Entry - 11.10.18

The ideal art, the noblest of art: working with the complexities of life, refusing to simplify, to “overcome” doubt.

                                                                                           - Joyce Carol Oates

Gerard Wickham - The Card Trick - 2018

In a blog entry I posted in April, I introduced my latest major oil painting, The Card Trick, and talked about how important ambiguity has become to my work.  I noted at the end of that entry that I had hoped to address how ambiguity functions in the work of several major artists but, feeling that I was running a bit long, would shelve that objective for the time being, fully intending to take it up in a later blog entry.  I had already gathered a good number of applicable images and given a lot of thought to my topic at that time.  So the moment has now come for me to pick up where I left off seven months ago.

Ambiguity in art has become more common in the modern age.  Perhaps this is the result of our having lost many of the certitudes upon which prior generations structured their lives.  But all the same, long before rulers and religion lost their credibility, some artists of the past did recognize that the use of ambiguity could enhance their work and encourage a deeper engagement with their audience.

Diego Velazquez - The Spinners - 1657

Many years ago when I had just begun working at the agency where I was ultimately to spend over thirty years, a coworker returning from a vacation in Spain gave me a postcard of Diego Velazquez’ The Spinners that he had picked up at The Prado.  I was very pleased.  I had been an admirer of Velazquez for a long time, and here was a magnificent work with which I was unfamiliar.  I pinned the postcard to my bulletin board where it remained for many years to be regularly studied by me.

I could never tell for sure what was happening in the image.  In the shadowy foreground, five women in peasant dress perform activities associated with spinning yarn.  Behind them in a space bathed in light are five figures clothed in finery interacting in various groupings.  A viola da gamba or cello sits in the entranceway to the background space, and one figure, gesturing dramatically, wears armor.  I always thought that these figures were rehearsing for some kind of performance.  I believed the painting to be vaguely about the differences between the classes and the activities in which they engaged.  I liked that the plane of focus encompassed the two workers on the right, leaving their more privileged associates in the background to be addressed summarily.  The painting truly defies expectation, primarily concentrating on the lowly laborers in the foreground and indicating roughly the pursuits of the higher born.

For centuries, this painting was thought to depict the Santa Isabel tapestry workshop of Madrid.  Only after an employee of the Alcazar Palace found an inventory of artwork which included a painting by Velazquez, The Fable of Arachne, which matched the original dimensions of The Spinners did art historians come to recognize that the work was based on a Roman story.  There are several versions of this story, the most well-known probably being that which is included in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.  The story goes like this…  Arachne, a peasant girl, was an incredibly talented weaver and wasn’t shy about boasting about her skills, going so far as to assert that her abilities exceeded those of Athena.  When the goddess got wind of Arachne’s bragging, she took on the guise of an old woman and visited the mortal girl.  When Arachne repeated her claim that she could “out-weave” Athena, the goddess revealed her true identity and required that a competition be held to see who truly was the greatest weaver.  Upon completion of their labor, Athena’s tapestries depicted situations in which mortals competed with the gods in contests and were consequently punished for their hubris. Arachne chose to show in her tapestries how the gods misused mortals, particularly concentrating on Zeus’s dalliances with young women.  In some versions, Athena’s and Arachne’s efforts were equal; in others, Arachne exceeded Athena in skill; still others suggest that Athena was infuriated that Arachne dared to expose the shortcomings of the goddess’s own father.  Whatever the reason, Athena assailed the peasant girl furiously and turned her into a spider.  I think in Ovid’s version, Arachne, unable to endure the goddess’s abuse, hangs herself, only to be brought back to life as a spider by Athena.

Since the subject of the painting was revealed, art historians have suggested that The Spinners represents the competition between Athena and Arachne in the foreground and Athena confronting Arachne afterwards in the background.  I disagree with this interpretation.  First, the figures in the foreground are not weaving; they are spinning.  And, though commonly medieval manuscript illuminations will depict two events occurring at different times in a single image, this became extremely rare from the Renaissance onwards.  I believe Velazquez is deliberately challenging our expectations of the painting’s theme.  The lowly workers are preeminent both in size and focus, while the dramatic confrontation between god and mortal is relegated to take place in a background niche.  And Velazquez doesn’t choose to portray the climactic moment of the fable when Athena attacks Arachne, as did Rubens and Houasse.

