is very precise [158] and

theninthewaterinthe bucketyoupickupa wholeseries of reflections.Inaddition,theveryminuteandspecific writtennotesnextto the bucketandtheveryprecise handlingoftheshinglesallseem to be extremely important. "Aftera longlookwhatIappreciatemoreabout Sidearethevariedtextures,thedried-outgrass, Weather the bucket,the reflectioninthe bucket,thestone,the variedshingles,the clapboardwiththe boardsbeginningto split,andthenthatpiece of fabricstuffedintothat window.Youreye kindof climbsupandthengoes right towardthatwindowwiththesharpaccentof bluein the clothstuffedinthe windowandthenon upto the remarkableline of the roof. It is reallyan anagogical is, pictureinthe sense thatit leadsfromwherehumanity onthesoil,upandupandup." "Butyounoticethegray.Althoughthere'sa lot of shiftingcolorsin thatgrayit stillstaysgray,evenin the shadows.It'slikea personwitha paleface.It'sconsistentlypale,it'sconsistentlygray.I didn'twantto bring intothispainting,because anyfeelingof impressionism I wantedthathouseto be ableto standoutto a fisherman whomightbe milesawayat sea.Thatgrayhouseis gray.You know?In anylightit'sstillgray.It'sa symbol of grayto me. That'swhyI callit WeatherSide." "The watercolor study of the drainpipe [161], the old

"Yousee,thiswholethingwasan abstractexcitement to me." "Iparticularly likethisclotheslinethatjustgoes offto nowhereinsteadof hangingdown." "Tome,thatlinereallybringsthewholepicturetogether.Thatlittletautlinecomingacrossis a very,very All thispoweron the importantformalconsideration. rightsideof the painting,wherethehouseis, is heldby thatline.I thinkthatit'sjustsubtleenough.Suddenly, you seeit, butatthesametimeit doesn'tdominateanything.It kindof creepsout of the clapboardbecauseit's on a differentangleandthenit goesitsownway." "Ican'treallyrecalla portrait of a buildinglikethis." "Well,that'swhatI wantedto do. I thoughtthatI had notdonejusticeto thathouse.I hadn'tdonea portraitof thehouse,whichwasjustas importantas Christina andAlvaroto me.It wasas if I werepainting,say,the presidentof theUnitedStates.It wasjustas important." "BarnSwallows[162]is a studyforWeather Side,isn't it?" "Oh,yes,thatwasa studyforit." "Whydidalltheswallowsdisappearinthefinished tempera?"

funnelandthe cordtyingitupina casualwaythatworks, is veryfine.Youwereobviouslyverymuchtakenbyit "Becauseit wasearlierin theyear.Theyhappenonly because it has allof the qualitiesof the finished in a certainperiodandthentheygo. AndI finallydidn't painting." wantthemanyway.Thebirdsmadethepicturetoo momentaryto suitme.I feltI wantedthepictureto be "Yes,indeed,Alvarocontrivedthatthingwiththe uttersimplicity.Fora whilein thetemperaI evenhad funnelandeverythingforthedrainpipe.Amazing.Just the strangemovingshadowof thesmokethatappeared aroundthecornerof thehouse,youcansee theladder in the morningwhentheystartedthefire,butI eliminated thatis leaningagainstthehousein Christina'sWorld, it. Those aretoo momentaryeffectsto suitme.I wanted castinga shadow.It is there,readyto be putup on the to this be a verysimple,directpicture,reallyboiled roofif there'sa firein thechimney.You willnoticethis down. allthedetailsyouwantin it, if youwantto It has in a lot of NewEnglandhouses.Of course,beingframe, look at it that way,butI thinkyoucangetcloseto it theyhaveto be careful." orfarawayfromit andit stillholdsitsownjustas a pieceof simplepattern.That'sa thingthatI'minter"Thestudiesofthissectionwiththe pailareexcellent. estedin. I don'tbelievea pictureshouldbe likedbecause that elements have you appreciate many really They of its detail.I wantit to live at bothends.I wantboth deeply."

detailandsimplicityat a distance.I rememberoncemy father,whenhe wasin hisimpressionistic period,to whichhe wasverystronglyinclined,wouldgetbothered by peoplewhowantedto standtoo close,andhe'dsay, 'Getback,you can'tsee it thatway.'Well,I usedto feel thattherewasnothingwronglookingat it close.It shouldholdup.What'swrongwithusingyoureyes?But it oughtto be somethingat thesametimethatcarries." "Whatwas itthatAlvarosaidwhenhe saw Weather Side?" "Helookedatit andsaid,'Well,Andy,'he said,'You finallygot thepitchof thatroofright,didn'tya?'He had knownall alongthatit wasn'tright.Buthe wasn'tgoing to say anything.It wassortof whathappenedto me yearsagowhenI anchoredin a harbornearEastport. I wentto bed,suddenlywokeupbecauseI washanging outof myberth,fortheboatwason its sidein a mudflat. No one toldmeI wasanchoringin a mudflat.Jesus, mudall overthedamnthing,overthewholesideof the boat.Somebodycouldhavetoldme,butdidn't.That's Maine.Theylet youmakeyourownmistake." "Thereis a moreformalandmoredeliberatestructuring of thingsintheOlsonexperiencethanKuerners, isn't there?This,indeed,maybe necessarybecausethe architectureof the formsare establishedthatway." "Well,perhapsit'sa Gothicqualityin Olsonsthat makesthistrue.EvenChristina'scharacterwaslike that.ThedifferencebetweenAnnaKuernerandAnna ChristinaOlsonis quitegreat.AnnaChristinais a direct Mainetypeof Yankee,NewEngland,whereastheother is foreignand,yes,smallandquietbutunderneath,of course,tremendously pugnacious.Quitea difference there.Difference,of course,is somethingthatinterests meverymuch.There'ssucha differencein a structure madeoutof woodandanotherof stone.If you'regoing to puta buildingin a landscape,there'sa difference abstractlybetweenthehouseandthegrass,dirt,hedge, thecurveof thehill.It'slikethedifferencebetweenthe qualityof Anna'sskinandthequalityof thedrynessof

the wood of the door behind her in ChristinaOlson [117].

