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“Or else is the beautiful object the one that tirelessly returns following destructions and wars in order to bear witness that there is survival after death, that immortality is possible?” (Julia Kristeva, Black Sun)
When I first saw that painting about twenty years ago, instant recognition—as though the younger Wyeth had painted whatever portion of my soul is always dressed in oversized shoes and a Hard Rock Cafe shirt, holding a large bird. Andrew and Jamie Wyeth paint with ante-purgatorial hopeful gloominess—states of mind-place in egg tempera and oil, utterly alien and phoning home. The underpainting beams—how, even if you’ve never lived here, you say back east….