Peter Paul Rubens - Pallas and Arachne - 1636/37

Rene Antoine Houasse - Minerve et Arachne - 1706

No, we’re really not sure what is happening in the background.  Athena, the figure in armor, gesticulates theatrically while Arachne appears disconcerted.  So perhaps Velazquez has opted to present Athena evaluating Arachne’s efforts, just moments before losing her temper and exacting her revenge upon her.  But if this is the case, the painting still depicts a very gripping instance.  Why then are the two noble women on the right engaged in casual conversation?  One of them actually glances out of the picture plane at us, the viewers.  The painting seems to defy rational interpretation, and, I believe, this is deliberately so.

I think we can all agree that this painting is about the making of art.  Arachne has achieved an extraordinary skill that she believes exceeds that of the goddess Athena.  Velazquez reminds us that tapestry weaving (and painting) is a laborious process requiring hours of effort and the participation of numerous workers.  As he emphasized the spinning process, he must have had in mind all of the activity that precedes the painting process: the gathering, grinding and preparation of pigments, the weaving of the canvas, and the stretching, sizing and priming of the support.  In addition to these activities, the artist himself has spent years and years studying his craft.  Velazquez doesn’t believe in the magical spark of creativity.  He recognizes that great painting doesn’t flow effortlessly from the hand of a genius; it results from thousands of hours of intense effort.

And it may have escaped your attention that Arachne has chosen Titian’s The Rape of Europa as the theme for her tapestry.  I believe that Velazquez like Arachne recognizes his own efforts and skills and, in his case, challenges us to compare his talents with those of the Venetian master of the previous generation.  It is even possible that by introducing the noble figure who glances out at us, the viewers, he has dissolved the boundary between art and life, daring to establish himself on a footing with his own god.  Regardless of how far Velazquez’s ego permits him to go, it is apparent that in presenting The Fable of Arachne he was more interested in the moment when the efforts of Athena and Arachne are evaluated and compared than the climactic moment when the goddess attacks the mortal, ultimately transforming her into a spider.

Faced with the facts that the subject matter of the painting was incorrectly identified for centuries and that even today experts can’t agree on what’s happening in the painting, we cannot deny that ambiguity is an essential element in The Spinners.  Velazquez has very deliberately made a conclusive interpretation of the work impossible to attain.  He emphasizes the activity of the workers in the foreground over that of the main players in the background.  The moment he’s chosen to depict is vague.  The behavior of some of individuals portrayed does not coincide with what would be expected within any interpretation of the fable.  He has blurred the boundary between art and life.  Velazquez recognized that ambiguity would enhance rather than detract from his image.

And ambiguity is a tool he turned to again and again.  For instance, in Las Meninas, why is the painter included in the painting?  Why present this strange assortment of players in a royal portrait?  What are most of the individuals depicted, including the artist, looking at?  Their own reflections or us, the viewers?  How are the king and queen seen reflected in a mirror hanging on the rear wall without occupying the space between the foreground group and the mirror?

Diego Velazquez - Las Meninas - 1656

Even a painting as straightforward as The Water Carrier of Seville seems to suggest some undisclosed drama.

Diego Velazquez - The Water Carrier of Seville - 1619

As I stated earlier, the use of ambiguity became more common in the modern era.

James McNeill Whistler - Variations in Flesh Colour and Green - The Balcony - 1864 to 67

For instance, in Variations in Flesh Colour and Green – The Balcony, James McNeill Whistler provides an absurd image of a group of European women wearing traditional Japanese attire assembled on a balcony overlooking the Thames’ industrial waterfront.  Equally out of place, an array of flowers, above which drift two butterflies, encroaches upon the lower periphery of the painting.  There can be no sensible interpretation of what is presented here.

Whistler wasn’t concerned that his chosen tableau was ludicrous.  He had begun to approach his art as a composer constructs music.  He even gave his paintings names relating to music: arrangements, variations, harmonies, nocturnes and symphonies.  He was thinking abstractly.  Color, form, contrast and brushwork were the notes he employed to arrange his compositions.  The narrative didn’t matter; his goal was to achieve an aesthetically perfect image.  Whistler’s did not strive for ambiguity; it simply was a natural consequence of his elevating aesthetics above all other concerns.

