All the Leaves are Brown

Andrew Wyeth, 1964 (Baltimore Sun story by Patrick Walters, The Associated Press)

Andrew Wyeth, lover of gray and brown, the sere and the lonely, master of alone-ness, as well as lover of models, has joined the great tempera painting in the sky, a curtain blowing in from an open window.

Wind from the Sea, 1948

At 91, he straddled the uncomfortable gap between low-critical and high-popular acclaim with a certain amount of "whatever," and like many other male artists, did exactly what he wanted to the tune of financial success. His wife took care of the details and didn't sweat the secrecy. In the end, the work exhibits peerless technique in the service of subject matter that veers at times towards the reproducible, and yet still strikes a transcendent chord at least part of the time.

Winter, 1946

"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape -- the loneliness of it -- the dead feeling of winter."