Goya and Wyeth
November 17, 2014
I went to the Goya show at the MFA the other night. Oh my God, what a brilliant, tortured man. On the plus side, as far as my personal ego goes, I got to get up close to most of the paintings for a good look (museum guards hate me), and his handling of clothes and drapery, I’m happy to report, was clumsy at best. I just don’t think he was that interested in it, an attitude I can completely understand. However, on top of all the other superlatives one could care to bestow on his art, I was especially surprised and impressed by his use and depiction of light. Astonishing, modern and even cinematic in its intensity.
Then I went to the Jamie Wyeth show, and I was eaten up with envy. Not at his artwork; I found that rather banal, technically proficient in the Brown Gravy style but not extraordinary (the same criticism I have of Andrew), nor particularly insightful, but of the apparent ease and leisure to do whatever he wants provided by his famous name. Shit, I wish I owned a private island off the coast of Maine. I wish I could afford to buy Rockwell Kent’s house on Monhegan. Then I could paint eight foot canvases of pumpkins too. Small of me, I know, but that’s how I felt.