Edouard Manet was actually much more radical than the Impressionists.  The Impressionists’ revolution was mainly about technique.  Manet wanted to change the way we view art, in effect dismantling the cohesiveness of the narrative structure in art.  He felt that painting had become burdened with conventions that were established over centuries of activity since the Renaissance.  It was nearly impossible for modern art not to quote the art of the past.  But rather than resist this inclination, he embraced it.

Edouard Manet - Le Dejeuner sur l'Herbe - 1863

In Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe, Manet is referencing Pastoral Concert, attributed to both Giorgione and Titian.

Pastoral Concert - c1509

Like Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe, Pastoral Concert presents an image of two clothed men and two exposed women in a natural setting.  But Pastoral Concert offers an idealized representation that permits an allegorical interpretation, while Manet does not propose any such reading in his work.  His men are clearly dressed in modern garb and are engaged in conversation.  One woman in undergarments wades in a river in the background, while the other is unclothed and sitting amongst the men.  She is naked, not nude, and her features are not generalized and idealized; this is clearly a portrait.  Contemporary viewers were offended that this portrayal of a real naked woman offered no comfortable association with allegory, myth or biblical reference.  Perhaps they should have been more offended that Manet was trawling haphazardly through art history and arbitrarily quoting from his preferences without regard for meaning.

Edouard Manet - Mademoiselle V. in the Costume of an Espada - 1862

It is thought that in Mademoiselle V. in the Costume of an Espada, Manet was borrowing from Goya thematically and Velazquez compositionally.  In the later half of the nineteenth century, the French indulged a taste for all things Spanish, including painting, and Manet clearly hoped to benefit from that predilection.  But once again, Manet cannot provide an acceptable rendering of his subject matter.  He makes no attempt to disguise the fact that his espada is in fact just a model adorned in an exotic costume.  In fact, Manet goes so far as to use for his espada a female model, Victorine Meurent, the same model who posed nude for Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe and Olympia.  She wears inappropriate shoes and carries a ridiculous pink cape.  The background makes no sense spatially and is, most likely, simply a two dimensional backdrop (a travel poster, for instance) in front of which he posed his model.

The ambiguity in Manet’s work results from his recognition that any artwork is an artificial conception, a hodgepodge of technical conventions, traditional references and factual reality, which can offer its viewer no convincing narrative.

Depending on how you look at it, Max Beckmann was either a victim or a beneficiary of the period in history in which he lived.  Beckmann was born in Wilhelmine Germany in 1884, and his youthful years were defined by personal growth and astonishing professional success.  Early in his artistic career, Beckmann received first prize in the Berlin Succession Exhibition, which included a scholarship to study in Florence.  He garnered praise from art critics and was the youngest ever elected member of the Berlin Secession.  By the age of 30, he was married and had a son.  He was a conservative artist, publishing attacks on Franz Marc and Der Blaue Reiter group.  If history hadn’t intervened, chances are Beckmann would have lived a very comfortable life and we would never have heard of him.

But World War I intruded upon his life.  During the war, Beckmann volunteered as a medical orderly, and the pointless destruction, wanton brutality and human suffering that he witnessed throughout his service altered his perspective indelibly.  After the war, Beckmann’s art changed dramatically, both in subject matter and style.  He adopted some conventions from the very Expressionists he had previously criticized: fractured perspective, unnatural coloration and the simplification and distortion of form but used these tools, not to fashion a higher aesthetic, but to confront his generation with the harsh realities of the human condition.  He often used his personal biography to expose larger paradigms within his society.  Beckmann later witnessed the rise of the National Socialism in Germany, suffered repeated attacks on his art, lost his directorial position at Frankfurt’s Städel Art School, was banned from exhibiting, saw his work included in the “Degenerate Art” show sponsored by the Nazis and ultimately fled to Holland.  After the Second World War, he emigrated to the United States.

