I could readily write a book about my life with the Wyeth’s, my second family. Maybe I will, someday, but for now I thought I’d share another photo of Andy, one I took on a day we walked around an old Quaker cemetery and Meeting House.
I’m inspired to do this by yesterday’s surprise of Google Alerts delivering a link to an obituary written the day after Andy died, 1/15/09. In it are a couple of quintessential lines that I’d like to share.
He was, after all, an extraordinary storyteller.
It doesn’t get much more intimate than the way Andy did it.
All his life, every day.
“Really, I think one’s art goes only as far and as deep as your love goes.”
“I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future — the timelessness of the rocks and the hills — all the people who have existed there.”
“I think anything like that — which is contemplative, silent, shows a person alone — people always feel is sad. Is it because we’ve lost the art of being alone?”