napping with Andrew Wyeth's dog

Late afternoon shadows paint
a white room dusky—
shades of brown and gray and blue—
but the mind’s eye still supplies
white: Old white dog curled
on the counterpane, his tired white
head pillowed on snowmounds.
Four poster bed shrouded
in a white fringed coverlet.
Small white squares of sunshine,
made rhombuses by the sun’s angle,
snooze on the bed’s white foot.
Outside the window a white sky,
the corner of the house bleached
almost-white, and silhouetted pine
branches peek in, longing to lay down
in the whiteness. I, too, want to crawl
into that white bed, pull the blanket
up to my chin, smell the warmth of dog,
of sun, of a room holding
its afternoon breath.

“You know, dogs are the damnedest thing. They just take over the house.” during an interview with Victoria Wyeth remembering her grandfather “had come home tired one evening wanting to take a nap, only to find Rattler had got there first. “

I don’t love the title, “The Master Bedroom”. I think “The Family Dog, Rattler” might be a better one.

But neither title quite captures what it is that fascinates me about this painting.

I was also reacting to one of the comments on PAP’s note: “All those beautiful browns.” It struck me because when I look at this painting I see a symphony of whites. For me the browns are merely shades among the shadows that define the whites.

And that little bit of resistance gave shape to my response: a catalog of whites. And somehow that opened the door to what it is I want to say to this painting. At least what I have to say today.

Both poetry and painting are about perceptions. Here, come see through my eyes for a minute, the art invites the viewer/reader.

And yet we always bring to the experience our own histories and our own ways of seeing.

So in a sense no two viewers or readers will ever experience the exact same work of art. We see not only with our eyes, but with the mind and with the heart.

Thanks again to Plein Air Poetry for always sharing beautiful art.