Max Beckmann - Self Portrait with Horn - 1938

Max Beckmann - Departure - 1932 to 35

Although it would be understandable if he solely chose to record the horrors of his age and his own personal misfortunes, Beckmann recognized that to become too literal, to expose directly the multiple tragedies that he both witnessed and suffered during his lifetime, would diminish the scope of his art and relegate it to play the role of historic documentary.  He used ambiguity to disguise his observations of a transitory reality, seeking out instead universal themes that have obsessed humans throughout their history.   Often he preferred to stage his vignettes within vaguely defined historic or mythological epochs to widen the scope of his explorations.  In his 1938 Self Portrait with Horn, is he considering blowing this horn to warn all mankind of an impending Armageddon or is he ludicrously peering into the instrument as if it were a telescope intent on discerning an indecipherable future?  When in 1937 a New York art dealer, hoping to sell one of his paintings, wrote to him requesting specific explanations of its imagery, Beckmann responded that if that were essential the dealer should return the painting.  Shrewdly, Beckmann embraces an ambiguity that defies resolution.

Similarly, Paula Rego, a contemporary Portuguese artist, uses ambiguity to avoid having a constricted interpretation applied to her work.  In most of her mature output, Rego explores gender roles and the dynamics of relations between the sexes.  In doing so, she has to walk a very fine line.  If her imagery lacked uncertainty, her work could be perceived as didactic or illustrative, regardless of whether her observations are valid or not.  An analysis of the specific social construct which she experienced within her brief lifetime would be fated to be quickly forgotten.  I don’t believe that Rego desires to play the role of a pedagogue.  Instead, Rego delves into the foundations of folktales or establishes her narratives within the confines of a broad, unspecified history.  Ambiguity permits her work to be more universal and multidimensional.

Paula Rego - The Cadet and his Sister - 1988

Paula Rego - Olga - 2003

Paula Rego - The Pillowman - 2004

French artist Balthus, born in Paris in 1908, preferred to remain anonymous.  When asked to provide biographical information for exhibition purposes, he refused.  He carefully crafted his reputation as an enigma, which within the artworld could only serve to elicit further interest in him and his work.  One might also suppose that Balthus had other reasons for avoiding notoriety.  His work was often overtly sexual in nature, and his paintings and drawings commonly featured pubescent girls, naked or in suggestive poses.  It’s understandable, under the circumstances, that Balthus would prefer to keep the public’s focus on his work rather than on himself.  Social mores are very changeable, often oscillating between liberalism and conservatism unpredictably, and Balthus certainly must have feared a backlash from orthodox elements within his society.

Balthus - The Mountain - 1937

Balthus - Nu Jouant avec un Chat - 1949

Balthus - La Chambre - c1953

All of that said, I think that primarily Balthus wanted to avoid having his biography shape how his work was perceived.  It was critical that his work remain ambiguous, permitting no definitive interpretation by his audience.  Upon Balthus’ maturation, two major intellectual perspectives were gaining predominance: Freudian theory and Surrealism.  Freud believed that all stages in human development were sexual in nature.  Puberty represents an unsettled period of experimentation and upheaval during which the individual undergoes a transformation from an essentially autoerotic being into a mature sexual adult capable of establishing a long-term, monogamous relationship.

Surrealism evolved from Dadaism, an anarchic art movement that rejected established societal and aesthetic standards.  But the Surrealists disciplined the Dadaist approach, applying Freudian theory to their work.  They were particularly interested in Freud’s belief in the importance of analyzing the unconscious mind in understanding the functioning of the cognizant individual.  Freud stressed that dreams, in particular, offer invaluable evidence of repressed memories that determine the directions of our lives and often result in symptoms of neurosis.  The Surrealists sought to tap into their own unconscious perceptions in their work, regularly using random patterning as the starting point of their conceptions and developing dream imagery that did not submit to the logic of their conscious experience of reality.

Though Balthus was never a member of the Surrealist circle, he was certainly very aware of the movement and his work was admired by many of its primary contributors.  Most commonly, Balthus’ oeuvre is associated with that of the second generation of Surrealists, whose work retained a dreamlike quality while aesthetically incorporating a realist vocabulary.  The work of Salvador Dali comes to mind.  While Balthus remained an independent artist, a direct participant in no major movement, it is also clear that he was very much influenced by Freudian and Surrealist theory, perhaps explaining his exploration of pubescent sexuality in the context of an ambiguous narrative that defies rational interpretation.

