Winter by Andrew Wyeth: Understanding Grief Through Narrative Medicine

We learned together at the end of last year (Nov 2025 Journal Club), the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) displayed a piece of art on their cover every month for about 50 years. This remarkable era was spearheaded by Therese M. Southgate, a physician and journalist who taught herself about the arts and brought visual storytelling into medical discourse.

In the Pain Geeks Journal Club, every month we choose one journal article and one humanities piece (in the form of art,peotry, film, audio etc.. ) to emphasize the arts in medicine and the complexity of the human spirit. We use the humanities to help us develop our skills of empathy, paying attention and reflection.

I wanted to choose one of her selections that resonated with this particular moment, a time when perhaps many of us find ourselves in our own metaphorical (and literal) winters.

Winter by Andrew Wyeth

Why This Piece

Winter is a season of darkness and hibernation, but also a time of quiet preparation, just before regrowth, re-blooming, and re-entering the world fresh, rested, and renewed.

On April 4, 1985, JAMA featured Winter (1946) by Andrew Wyeth. Later on, when reflecting on some of her favorite covers, she mentions the Winter cover of 85’. Southgate wrote:

"This short cover essay is probably my favorite, elaborating on the painting's delicate balance between a grieving person and the great stability or recoverability of the human spirit."

I was curious to know why she was fond of this particular piece.

Close Reading: What I Saw

Before I dove into it all, I spent five minutes sitting with this piece to see what would emerge. This technique from narrative medicine, called "close reading," is more often applied to text but works beautifully with visual art. It's used to practice attention, develop empathy, and sit with complexity.

At first glance, this painting feels drab, uninteresting, even boring. It doesn't immediately draw you in. But after sustained attention, layers began to reveal themselves.

The palette is brown and beige, muted and dark. A lone figure moves across a hillside. Why is he alone? Is he running from something? He appears casual with his hand in his pocket, yet he's clearly in motion. The snow is melting. The sun is present though unseen. He stays close to the fence, will he remain on this side or traverse it? His expression reads neutral to unpleasant, his energy seems low. Is he depressed? I wonder if his hand is cold. I can't quite discern the temperature.

The Story Beneath the Surface

Then I read Southgate's essay. The context transformed everything.

Wyeth's father was killed in a tragic accident when the artist was in his late twenties. His previous medium, watercolor, was no longer sufficient to hold his emotional state. He switched to tempera, and Winter was his first painting, after this tragedy, in this new medium. According to Wyeth, the boy represents Wyeth himself, after his father's death: flailing, off-balance, directionless, engulfed in grief.

Wyeth’s use of strong lines from the left arm and leg combined with the shadow, are meant to represent the stability and strength of survivors. The stark winter landscape, bare-boned and spare, leaves something to be desired and suggests that the rest of the story remains buried beneath the surface.

Wyeth also commented on our tendency to interpret solitude as sadness. While the painting's background makes grief easy to read, he hoped to convey thoughtfulness instead, the quiet work of processing loss that happens in isolation.

Why Southgate Chose This

Southgate's selection of this piece for a medical journal feels deliberate and profound. Physicians encounter grief regularly: in patients, in families, in themselves. Winter reminds us that recovery isn't linear or dramatic. It's the quiet figure moving across a barren landscape, staying close to what feels safe, taking small steps forward even when the destination isn't clear.

The "delicate balance" Southgate describes, between devastation and resilience, is perhaps the most honest depiction of healing we can offer. Not triumphant. Not tragic. Just human.

What Do You See?

I invite you to spend a few minutes with this painting yourself. What emerges when you sit with it? What does it reveal about your own winters past, present, or anticipated?

---

We discussed this humanties piece as part of our January Journal Club Discussion in 2026. You can find the recording of this discussion on the Pain Geeks platform as part of our Super Geeks subscription.

Want to be a part of the free community? JOIN HERE