But I don't doubt that we occasionally overlap existences.
Last Friday, I finished my reading for Business Ethics through Literature and became quite inspired. I sat down and wrote 3 stories. One of the stories was written with the Andrew Wyeth painting (Master Bedroom) in my head. The sparse cold permeated my prose and I even inserted the character of a sleepy white dog.
I finished it and put it away for the weekend. Mind you: I don't have much contact with news because I don't listen to the radio nor do I have a television. I don't see TVs, even.
This week I found out that Andrew Wyeth, aged 91, died quietly in his sleep last Friday. As I was writing a story that his painting inspired.
Tell me he didn't pass by me on his way out of town.
1 comment:
i was surprised by his death. my grandmother had a wyeth painting in her house--never mind the fact that the painting freaked me out every time i saw it (christina's world--i thought christina was left in the field to die!) when i head about AW's death it reminded me of my grandmother's living room and how powerfuly art can affect us.
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