You canalmostjustdo thecheekagainstdrywoodor

thewateryeye comparedto thedrynessof theskin,and you'vegot thewholething.All thesethings,to me,go beyondlighteffect.Andthat'swhatI wastryingto do in Anna Christina [134], not rely on light effects but try

somethingthatgoesbeyondtimeof day,somethingthat existsat nighttimeas wellas in daytime.Thatformis well- existing.It'snot madeof a blackshadowthat makesit jumpout.Thelighteffectsin mypicturescome onlyfromlooking.I thinkyoudon'treallygraspthe realnessof objectsif you relyon tricks." "Youare suspicious of the way the lightcomes intoa painting,aren'tyou? Butat the same time you love it!"

"Sure,I loveit, butI thinkyouhavegot to be careful thatit doesnot takeoverthewholepicture.Yes, it catchestheeye,butafteryou'vebeenstruckby effectiveness,there'snothingmuchelseto lookat. I think that'swhatyou like aboutthe buildingin WeatherSide: it'sa realbuildingthere." "WhatIlikeaboutthatis thatitis overallandindetail too,andthe househas beenobservedinsucha waythat it'sbeentakendowninyourmindandrebuiltclapboard byclapboard." "That'sabsolutelyright.Andyounoticethelighteffect to it. Thelight'scomingto is reallyquiteunimportant theright-handsidebutit'snot over-effective." "I'mextremelyimpressedwithSeed Corn[164],which has some superficialanalogiesto some Kuerner things, butis totallydifferent, whenyouget downto it.Ithas thisextraordinary bonecrackingfeeling." "Bone-dryquality.Absolutely.I waslookingouton the sameviewasEndof Olsons,actually.It wasoneof thosegraydayswhenthosestrangedried-outcorncobs seemedto cometo life hangingthere.It'sa tinypicture." "Another poeticimage,a ratherhauntingimageof as simply OlsonsthatIbelievehas been misinterpreted a sweetMainepicturewitha boat,is thetemperaHay Ledge[170],whichshowsthe Olsonbarnanda beautiful, purewhitedorystoredawayupinthe hay.What'sthe storybehindthisone?"

164. Seed Corn, 1948. Tempera,153/8x 22 in. Private Collection

164

159

165. End of Olsons, 1969. Tempera,18Y4x 19 in. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph E. Levine 166-168. Pencil studiesfor End of Olsons (see No. 165) 169. Christina'sFuneral, 1968. Pencil, 13Y2x 164 in. Private Collection

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171-172. Studiesfor The Stanchions(see No. 173) 173. The Stanchions,1967. Watercolor,19 x 28 in. Mr. and Mrs. MortimerSpiller 174. Pie Berries,1967. Watercolor,19? x 2431 in. Mr. and Mrs. Hal Wallis 175. Pie Berries,1967. Watercolor,211/2x 13? in. Private Collection .

"Whathappenedwasthis.Alvarousedto fish,andthen he realizedthathe wouldbe offalldayhaulinghisnets withhissistertherealoneafterthemotherandfather died,andhe wouldbe theonlyonewhocouldtakecare of her.Andso he stoppedlobsteringin his dory.He stopped,justlikethat,oneday.He putthedoryup in theloft andstartedto garden.Thatdory,thatbeautiful ' whitePenobscotdory,satupin thatloft,in thehay. AndI usedto see it there,foryears.Sometimesthesun wouldcomeup andreflectupunderit throughthehay. Thereweresomeboardswithopeningsin themto hold upthehayandthesunwouldcomethroughandhit the thatyou boat.It wasalmostlikethephosphorescence I of. what was reminded getin theseawater.That's WhenI finishedit, I calledit Hay Ledgebecausethere is a ledgeofftheGeorgesRivercalledHayLedge.But, of course,thatwasa differenttypeof hayledge." effectiveis one "Another paintingthatIfindparticularly calledTheStanchions[173]." "Thatwasn'taneasypictureto paint,owingto the difficulttonalities.In it I wantedthewholefeelingof the wornstanchionswheretheykepttheircowatone time. Theblueberrybasketparticularly fascinatedme.It's in theshedwhereI worked,lookingoutthesmall window.Thestillnessof theplaceimpressedmebutit wasthatblueberrybasketthatreallygotto me. I love thewayashbasketsareputtogether.It'smorethan somethingmadeforfarmusage.Theobjecttranscends that.It'sreallya remarkable pieceof construction.You a a like that for while andyou'llseemarvelstudy thing flat subtle on the ously planes bulgingside.It even remindsme againof somesortof armoror a finemusical instrument withinfinitelydifferingsurfaces."

