As a rule, I don’t much care for naturalistic still life or scenic paintings, even if the technique and the realism of it borders on flawless. This is especially true of outdoor rural scenes. Maybe it has something to do with my Midwestern upbringing in which every other bank, building lobby, and school seemingly has a print or a painting of a field, a barn, some haystacks, or a scene involving cows or horses hung in it as a subconscious way of informing you that yep, you’re in Illinois and just a mere stone’s throw away from many, many acres of soy and corn fields that are separated by fewer and fewer geometrically separated roads the farther you go outward.
With that said, there is something about Andrew Wyeth’s Wind From The Sea that I absolutely love. To be sure, I could point to its realism as the primary reason of why I love it (the curtains are painted so well you can practically feel the breeze from the window hitting you) but mostly I think that this painting’s greatness lies in how Wyeth is able to make something beautiful by relying mostly on a palette of browns, blacks, and burnt yellows. It is an Autumnal palette, and one that can feel too lifeless if not executed properly.
For the most part I think almost everyone that lives in a part of the world that experiences all four seasons enjoys Autumn (or, at the very least, enjoys the beginning weeks of it). The temperature becomes calmer, even a little bit cooler, the trees become fiery, the kids are back in school, and the weather reminds us that Thanksgiving, the first snow, and Christmas aren’t far away. As Autumn trucks along, though, we also tend to get sick of seeing all of the dead trees and, depending on where you live, the blank, cemetery-like fields. From the viewpoint of the former, Wind From The Sea could be seen as something sad: its reliance on dark colors and the dead-looking grass in the background and far from pretty interior paint of the wall and the barely visible sea and the overall overcast feel of the scene can all conspire to make you feel cold.
But then again… as dreary as it may look, the window is open; the breeze is coming through softly. This has always made me think that despite its overcast feel, maybe this is just one of those days that look ugly outside but the actual weather is somewhat pleasant. Like a late September day that is beginning to warm up after a storm has passed through and the sun has yet to shine through.
Artistically speaking, this painting has all of the elements that good construction is built upon: the lacy curtains provide the focus; the sky in between the tree line and bottom of the window make for a good horizon line; the inset wood of the window and inset arteries of the pull-down shades add a nice geometry to the composition; the sliver of sea in the background seems to mimic the slivered crack in the wall, possibly calling a subconscious attention to how slow and subtle nature makes its mark on our surroundings.
Or you could just look at this painting for exactly what it is—an attempt to realistically capture the essence of a room. (Wyeth painted this and many others, including his most famous work Christina’s World, while living at the Olsen House in Maine.)
Like most works of art, perception drives your love (or hatred or indifference) of the piece. To me, this painting has always been synonymous with Autumn, and the beginning of Autumn through Thanksgiving is my favorite time of the year. Everything from the changing trees to the seasonal Goose Island Harvest Ale to the warmth of Thanksgiving, they are all things (and many others) I look forward to when they arrive. And looking at Wind From The Sea makes me think of all of those things. Even if it looks a little overcast.
Andrew Wyeth is considered by many to be one of the best American painters of the 20th century; his influence is pretty wide (everyone from fellow artists to Mr. Rogers and Charles Schulz admired and referenced him) and rightfully so: the man was capable of bringing to life an otherwise banal and borderline ugly room.
by Andrew Wyeth
Tempera
1948