I was browsing some art sites that sell stuff from my favorite artist, Andrew Wyeth. He's fabulous. My grandmother bought me a print of his master's bed. It was expensive but not as expensive as one of the limited addition print I want... $15,000. For a PRINT. This is not an original. I was like wow. And here I thought almost $300 was steep for the print I'll be getting soon. The cheapest one I found that I liked was $5000. Oh, but those were hand signed by him as well. I would kill, literally kill, for an original Andrew Wyeth piece. There's a private collector that's thinking about splitting up some of his collection but they're nothing that I'm interested, nor could I afford. It's funny, when I was a kid, I thought people were insane to go nutty and spend millions on original paintings. Now I realize it's like owning a piece of history. A piece of history you can see, touch and smell. If only I could win the damn lottery. Too bad we don't buy tickets.
This is the front of his autobiography, and the picture is the night sleeper, the print I would like to someday own.