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175

165

174

176.GrainBag,1961.Watercolor, 221/2x 15 in.PrivateCollection 177.Penlcilstudyfor BlueMeasure

178. Blue Measure,1959. Drybrush,213/s x 147/s in. Private Collection .: 179 (overleaf). Blue Measure, 1959. Watercolor,153/4x 22%8in. . Private Collection

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"Studiesofthatbasketappearinquitea fewthingsyou didatOlsons.Somehaveblueberriesinthemandsome don't,butitappearsagainandagain.Itbecomesa happyobject,thewayitcomes inandout." "Itenabledme to obtainthereflectionsof thepeople whousedit. In a sense,it'sAlvaro.As I toldyou,he wouldn'tpose for me, exceptin a veryquickmanner, ."i

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than for Oil Lamp, the early picture, so this

basketbecamein a sensea portraitof him.LikeEgg Scale,he'stherebecausehe'susingit, he'snearit, and it keepscomingin andout.Nowin thepaintingof the sideof thehouse,thewatercolordoneearlyin the ~~ morningwiththe smokecomingoutof thechimney[1551, :~~you seehim.He'sgottenupearlyto gethisbreakfast, andhe'sstartedthefire.AndI wasout at aboutfivethirtyonefoggywetmorningandhe cameto the windowandlookedatme.You canseehimin the watercolor,in silhouette,peeringatmewhileI draw. Thatwasanotherone of thosemomentarythingsand yet veryexpressiveof him." "ThewatercolorsGrainBag [176]andBlueMeasure[179] Ifindverysatisfactory."

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"Theseare,in a sense,portraitsof Alvaro,too. Hewas a strangelydelicateman,a sensitiveman.Helooked likeEmersonat times,evenlikeHenryDavidThoreau. VeryNewEngland.Andit makesmesickto thinkthat I neverreallypaintedhimthewayhe was.Sometimes, he'dcomein fromthebarnwearingthisold hatwith cowlicksshootingoutof the holein thetop of it, making himlookas if he werewearinga knight'shelmwitha feathercomingout, andtherehe'dbe coveredwithhay andstrawandfeed... interesting.Justpartof thebarn that he lived in. When the wind would blow, it would all

blowoffof him.It wasjustmarvelous."

166

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180. Geraniums,1960. Drybrushwatercolor,203? x 151/2in. Private Collection 181. Centralpanel of the Merode altarpieceby Robert Campin, early 15th century.Oil on wood, 25 3/16 x 24/8 in. Metropolitan Museum, The CloistersCollection

"Well,it'sa shamethathe hadthissomewhatforbidding whenwe werediscussingtheaspectsof attitude.Earlier, thevariousmedia,youmadethestatementabouthow sometimesjusta spontaneousflashof colorwhenyou absolutelydon'texpectitcan illuminate something.Was thisthegenesis of Geraniums [180]?" "That'sright.I sawblue.I wasafterthe subtletyof the bluedistantseaon a smokysou'westerthatyou cansee lookingdowntowardthemouthof theriver,toward Teel'sIslandandMonhegan,withthatsprucetree and thosegeraniums,whicharejusta purered.In the picture,that'sChristinanearthekitchenwitha totally differentblueof herdress.There'salsoa whitesheet overthetable.You know,NewEnglandpeopleputa sheetoverthetablewheretheirsugarandbutterand thingsare.Andyou cansee a Masonjartherethat fascinatedme. I wasalsoentrancedby thesolidityof theclapboards,too." "Ialso likethewaythe blackoftheceilinghas been handledinthe reflectioninthewindow."

170

180

181

"I think painting reflectionsin a window is a terribly difficultthing to do because it can become terribly academic. It's got to be done with restraint." "Inreflections,and certainlyin some studies of shadows, you do itwithabsolute precision.Thenyou seem to say, all right,that'sdone now, let's do somethingabstract, like the shadow in WolfMoon on that tin roof. Inthe study for that, it's absolutely accurate at first, and suddenly you go wholly abstract."

"I do because I want the essence of the thing. In some studiesfor windows, particularlyin the Olson series, I observe shadowswith absoluteintensity, then when I come to finishthe picture,I make what to me will be a pleasing abstract,which also picks up the reality of the image. I'm tryingto tell the story or mood in the simplestterms.I have looked at a lot of early Flemish painting of the period of Bruegel and Hieronymus Bosch. If you'renot a real studentof it you can look at a lot of them and say, well, they'reall great. But the differencebetween the real masterand the others in the handling of shadowsis such a great difference!" "How right you are. We have a painting at The Cloisters by Robert Campin, called the Merode altarpiece [181]. You've no doubt seen reproductions of it. There's the interiorof a room and a view out into the street and there are two wings to the altarpiece, one depicting an exterior, the other an interior.When Iwas working at The Cloisters, I looked at it every single day and wondered what

itwas aboutthe picturethatseemed to make itthrob. Itneverseemed to be at rest. Itwas notjustthere frozen,

and Iwondered why it was more satisfying than even

some picturesby VanEyck.Ibegan to look at iteven

more carefully. Then, in a revelation, I observed that in the painting, an object didn't cast one shadow, it cast about eight, and that there are numerous complex shadow overlays, one shadow over another. Now this meant that the artist, practically for the first time in history, observed that light bounces in a highly complicated way and that there's not just one shadow line, there were many, many subtle angles of shadow. Light comes in, makes a major shadow, and then that light bounces off the walls, the ceiling, other objects, and creates faceted shadows from all different sides. And then I realized that

this is what really made that particular picture. Itwas very seldom done again. As a matter of fact I don't even

knowif itwas done again.

"When you talk broadly about the differentiations between the work at Olsons and at Kuerners, Ifind in the Olsons a far greater attention to formal qualities and characteristics. In Olsons there is a more conscious ordering of elements. You line things up more into relationships of squares, rectangles, and so on. There is in Olsons a feeling of being able to see the earth and then go way up in the sky. I don't know why that is, maybe it's the quality of the sky in summer. Maybe it's the light."

