Self-Portrait

In-progress.

I have been fascinated by portraits in art since I first began looking at Dad's old art history books as a little kid. Human faces were always my favorite subjects; I don't think that needs any explanation. As a child, I loved to draw people. "Beautiful Ladies" made frequent appearances in my sketchbooks. But I didn't begin drawing pictures of myself until I attended college. For some reason, I was squeamish about it when surrounded by my family. I thought drawing myself would indicate something suspect in me. Once I started using my own face and body as subjects, however, I could not stop. Suspect? Maybe. But I'm sure other artists will understand the attraction. What actually happens when one visually depicts oneself? Sometimes this practice is seen as narcissistic and egotistical; on the contrary (I believe), it encourages understanding and compassion for others by teaching understanding and compassion for oneself. It is a search for identification through the commonality of idiosyncrasy. It is a narration of recognition. A self-portrait is a definition of reality (and an acknowledgment of differing realities). The spell of the self-portrait is difficult to escape. And I wonder, why try? Many of my favorite paintings of all time happen to be of this genre.

Frida Kahlo, Self-Portrait with Necklace, 1933.

I've recently been reading the most incredible book, The Self-Portrait: A Cultural History by James Hall. Not only is it informative from a historical perspective (I am ravenous for history), but it speaks intimately to me about my own desire to depict myself... while making me feel such companionship with artists spread out across hundreds of years. If you are interested in the subject at all, I highly recommend this book. 

Some artists are known mainly for their self-portraits. Frida Kahlo is one such. At the time of her death (age 47), she had painted about 55 of them.  Rembrandt is also known largely for his self-portraits, many completed in his youthful years. I have been lucky enough to see several of these stunning works, including a small piece that resides in Amsterdam's Rijksmuseum. He depicts himself at the tender age of 23. When I stood before it, I felt as though I were facing a fire that had been burning for 400 years... like my soul was being seared by a beautiful brand. 

Rembrandt, Self-Portrait as a Young Man, 1629.

Before the 15th century, self-portraits in art were comparatively rare and not hailed with such to-do. For a great deal of history, artists were in fact considered equivalent in status to blacksmiths or weavers; they were "craftspeople," and not deemed significant enough to warrant the sort of historical memorial that portraiture entailed. Still, they sneaked in self-portraits whenever they could and in spite of ridicule or even punishment. The desire of the artist to portray him/herself... has remained constant. One painting I desperately wish I could see in person currently hangs in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich, Germany. Albrecht Dürer's Self-Portrait (1500) has deeply affected me since I first saw an image of it many years ago. Even without the art history context, this piece is (in my humble opinion) unsurpassed. Within said context, it takes on many additional layers of meaning and explains its important position in the textbooks. Just look at it for a moment... that hair! That gaze! That hand! I'd go to Germany solely to visit this awe-inspiring yet humbly-sized (26 x 19 inches) painting.

Durer, Self-Portrait, 1500.

Much of the controversy surrounding this portrait revolves around Durer's (apparent) allusions to images of Christ from the period. He has employed various conventions of representation and symbolic elements that make this reference difficult to doubt. I'm sure I need not go into why that was problematic for many people. However, I don't think Durer was intending it to be an affront... from my perspective, he was in fact "worshiping God" in his own way; in the way he needed to, although it was not necessarily safe.

Picasso, Self-Portrait, 1901.

Sofonisba Anguissola

Two more I must mention before I bring this to a close: the first is Picasso's from his "blue period." It's something about the placement of his face on the canvas, and his expression surrounded by blues that are somehow both soft and vicious. The second is by Italian Renaissance painter Sofonisba Anguissola, who created many self-portraits throughout her long life (an incredible 92 years). I think they are all beautiful, but the small example pictured here is my favorite because of the angle at which her head is tilted... and the wisdom-filled youth in her gaze.

I enjoy looking at portraits in general, but self-portraiture holds a special fascination for me. When I stare deeply into a great one, I feel a twinge of that longing--- that desire to bridge the chasm between perception and perceived. In the really, truly great ones, I can taste it. Which is what spurs me to continue attempting my own. I've finished several, all of them quite different from each other, and am working on two more. The "sliver picture" at the beginning of this post is a taste of my most recent self-portrait project (and, sadly, it is far from done!).

Lady with a Langur, 2012.