I walked up into the dry attic room one day. It was a hot summer day in August, so hot that I went over to that window, pushed it up about six inches and as I stood there, looking out, all of the sudden this curtain that had been lying there stale for years, God knows how long, began to slowly rise, and the birds crocheted on it began to move. My hair stood on end. So I drew it very quickly and incisively and I didn’t get a west wind for a month and a half after that either.
Andrew Wyeth on Wind from the Sea. 1947