"Well,Maine to me is almost like going on the surface of the moon. I feel things are just hanging on the surface and that it's all going to blow away. In Maine, everything seems to be dwindlingwith terrificspeed. In Pennsylvania,there'sa substantialfoundation underneath, of depths of dirt and earth. Up in Maine I feel it's all drybones and dessicated sinews. That's actually the differencebetween the two places to me. One is moist, another'sdry. If it is moist in Maine, it's a surface moistness. Look at the portraitof Anna Christina [134] and compareit to the portraitof Karl [78].I think that clarifieswhat I'm tryingto say." "Youdon'tworkat Olsons anymore,do you?" "No, I don't. Without Alvaro and Christina,it's just an object, nothing more - interestingperhaps,but not emotionally interesting.But in a strangesense there is a continuationof Olsons and Christinain some of my recent work. This appearsin the paintings I have done of the young girl Siri, when she was fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen." "Whois Siri?Wheredid the idea springfrom?" "I had completed Anna Christina,which, as I said, was the last portraitI ever did of ChristinaOlson. And that fall, when I completed it, just before I left for Pennsylvania, I stopped in at a certain farm, owned by George Erickson, with Betsy one day because she wanted to have a look at a strange-lookingbuilding that sat way back from the road. Now George is a Finnish man whom I'd seen over the years with a little blonde-haired

182. The Finn, 1969. Drybrush,2834 x 21 in. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph E. Levine 183. Detail of The Virgin(see No. 184)

daughterwhomhe'dhadlatein life.At thattimehe was aboutseventyandshewasthirteen.As we wentby the house,he cameout andwe stoppedandBetsytalkedto him.As thiswasgoingon, I sawbehindhima lovelytowheadedlittlegirl.And as BetsyandGeorgeErickson walkedintothebackof thelot to look at thehouse,I stayedandtalkedto thislittlegirlwhosaidhername wasSiri.I hadseenherseveraltimesbefore,walking downtheroad.I askedherif I couldcomebackthenext dayafterschoolbecauseI wantedto makea drawingof her.Shesaid,'Sure,'in a shyway.So I cameback,and I madea littledrawingof herstandingin thedoorway witha blackcat, a verybriefsketch.I leftthedrawing in mybookanddidn'tdo anymoreaboutit.

183

"IleftforPennsylvaniaabouta weeklater.During theearlywinterI keptthinkingaboutthislittlegirl. ThenI gotwordthatChristinahaddied.I wentupto thefuneral.It wasverysnowy.I remembergoingby the girl'shouseas I followedthehearseto thefuneral. Andaswe passed,I rememberlookingat herhouse surrounded by someenormouspinesandthinking,gosh, thatlittlegirl'sin there.I wasreallyhangingontothe thoughtbecauseI couldrealizethatthatmomentwas theendof Olsons.Andalltherestof thedayI kept thinkingthattheyounggirlwasthere.It didfascinate me. It wasalmostasif it symbolizeda rebirthof somethingfreshout of death.Thatsoundsa littledramatic, butactuallyit is true. "NextspringI wentto theEricksonfarmandtalked to GeorgeEricksonandMrs.Ericksonandtoldthem I wouldlove to do a portraitof theirdaughter.I later paintedGeorge;I callthepaintingTheFinn [182].I said I'dliketo paintherpicturesomeplaceon thefarm, perhapsin thebarn.I wentbackthenextday.Erickson toldme thathe thoughtit wouldbe bestto do it in the sauna,sinceit wasn'tused.It wasanexcellentspot sinceit wasrightin frontof thehouseneara clumpof beautifulpinetrees.I toldhimthatwasfine,wonderful. Siriwastherelookinglovelywithherhigh-coloredskin andverylonghair.I toldherwe wouldgo outto the saunaandshecleanedandsweptit upthenextday. "Imadea drawingof herby thewindowsittingthere witha towelaroundher.At firstI madetwodrawings of herhead,veryquickly,andI wasthinkingaboutit andthenextdayI wentback,andsuddenlyI hadthis - well,I thought,herewe werein this brainstorm sauna.I thoughtwithherdamphair,we justmightactif this were a real sauna- a working sauna - with heat.

182

Andshetoldme thatsheoftensatin thereanywayand shecameoutwitha towelwrappedaroundheroverher breastswithhershouldersbare.I starteda fulldrawing. I tookit homeandI wasveryexcitedaboutit. I'venever toldthisstorybefore.I showedBetsythedrawing.She terrific;shesaid,'You thoughtit wasremarkable, reallycaughtthegirl,lookingdirectlyatyou,no offlookingorlookingaway.'Herewasa young,fourteenyear-oldgirl,lookingyouclearin theeye,withblue

