Word: wyeth
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...near tears as he said he wanted to protect his mother from being hurt. Told she was the subject for a famous artist's work, he said, "It doesn't do me any good, does it?" Helga, a fugitive from her sudden notoriety, was not to be seen. Carolyn Wyeth describes this quiet, almost reclusive woman as extremely upset by the tumult but flattered by the paintings: "She thinks they're wonderful." The neighbors' sympathy for her, though, is no match for their affection for Andy Wyeth. What he did for love, they say, is paint...
Back on Southern Island, Wyeth has turned away most requests for interviews, but did meet with TIME's Booth last Thursday. He declines to discuss Helga or her paintings, but he wants to clarify Betsy's use of the word love in relation to them. "People are going to think, particularly with this group of paintings, that it's a sexual love. It's not. We think of love only as two human beings in love. But it isn't in love. It's love. It's love toward an object. It can be a love toward those shells...
...artist is part camera, of course: he is the seer, adjusting technical and emotional focus to find a unique approach to the thing seen. Equally, he is reluctant to open the aperture on objects of his inspiration. In two hours, Wyeth has not mentioned Helga's name, referring to her only once as the "young lady." About the Helga series he will say only, "I feel -- not * all -- but there are a number of paintings in there that are as penetrating as anything I've ever done." Asked if he thinks it comprises his best work, Wyeth stares out toward...
Betsy's laugh precedes her as she joins her husband. The last phone call was from their son Jamie, the third generation of Wyeth artists. "There must be some awful things said about us," she mock-confides to Wyeth. Andrew's mood clears instantly, and he nods toward their inquisitive guest: "She asked me all about our sex life." And what did you say? Betsy wants to know. "Twice weakly," he winks in reply. "Do you know how to spell...
They stand outside in the haze, on the balding knoll where their house rests. The trees list permanently to the north, made arthritic by the wind. Figures in a Wyeth landscape -- except for the yardarm, with flourishing skull and crossbones, that towers wickedly behind the house. In a moment the artist is off on another ramble, toward a new attic or field or relationship or controversy. More than likely, he will wander back to Betsy. She calls Wyeth "you old pirate"; he must know she is the anchor...