I mentioned in my last entry that in 1997 contemporary Norwegian artist Odd Nerdrum confounded both his opponents and supporters alike by announcing that his work was just “kitsch” and not “high art”.   This admission must have come as a stomach punch to his supporters who took his paintings very seriously and embraced his art as the last vestige of true craftsmanship to be found in the artworld.  You see, kitsch is defined as “art, objects or design considered to be in poor taste because of excessive garishness or sentimentality, but sometimes appreciated in an ironic or knowing way”.  (Oxford Living Dictionary)  Nerdrum wanted to disassociate himself from “high art” which he sees as now synonymous with Modern Art.  He was acknowledging that, because he continues to be committed to narrative subject matter, emotional content and fine craftsmanship, his work can never fulfill the expectations of the Modernists.  Of course, Nerdrum was merely taking a shot at the Modernists.  I believe in truth that he would be terribly mortified to have his oeuvre received as “kitsch”.

But admittedly his imagery is often excessive, revolting, awkward, offensive, disconcerting and gruesome – at times, bordering on the mawkish.  So having his work labeled as “kitsch” must be of legitimate concern to Nerdrum.

Odd Nerdrum - Dawn - 1989

Odd Nerdrum - Man with a Horse's Head - 1993

Odd Nerdrum - Shit Rock - 2001

Odd Nerdrum - Three Namegivers - 1990

Appreciating that his oeuvre is susceptible to being labeled kitsch, Nerdrum is very careful not to get too precise in his creations; he suggests a narrative without providing specifics.  For instance, if he were to clearly indicate that his imaginary landscape peopled with armed warriors, hermaphrodites and defecating women is our future world after a ruinous nuclear war, he would expose himself to censure for being alarmist or doctrinaire; his observations would apply to a very particular scenario and could be construed perhaps as sci-fi illustration.  The inhabitants of his world suffer wounds and amputations, perform their daily ablutions and expurgations, participate in vague rituals, form loose associations and resort to violence to secure food and impose dominance, but these activities are alluded to in a nebulous fashion.  We are never quite sure what’s happening in these works; in some instances the activities portrayed are patently baffling.  Through ambiguity, Nerdrum invites his audience to contemplate his creations, elaborate on his narratives and draw parallels to contemporary experience.

The Modernist revolution, which so offended Nerdrum, was of course fated to reach a conclusion.  At some point, artists could not surprise or shock their audience anymore.  Nothing new could be conceived.  Every innovation introduced by the latest radical movement seemed a reiteration of a more effective antecedent which had originated decades ago.  Artists eventually recognized this and stopped trying to astonish or outrage their viewers.  The artwork created by this new generation of artists is eclectic, borrowing haphazardly from styles and concepts of the past.  Often the boundary between high art and popular culture is disintegrated.  Several disparate techniques may be incorporated in a single piece.  Ambiguity and the absence of any discernible interpretation are characteristics of this new art which was christened as “Postmodernism”.

Neo Rauch is perhaps the quintessential Postmodern artist.  Rauch was born in 1960 in Leipzig, East Germany and lived the first half of his life within a communist state and the second within a capitalist democracy.  After the reunification of Germany, Rauch chose to continue living in Leipzig, even though creative and financial opportunity was accessible in the West.  Rauch is ambivalent about his past life.  Often his work harkens back to a society that functions cooperatively, where a community of individuals gathers for a shared purpose.  In these images, the time period is unclear; the people depicted wear clothing from diverse periods or are outfitted in unidentifiable uniforms.  Many of his characters engage in creative pursuits; they make music, dance, write, study, construct sculpture and paint pictures.  Fire is a common theme in his oeuvre though we are not sure if it is an element of purification, censorship or torture.  There is no consistent scale applied to figures and objects; the laws of perspective do not apply.  During his lifespan, Rauch has lived in a cooperative society that restricted personal freedom and opportunity leading to economic malaise and creative frustration.  All the same, communism did create a sense of common cause and provide a safety net for those individuals less than able to provide for themselves.  Post reunification, Rauch now lives in a capitalist democracy that worships the individual and offers opportunity to exceptionally motivated and talented members of society.   Personal freedom is a feature of modern democracies – at least a freedom only constrained by each individual’s financial circumstances.  And while many enjoy prosperity and security, a substrata within that same affluent society experiences deprivation and exposure to risk and illness.  After residing in these two “mirror image” societies, most probably recognizing both their benefits and defects, Rauch seems predestined to present in his work a world of ambiguity and duality, inconclusive and uninterpretable.