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eyesanddamphair,handsclenched,wonderfulstrong shoulders,solidknees,andwithherfeetplacedfirmly sideby side.Betsysaid,'It'sa shameyoucouldn'tget herto takeoffthattowel.'I said,'GeorgeErickson maybewillshootme,youknowshe'sfourteenyears old.' "ButBetsyputtheseedin mymind.That'sallI needed.SoI wentbackandI startedto drawthething on a panel.ThenI askedher,'Siri,wouldyoupose withoutthetowelaroundtheupperpartof yourbody?' 'Sure,'shesaid,andshestartedto takeit awayandI said,'Waita minute,yougo andaskyourparents, becausethiscanbe a rathertrickything.'Shesaid,'It's strangeyousaidthat,becauseDaddysaidlastnight,if he'sgoingto do youin a saunabath,whydo youhave a towelaroundyou?'Well,thatwasveryencouraging. Shecameback,shesaid,'Fine,'butherfatherwasn't thereatthetimeandsheaskedhermother.I thought herfather,too, hadclearedit. Anyway,I satthere, andshesaid,'Closeyoureyes.'I shutmyeyes,andshe said,'Nowyoucanlook'andthereshewas.Shewas flusteredfora fewminutesandfinallyit meantnothing. AndI startedrightin on thepainting.At first,I had objectsaround,suchthingsasbirchbranchesusedin saunasto switchyourself.Anyway,I hadthatin her hand.I sooneliminatedthesepropsbecausewiththem thepaintinglostits impact.I thought,'Well,if I'mgoing to do it, I mightaswellreallydo it.'I broughtthenearly completedpaintingdownto mystudioto showit to Betsy.Shecameintothestudioandsatrightdown.It wastheonlytimeshe'severlookedat oneof myworks andjustsatdownin astonishment. Shesaid,'You're to have trouble with this going picture.' "Iwasalreadythinkingof anotherpaintingwhichI

184. The Virgin,1969. Tempera,46 x 34 in. One of six paintingsof Siri Ericksonin the collection of the BrandywineRiver Museum, ChaddsFord, Pennsylvania.Copyright?1973 by The Tri-County Conservancyof the Brandywine,Inc.

woman.I didthepaintingin theEricksonbarnand startedit on a foggyday.I saidto her, 'Comeon, Siri, we'regoingto do this.'Shesaid,'Well,you staydownstairs.'Andshewentupstairsin thebarnandthencame downthosesteps- a remarkable girl.It wasan amazing experiencewiththequalityandthesmellsof thebarn, andthishealthyFinnishgirl,no affectation,no lipstick, neverhadhadanydates,absolutevirgin.It wasremarkable,likefindinga youngdoein thewoods.I considerthatpicturea verypreciouspictureto me becauseI knewI waslookingat somethingthatwas untouched,unaffected.Here'sa girlwhoonlyhadoutsideprivies,whohadsleptall herlife in a roomon a mattresswherethesnowcoulddriftin acrossit. She washealthy,vital,andanintelligentgirl,too. "Iworkedforaboutfourweeksjuston theproportionsof herstandingfigure.Youwill noticethere'sno reallocationagain.You'relookingdownatthefeet and upto theheadat thesametime.You couldn'tgetthat anglewitha photograph.Shemovedin differentpositionsto get the rightpose. I wasn'tparticularlylocated in anyspot.Thereis a floortherein thepainting,butit isn'tthere,in a sense.I startedworkingon thebodyand beganto paintit in. Thesuncameoutoneday,in the morning,andshesteppedback,younoticethewindows acrossa barndoor.Thesuncamethroughthem,and herheadjusthit the sun,whichfell againstherface and upperbodyfora shorttime.I paintedlikemad.She steppedupthestepsa littlejustto catchthat,andit madethepicture.It hasa marvelousbitof goldwiththe restof theroomin theshadow.That'swhathappened, simpleas that. "Ireallylikethepaintingbecauseit hasa kindof mythicalquality.Do you knowPohjola'sDaughterby had already entitled The Virgin [184].Later, it turned Sibelius,whichis to me anamazingcomposition?It all outto be a shockingpictureto people.I thinkit's goeswiththat.Sheoncetoldme shelikedto ridebarebecausetheyhadbuiltup an imageof me at oddswith backin the summerat nighttimecompletelynudewith TheVirgin.Thatpictureshockedthehelloutof people." herblondhairstreamingbehindher.It'swildcountry backthere.I usedto thinkaboutthatstoryandabout thatamazingfigure.Thishealthy,youngFinnishgirlon whichwas painteda "Andy,tellmeaboutTheVirgin, thehorse.I eventhoughtof herconnectionwithmoose, yearafterTheSauna,is thatright?" in termsof theearlyFinnishlegendaboutanelk anda "Yes.Shewasfifteen.Thatwasa remarkable beautifulgirlandthecombinationof thetwo.You see experiencebecauseby thattimeshe'dreallybecomea young all of thiscameintoit. It'sa worldall of itsown.I never

considerit a nudepainting.I considerit morethanthat. But TheVirginwasgood,becausethatis absolutely whatit was,it wasa virginalideaforme, fresh,untouched,withthisgoldenglowaboutit. "Onethinghappenedduringit thatcameas a great shockto me.I waspaintingonedayandsuddenlyI couldseeherstaringintentlyoutof thecrackof this door.All of a sudden,sherushedout,grabbeda club, andkilleda groundhogthathadgottenintoherfather's gardenandwaseatingthevegetables.Shejustclubbed it to death.Terrific.Bloodspattereda littleon herlegs. Now thisis reallytrue,it is herbackground.She'san earthygirl,God.Shewaspowerful.I wasin theright spot.It wasa bitof luck.I'veoftenthoughtI'vebuiltmy careeron happeningto findthingsthataresuddenly unusual.Of course,it'swhatyouseekandwhatyou graspas an opportunityandfollowupon againand againthatreallydoesit. "TheVirginstartedoff as a muchbiggerpanel.For a whiletherewerebasketsof cornhangingabovewhich youuseforseedcornin thespringandsomestallswith hay.All thatwasin it fora time,butin theendI cut thepanelwaydownto makeit a muchbettercomposition.I realizedthattheemphasiswasjustrightatthat cut-downsize.I hadto go throughtheotherthingsthat werefamiliarto mebeforefinallyI hadthegutsto put downsomethingfresh.I wasrelyingon the strictdisciplinariansideof mynatureandthenI brokeout of thatintothefreersideby focusingin. Artistically,I wentfromcomplexityto simplicity.WithinmyselfI wentfromthe disciplinarian sideto thefreeside. "SomehowI can'timaginethatpicturebeingdated. Maybetheslightmarkof thebikinimight,butI doubt it, it'sso subtle.Youwouldn'tnoticeit unlessyoulooked close.And I lovethatstrangelinearoundherthatoutlinesthebody.I thinkit'ssomeof thepuresttempera paintingI everdidin thattorso,becauseit almost becomesanabstractionof thetruth.Therearepartsof thepicturethatarealmostwatercolor.ButI thought thisis theflashin thepicture.Thisis thesparkle.I think yourunfromthatwaxenqualityof thelowerpartof the figuregoingupall of a suddento thesunlighton the upperbody.I hadto paintlikemadto getit. But, fortunately,I hadthewholefigurepaintedin and

