One Single Impression: Blue

My uncle loved the work
Of Andrew Wyeth.

When I was young
He introduced me to
A lonely woman in the dying grass
Leaning toward home

Yearning for home.

Her solitude is significant
She is in the foreground
And home is so far away.

He told me what he saw.
He asked me what I saw.

The same.

The lonely dignity was everything.
The impossibility, nothing.

Years later my uncle would hand me
His book on Wyeth.

I learned:

Christina had dragged herself into the studio.
She knew all about this work
But said nothing--
Just let the man tell his story.

My uncle said so little
When he opened his art books.
Just sat beside me
So we could see what we would.

Those were late summer days
When the sky was as blue as his eyes

And the story,
As plain as day.

Comments

  1. What a sweet reminisce. I know this painting. I often wondered if she was trying to decide whether to return home or not.

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  2. I am well aquainted with the painting you speak of in this piece.

    One of my teachers had a copy on the wall in her classroom.

    I always felt the lady was enjoying her solitude away from the cares in this world as she dreamed of new worlds and travels in her future.

    I did not feel sadness in this wonderful painting...just a lot of thoughts on the canvas of her life at that time.

    I love the painting.

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  3. lovely story of you and your uncle, there appears to be many sides to him and you as well. Lovely piece of writing My dear Friend!

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  4. I have always liked Christina's World. Infact I wrote a short story and a poem way back in 2005 after seeing that work of work.

    Yours is so good..

    I can truly visualise it.

    weeks trample on each other like magazines

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  5. Must be wonderful to have such endearing relatives, I envy you.

    I enjoyed the story, you painted an interesting and educational story with your words.

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  6. Well written Sandy! I can see it before me! You are able to describe your feelings very well.

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  7. A great memory. Such things nourish us always.

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  8. Your poem brought the painting to life for me. I could see her standing there with the breeze shifting the hem of her dress and face toward home.

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  9. My uncle said so little
    When he opened his art books.
    Just sat beside me
    So we could see what we would.


    It sounds like he spoke in volumes, and his heart was inside those books. This one touched me deeply...I think I would love your uncle and his love of art, because it's something I also love beyond words.

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  10. Thanks for dropping by, Sandy.

    I always thought that the caption for Christina's World should be, "That darned contact lens is somewhere between here and the house, I know it is." It's not as funny when I remember that the model was paralyzed from the hips down.

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  11. How beautifully expressed Sandy. Thank you for this touching work.

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  12. Sandy, thank you for the chill down my back at the end of the poem/story! :)

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  13. Beautiful story/poem - the end are stunning.

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  14. Anonymous11:55 AM

    the last lines are beautiful!

    well written!

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  15. This is a charming story about family, love, and the way art can enter our lives and take up residence.

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  16. Beautiful poetry as usual. . . I did not know this artist until now. I enjoyed the link and liked the snow one best, of course. I did not enjoy art when I was younger but now I appreciate it more. We have a First Friday art walk around 7 art galleries and I enjoy it so much I look forwrd to it each month.

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  17. ..christina olson .. dragged herself to pick flowers from her garden to put in the house..she had a never-diagnosed muscular deterioration .. it left her lower body paralyzed ..

    the words in the above narrative have a a prosaic directness -- still it sounds like a poem , why? ..

    what is it in the vision of a young woman dragging herself through the grass that constitutes 'art '

    what is it in the blue eyes of a man that reminds his niece of the tender blue of the skies

    what is it about the plainness of words and the plainness of a day that makes one think of chritina olson & her 1948 world ..

    poetry or art are strange things .. they make one feel what happens to another ..

    so thanks sandy for this soft little poem ..

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  18. that was an amazing post capturing a few moments in time, the thread running through them, a picture and a color...blue. great stuff.

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  19. beautiful tribute to that painting (that I so love too!)

    peace & love,
    JP/deb

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  20. This tale touches my heart. Something deep within me quieted, as if I was trying to hear your time together. Lovely.

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  21. The poem seems to melt into the well-known artwork! It gives silence a beautiful whisper!

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  22. Such gorgeous words. I always wished I could write poetry like that!

    Just swung over from David McMahon's blog to congratulate you on your POTD nomination. Well deserved!

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  23. So lovely. Thank you.

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  24. Beautiful! Congrats on the Post of the Day Award!

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  25. Having an uncle like that must have been so precious!

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  26. This piece has so many layers but speaks most clearly to me regarding the artistic spirit and a loneliness which takes its toll.

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  27. Hi Sandy, such a beautiful post. Congratulations on POTD.

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  28. Your uncle let you use your imagination, good.
    We never had our daughter tell us what she was drawing.
    Telling us that would make her conform to something she could relate to and stifle her imagination.
    ..

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  29. Anonymous11:27 AM

    very sweet!

    i love it..

    i love blue eyes...

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  30. I know that painting and it has captivated me as well. What a beautiful tribute to your uncle. I love what we remember- we remember it for a reason, don't we? Hope your year is going well- I loved your comment on my blog about the copier. I feel the same way and walk away fast whenever it jams b/c I do NOT know how to fix it (yes I am one of those people) and really try to stay away from it. What ever happened to the ditto machines? lol...at least THEY didn't break down as much! Have a good one!

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  31. Marvelous memory shared eloquently here. I recall the painting well.
    Hugs and blessings,

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  32. A lovely and touching poem. Much to appreciate in these few lines!

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