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.

Love Letter to Color

(Plus how to make fermented beet pickles)

I have moments every day when I feel so very thankful for my eyes. To see is such a joy; I try never to take the miracle of sight for granted, especially since I can only see out of my left eye and would be rendered blind if I ever lost it. Sight is an important sense to everyone, I am sure, but as an artist it seems particularly crucial. If I could not draw and paint, I'm not sure what my purpose in life would be. That is something for me to consider I suppose...

Color is usually what reminds me to be grateful for the presence of my eyes. I do not know what the experience of color is like for anyone outside of myself... how could I? It is completely subjective. But for me the experience is intoxicating, sublime, and utterly physical in a total-body sort of way. Viewing a beautiful color feels like a massage, or like eating chocolate, or like kissing my beloved. This time of year--- springtime--- is so plentiful in color. When sunlight touches the tulips, they become chalices of color for my eyes to drink. What a glorious thing. 

One of my favorite colors of all time is ultramarine blue. I use it in every painting I make, and I revel in its pristine, straight-from-the-tube hue. During Medieval and Renaissance times, this color was close in value to gold. It was made from powdered lapis lazuli, and can be seen most often in the garments of the Holy Virgin Mary, as here in a small Fra Angelico (circa 1400) at Boston's own MFA. 

I can feel a religious experience coming upon me just resting my eyes on this color; no wonder it was reserved for Mary. I have always loved ultramarine--- when I was a small child, I swallowed a round piece of deep blue glass, thinking it would be sure to imbue me with supernatural abilities if simply looking at it made me feel such joy. The glass didn't harm me, being round. Sometimes I pretend it's still inside, a secret talisman, a magic charm. When I was in grad school, they told me to stop using so much of the same blue. I thought about it, but decided that was too great a sacrifice.

(I was told to "mix more" in general and not use my colors straight out of the tube. I tried, but painting seemed comparatively joyless... plus I like the result, so why torture myself?)

Another color that has always held me transfixed is a certain kind of magenta. In painter's language it is called "quinacridone rose." I am currently working on a painting that was inspired by how I feel about this color, based on my experiences with beets. As a child, beets were some of my favorite vegetables--- and that's saying something, because I liked almost all kinds. I used to watch in pure rapture as Mom removed boiled beets from the pot and popped them out of their skins. Her hands became stained with this color and I wanted my hands to be the same. In fact, I wished that my hands would be permanently colored this way. Even today, I sometimes think that if I ever got a tattoo, it would be to color the palms of my hands... like Kali's hands.

It brings me great pleasure to consume bright colors with my mouth as well as my eyes. I like to collect the most vibrant hues on my palette and my plate. This is why I eat things like turmeric, spirulina, egg yolks, orange peels, hibiscus tea, red wine, and beets. It's an added benefit that most brightly-colored foods are also the healthiest! So, as promised in the subtitle of this post, here is a easy and delicious recipe for fermented pickled beets. Great for the taste buds, the eyes, and the microbiome! 

Fermented Beet Pickles

Supplies: one wide-mouth quart jar with lid, about two medium to large beets (fresh, organic preferable) 1 tablespoon sea salt, and 1 cup fresh water plus a little more. 

Process: wash, peel, and slice the beets into small pieces (1 inch-long by about 1/4 inch thick is good). Pack them into the quart jar, leaving roughly two inches air space above. Dissolve the tablespoon of sea salt in a cup of fresh water; then pour it over the beets. Add a little more water until it covers the beets. Then screw the lid on loosely and set the jar in a warmish place, like on top of the fridge. Let them rest for about a week, opening the jar every few days to make sure gas doesn't build up too much. Them set them in the fridge and enjoy! The juice is also delicious. I like to drink it straight out of the jar.

Tips: be sure to appreciate the beauty of each beet as you cut it open. I find them fascinating; there are whole worlds inside--- deserts, sunrises, mountain ranges, all rendered in the most psychedelic bright pink! And if you see any mold on top of your beets during the fermenting process, just scrape it off and set the jar in the fridge. It's happened to me a couple times, and the pickles are fine underneath.