couldworkquitedirectlyon theheadandhair.I refined it, of course,lateron, butto getit therehadto be some prettyexcitedstrokeswhenthatsuncameout.Theline, forinstance,comingdownacrossherchestoutoverthe breast,wasa verydefiniteshadowunderthecorded partof herneckandup to herear.It wasverydefinite andcontrastedwiththeluminosityof thepartwherethe curlsbreakslightly. "Tome,thesepicturesof theyoungSiriarecontinuationsof Olsons,andat thesametimetheyaresharp counteractions to theportraitsof Christina,which the deterioration andthedwindlingof somesymbolize Then thing. yougetsuddenlythischangeof suchan invigorating,zestful,powerfulphenomenon.Herewas somethingburstingforth,likespringcomingthrough theground.In a waythiswasnot a figure,butmorea burstof life. I don'tthinkit livesjustbecauseit'sa nude girl.Thatwasn'tthereasonat allforpaintingit. There are a lot of farmsmoreeffectivethanthe Kuerners'but thatisn'tthepointat all.Here,as always,I tryto go beyondthe subject.That'sthe summationof my art. Emotionis mybulwark.I thinkthat'sthe onlythingthat endures,finally.If you areemotionallyinvolved,you're not goingto be easilychanged.Butif it'spurelya technicalexperiencethat'sgoingto be veryshort-lived. Bothtechnicalandemotionalhavegotto be on even termsto be good. "Brahms' musicaffectsme a little.I usedto loveit. Butit'ssoftnow,whenI listento it. I reallydon'tcare forit. It hasn'tgot theedgeof Beethovenor Bach.It's round-shouldered. There'stoo muchmumblingto suit me. Andthisis thewayI feel aboutpainting.People oftenhavesaidto me, 'What'smadeyoukeepon against thetide?Supposedly,you'reso waybehindthatyou're ahead!'Not really.Theansweris pureemotion.I was interestedin Christina,I wasinterestedin thathouse. I wasfascinatedby theKuernersandthefarm.I wasn't at eitherplaceto painta nicegroupof picturesorbucolic memoriesorMaineimages.I wasemotionallyinvolved in thethingandI justhadto getit out of mysystem. That'sall. "Art,to me, is seeing.I thinkyouhavegot to use youreyesaswell as youremotion,andonewithoutthe otherjustdoesn'twork.That'smyart."

TWOWORLDSOF ANDREWWYETH:KUERNERSANDOLSONS Picturesillustratedin the earlier section are not shown here, and this list does not include some of the studiesthat are exhibitedwith the finishedpaintings. Kuerners 1. Soaring,1950. Tempera,48 x 87 in. ShelburneMuseum,Inc., Shelburne,Vermont 2. Tree in Winter,1946. First study for "Winter1946." Watercolor, 2034 x 283/ in. Dickinson College, Carlisle,Pennsylvania,Fine Arts Collection

3. KuernersHill, 1946. Pencil study for "Winter1946," 11 x 20 in. RobertH. Kubie 4. KuernersHill, 1946. Drybrushstudyfor "Winter1946," 213/4x 4414 in. R. L. B. Tobin 5. "Winter1946," 1946. Tempera,313/8x 48 in. North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh, MuseumPurchaseFund 6. Snow Flurries, 1953. Tempera.Private Collection. See No. 89 7. Archie's Corner,1953. Pencil studyfor Snow Flurries, 13/4 x 18/4 in. Private Collection 8. The Woodshed,1944. Tempera,311/ x563/4 in. PrivateCollection

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15. Hill Pasture, 1957. Watercolor.Mr. and Mrs. Paul Bidwell. See No. 50 16. ChimneySmoke, 1957. Watercolor.Mrs. OscarB. Huffman. See No. 46 17. Brown Swiss, 1957. Tempera.Mr. and Mrs. AlexanderM. Laughlin. See No. 35 18. TroddenWeed, 1951. Tempera.Private Collection. See No. 105 19. Karl'sRoom, 1954. Watercolor,211/ x 293/4in. The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Gift of Mrs. W. S. Farish 20. Oil Drum, 1957. Watercolor,133/ x 2134 in. Private Collection 21. Ciderand Pork, 1956. Watercolor,2134 x 29 in. Amanda K. Berls

