I Left It On The Mountain: A Memoir - Plot & Excerpts
Once my brother as a boy had been shown a book of Wyeth’s work by a family friend he had studied everything he could about the man and his art. Wyeth was as much a phantom presence around our childhood home as our parents were. My brother had written a letter to Wyeth—one he’d been in a way composing his whole life—when he sent him the photos of the preliminary studies of the bust he had been working on. He really just wanted the man to know what he had meant to him. But even before he read that letter and had only looked at the photos of the studies, Wyeth must have instinctively seen with his keen eye that the man who had shaped him with so much feeling and understanding had somehow been shaped in return by Wyeth himself in some deeper way. I’ve always thought that had been—more than the artistry he saw in the bust itself—what had triggered his impulse to issue such an invitation to my brother to pay him a visit and put those finishing touches on the sculpture. My first mentor when I arrived in New York City, Henry Geldzahler, was not an artist, but he was certainly a part of the art world.
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