Cy Twombly. My first encounter with his work was at the National Museum in Washington DC in 2001. His minimal sculpture slathered in plaster and holding a plank of wood in tension with a wedge and a nail stopped me dead in my tracks. It anchored itself in the middle of the room as if made from lead and pulled me into its maelstrom. His honest and minimal approach was shockingly new to my sensibility at the time and I could not pour through books on his work fast enough. Cy made his own way, drew in the dark, and was one hell of an artist. His passing marks an end of an era. Cheers.