9. Crows, 1944. Brush, gouache, and ink, 33 x 47 in. The Lyman Allyn Museum,New London, Connecticut 10. WinterMorning, 1946. Drybrush,25/2 x 383/8in. Private Collection 11. Karl, 1948. Tempera.Mr. and Mrs. John D. Rockefeller I11. See No. 78 12. Karl, 1971. Pencil studyfor The Kuerners,1234 x 131/4in. Mr. and Mrs. Frank E. Fowler 13. Out of Season, 1953. Drybrush,134 x 20?2 in. Mr. and Mrs. John Warner 14. Study for Brown Swiss, 1957. Pencil and watercolor.Private Collection. See No. 37

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22. Hickory Smoked, 1960. Watercolor,29 x 37 in. Honorableand Mrs. William W. Scranton 23. Below the Kitchen, 1960. Drybrush,22Y4x 17/2 in. Private Collection 24. Gum Tree, 1958. Watercolor,21/2 x 295/ in. Mrs. WilliamH. Kearns 25. First Snow, 1959. Drybrushstudy for GroundhogDay, 133/8x 21Y4in. Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington,Williamand Mary Phelps Collection

26. WildDog, 1959. Watercolor.Mr. and Mrs. James Wyeth. See No. 73 27. GroundhogDay, 1959. Tempera.PhiladelphiaMuseum of Art, Given by Henry F. duPont and Mrs. John Wintersteen,59.102.1. See No. 74 28. Young Bull, 1960. Drybrush.Private Collection. See No. 26 29. The Trophy,1963. Drybrush,223/8x 302 in. Mr. and Mrs. Tate Brown 30. Moose Horns, 1963. Drybrush,16 x 233/8in. Mr. and Mrs. WilliamB. Klee

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31. Frozen Pond, 1968. Watercolor.Private Collection. See No. 27 32. Easter Sunday, 1975. Watercolor.Private Collection. See No. 104 33. Heavy Snow, 1967. Drybrush,20 x 40 in. Zula McMillan 34. Gate Chain, 1967. Watercolor,21/2 x 132 in. Private Collection

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35. Milk Room, 1964. Watercolor,287/ x 23 in. Thomas M. Evans 36. SpringFed, 1967. Tempera.W. E. Weiss,Jr. See No. 61 37. Cordwood, 1968. Watercolor,25 x 30 in. Private Collection 38. TowardAtwaters, 1968. Watercolor,114 x 2112 in. Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Wyeth

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39. Downgrade, 1968. Watercolor,2134 x 293/4in. Private Collection 40. SpringhouseDoor, 1971. Watercolor,21 x 29 3/16 in. Private Collection 41. After Christmas,1971. Watercolor,21 /2 x 40 in. Private Collection

42. Wherethe GermanLives, 1973. Watercolor,21?2 x 2912 in. Phil Walden 43. KuernersFarm, 1972. Pencil, 18 x 24 in. Roul Tunley 44. Lamplight,1975. Watercolor.Anton A. Vreede.See No. 32 45. Pine Baron, 1976. Tempera.Private Collection. See No. 102 46. Anna Kuerner,1971. Tempera.W. S. Farish III. See No. 83 47. Anna Kuerner,1971. Pencil study for Anna Kuerner,10 x 13 in. Private Collection

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48. The Kuerners,1971. Drybrush.Private Collection. See No. 88 49. The German, 1975. Watercolor.Private Collection. See No. 99 50. Bull Run, 1976. Watercolor,30 x 52 in. Harry A. Levin 51. Wolf Moon, 1975. Watercolor.Private Collection. See No. 64 52. The Prowler, 1975. Watercolor,21 x 39 in. F. Szabo 53. Patrolling, 1975. Watercolor,20/4 x 29 in. Private Collection

54. Evening at Kuerners,1970. Drybrushwatercolor.Private Collection. See No. 55 55. SpringCleaning, 1964. Watercolor,2012 x 29/2 in. Private Collection 56. SpareRoom, 1973. Watercolor,19 x 30 in. John L. Lavrich

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Olsons 57. Off at Sea, 1972. Tempera,3334 x 33/2 in. Private Collection 58. John Olson'sFuneral, 1945. Watercolor,21 2 x 29/2 in. The New BritainMuseumof AmericanArt, CharlesF. Smith Fund 59. Oil Lamp, 1945. Tempera.The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Gift of Mrs. W. S. Farish. See No. 110 60. Christinawith Beads, 1947. Pencil study for ChristinaOlson, 17 x 223/4in. Private Collection

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61. Doorway, 1947. Pencil study for ChristinaOlson, 23/4 x 17/4 in. Private Collection 62. Christina'sHead, 1947. Pencil study for ChristinaOlson, 17 x 223/4in. Private Collection 63. Christina'sHead, 1947. Watercolorstudy for ChristinaOlson, 12 x 9/2 in. Private Collection

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64. ChristinaOlson, 1947. Tempera.Private Collection. See No. 117 65. Open Windowwith Artist'sNotes, 1947. Watercolorstudyfor Windfrom the Sea, 1134 x 15s8 in. Private Collection 66. View out an Open Window,1947. Pencil study for Windfrom the Sea, 1412 x 213/8in. Private Collection 67. Windowwith Blowing Curtain,1947. Pencil study for Wind from the Sea, 17 x 14 in. Private Collection 68. Windfrom the Sea, 1947. Tempera.Private Collection. See No. 144

