Rum Runner

A lone fisherman stands beside his worn wooden dory, his back to us as he studies the horizon where a single sailboat floats on the still gray water. Andrew Wyeth painted this scene, called "Rum Runner," in 1982, drawing on the rugged coast of Maine that he loved. As one of America's most cherished realist painters, Wyeth had a patient way of working with tempera and watercolor, laying down every weathered plank and dry tuft of grass with quiet devotion. The chilly browns and grays wrapping this beach carry a real sense of loneliness, and the salt air practically drifts off the surface.

Behind that simple title sits a whole hidden world. Back during Prohibition in the 1920s, smugglers known as rum runners slipped alcohol ashore by boat, often creeping into hidden coves after dark. By choosing this name, Wyeth plants a question in our heads about the man and his little craft. Perhaps he is nothing more than a fisherman scanning the sea, or perhaps his watchful stance hides a story we are not meant to know. Wyeth liked to keep his mouth shut about his paintings, letting each viewer imagine the rest. That gentle mystery, a scene paused at some unspoken moment, is exactly why his work stays with people well after they turn to leave.