Trisha Ricketts

I have always admired Andrew Wyeth’s painting for his command of composition, his haunting settings and his ghostly, egg-tempera palette.

So when the artist’s retrospective, “Autobiography,” came to Kansas City’s Nelson-Atkins Art Museum in 1995, I squired my AP English Lit students there. I had taught them to unlock and to write poetry based on a binary approach which identifies a controlling image and its opposing one to create tension. The choices utterly subjective, of course.

All had notebooks and were scribbling away when a docent inquired, “Why did you bring your students to Wyeth’s exhibit?” When I explained what we were doing, she said, “Crosby Kemper would love to know this.” Mr. Kemper, a prominent businessman and philanthropist, was responsible for bringing the retrospective to Kansas City--the only site outside Japan to host this exhibit. “Would you send me some of your students’ poetry with your assignment?” the docent asked.   

Of course, I did.

Unbeknownst to me, after I sent them to her and she sent them to Mr. Kemper, he sent them on to Andrew Wyeth, his dear friend. Within weeks, I received a letter at school.  The return address stated simply, “The Mill. Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania.” A letter from Andrew Wyeth! It read: “Dear Ms. Paugh [my name then]—I was delighted with your students’ poetry and deeply moved—Bless them all for me—Sincerely, Andrew Wyeth.”

He was not the only one deeply moved. The letter and envelope sit tucked away in my living room secretary—an inspiration for my creativity and testimony to the power of support.