69. Christina'sWorld,1948. Tempera.The Museum of Modern Art, New York,Purchase, 1949. Lent for New York City only. See No. 106 70. Seed Corn, 1948. Tempera.Private Collection. See No. 164 71. Christina'sBedroom, 1947. Watercolor,22 x 30 in. Private Collection 72. Miss Olson, 1952. Tempera.Mr. and Mrs. John D. Rockefeller II. See No. 129 73. Miss Olson and a Kitten, 1952. Pencil. Mr. and Mrs. John D. Rockefeller III. See No. 127 74. The WitchDoor, 1948. Watercolor,29 x 22 3/16 in. ChristinaMalkemus

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75. The Blue Door, 1952. Watercolor,2914 x 21 in. Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington,Delaware 76. Alvaro and Christina,1968. Watercolor.The WilliamA. FarnsworthLibraryand Art Museum,Rockland,Maine. See No. 153 77. The Revenant, 1949. Tempera.The New BritainMuseum of AmericanArt, HarrietRussell Stanley Fund. See No. 150 78. Sea Fog, 1954. Watercolor,2978 x 20 in. Mrs. Henry J. Heinz II

79. IncomingFog, 1952. Watercolor,29 x 21 in. Mrs. Louis G. Bissell 80. Hogshead, 1955. Watercolor,1912 x 27/2 in. Estate of Dr. CatherineL. Bacon, throughMessrs.Frankand CharlesBacon

81. Egg Scale, 1959. Drybrush.Private Collection. See No. 111 82. Blue Box, 1956. Watercolor,20 x 28 in. Mr. and Mrs. R. F. Mayer 83. Barn and Dory, 1957. Watercolorstudyfor Hay Ledge, 211/2x 28 in. Coe Kerr Gallery Inc.

84. Barn Loft, 1956. Watercolor,36 x 27 in. Dr. and Mrs. Robert K. Ferguson 85. Alvaro's Hayrack, 1958. Watercolor,9 x 23 in. The WilliamA. FarnsworthLibraryand Art Museum,Rockland,Maine 86. Blue Measure, 1959. Drybrush.Private Collection. See No. 178 87. New England, 1960. Drybrush,18 x 23 in. Private Collection

88. Geraniums,1960. Drybrushwatercolor. Private Collection. See No. 180 89. WoodStove, 1962. Drybrush.The WilliamA. Farnsworth Libraryand Art Museum,Rockland,Maine. See No. 143 90. The Stanchions,1967. Watercolor.Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer Spiller.See No. 173 91. Pie Berries, 1967. Watercolor.Mr. and Mrs. Hal Wallis.See No. 174 92. Full Bushel, 1966. Drybrush,1834 x 24 in. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel P. Reed 93. Bean Basket. 1966. Watercolor.16 x 201/2in. Amanda K. Berls

94. Anna Christina,1967. Tempera.Amanda K. Berls and Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. See No. 134 95. Room after Room, 1967. Watercolor.PatriciaAnne Leonard. See No. 130 96. The Pantry, 1969. Watercolor,30?2 x 22/2 in. Mr. and Mrs. EdwardB. McLaughlin 97. Olsons, 1968. Watercolor,18 x 28 in. Mr. and Mrs. David Newby 98. The Virgin,1969. Tempera.BrandywineRiver Museum, ChaddsFord, Pennsylvania.See No. 184

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Works by Andrew Wyethin the collection of Mr.and Mrs.Joseph E. Levine 99. Rum Runner, 1944-1974. Tempera,28 x 48 in. 100. Rum Runner, 1974. Watercolorstudy for the temperaRum Runner, 141/2x 73/4in.

101. Sea Snails, 1953. Watercolor,20 x 28 in. 102. Swimming Gull, 1954. Watercolor,13/2 x 1912 in. RichardP. Levine 103. Teel's Island, 1954. Drybrush,91/2x 22 in.

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104. Hay Ledge, 1957. Tempera.See No. 170 105. Tom'sShed, 1960. Watercolor,133/8 x 19/4 in. 106. Peter Hurd,Jr., 1961. Drybrush,17/2 x 21 2 in. 107. Kitchen Garden,1962. Drybrushand watercolor,22 2 x 21/4 in.

108. WeatherSide, 1965. Tempera.See No. 156 109. Fence Line, 1967. Watercolor.See No. 18 110. Buzzard'sGlory, 1968. Tempera,182 x 231/2in. 111. Christina'sTeapot, 1968. Watercolor,223 x 283/4in. 112. CiderBarrel,1968. Drybrush,22 x 29 in.

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113. Elwell's Sawmill, 1968. Watercolor,22 x 301/2in. 114. Logging Scoot, 1968. Watercolor,22 x 3012 in. 115. Airing Out, 1969. Watercolor,301/2 x 22 in.

113

116. End of Olsons, 1969. Tempera.See No. 165 117. The Finn, 1969. Drybrush.See No. 182 118. SpruceBough, 1969. Watercolor,2134 x 30 in. 119. The General'sChair.1969. Watercolor.29 x 207/ in.

118

114

119

115

120. Rain Clouds, 1969. Watercolor,303/8 x 22 in. 121. The Swinger, 1969. Drybrush,143/4x 243/4in.

122. Afternoon Flight, 1970. Watercolor,23 x 29/4 in. 123. My Young Friend, 1970. Tempera,32 x 25 in.

122

120

123

124. RichardP. Levine, 1970. Pencil, 133/4x 163/4 in. 125. Nogeeshik, 1972. Tempera.See No. 31 126. From the Capes, 1974. Tempera,2412 x 18/2 in.

127. Canada, 1974. Watercolor,1714 x 28 in. 128. The Quaker,1975. Tempera,36/2 x 40 in. 129. Olsons in the Snow, 1975. Watercolor,16/2 x 20 in.

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