 

Neo Rauch - Vater - 2007

Neo Rauch - Der Laden - 2005

Neo Rauch - Gewitterfront - 2016

Neo Rauch - Die Stickerin - 2008

I should also add that Rauch at the age of just four weeks lost both of his very young parents to a car accident and was thereafter raised by his grandparents.  Can you imagine having no recollection of the most critical event to occur in your lifetime?  Or acknowledging that you seemingly emerged unscathed from an incident whose consequences dramatically changed the course of your life path?   Surely, this piece of his personal history must have introduced to Rauch, even at an early age, the perception that existence is fraught with irreconcilable contradictions and that the possibility of cataclysmic transformation shadows every individual at every moment of his or her existence.  Rauch has succinctly stated:

“What I want to do is catch those few seconds before some possible excess.”

When I read this simply quote, I was shocked at how similar it was to something I wrote for a small exhibition I was having at a local venue six years ago:

“I examine chance and change in many of my paintings.  I’m excited by moments when something very important might happen, when the regular course of events may be disrupted and upheaval or drama result.  I am equally interested in depicting these moments in such a way that the viewer cannot be certain as to what is actually happening; while suggestions of some critical activity are being made, there is also a very credible possibility that nothing of consequence is occurring.  Duality and ambiguity intrigue me greatly as phenomena of contemporary existence.”

Of course, my quote is very wordy and not nearly as elegant as that of Rauch, but what interest me is their parallels.  For most of my art career, I’ve felt completely out of sync with the contemporary artists I’ve seen represented in galleries and museums.  I didn’t dislike or reject their work; I just recognized that I was on a completely different track and could never picture my paintings getting exposure in such a forum.  Only in recent years have I seen work and read artists’ statements that suggest intentions that correspond with my own.  I realize that we’re experiencing a zeitgeist at this time which acknowledges, whether for good or bad, that ambiguity and contradiction have become inescapable elements of ordinary existence.  I don’t think it’s just coincidence that Rauch was born a year after I was.

Peter Doig - Night Balcony North Coast - 2012

Or that in Artforum David Rhodes wrote the following about Peter Doig, a Canadian artist born the same year as I:

“It seems that Doig is saying that realism is negotiable and subjective.  This ambiguity continues in Night Balcony North Coast, 2012: Rendered in dark blue, green and yellow, the painting depicts an empty corner balcony.  The colors evoke twilight, and within this nocturnal light – a familiar theme in Doig’s work, which adds to the temporal vagueness of his painting (it is neither night or day) - it seems as if something has passed or is about to happen.  Throughout this exhibition, backgrounds and figures interchange fluidly, and Doig makes the exotic ordinary and the platitudinous engaging, mobilizing an ambiguity that produces a situation without clear explanations – a lack of certainty the artist once called a ‘numbness’.”

You have to wonder why at this time an interest in portraying an ambiguous world view has become imperative among artists of a certain age.  I have my own theories about this.

I grew up in the 1960’s.  They were radical years during which our society seemed poised to make major changes in how it functioned.  Though only a child, I couldn’t help but be aware of a series of fundamental actions and transformations taking place: Anti-war protests, the Civil Rights Movement, the Women’s Liberation Movement, the Gay Rights Movement and the Sexual Revolution.  People were becoming concerned about the environment and started to understand that the excessive dumping of pollutants, the eradication of ecosystems and the extermination of species must not continue.  Many questioned the values which steered our society, resulting in the development of a counterculture that rejected rampant consumerism, commercial competition and the traditional definition of success.  People were dropping out of society, heading back-to-the-land, establishing communes.  Civil disobedience, marches and demonstrations fashioned the backdrop of my early childhood.  To someone with literally no past experience by which to evaluate these turbulent days, it appeared that these fitful changes that out world was undergoing were just part of an unbroken arc that had been occurring for millennia – that arc representing an evolution from lawless chaos to enlightened cooperation.  In spite of all the unrest that these movements inspired, I really was certain that our society was undergoing substantive improvement to a degree which had never happened before in human history.  They were heady days filled with unbridled optimism for the future.  I am not exaggerating.

Imagine the confusion and disappointment I experienced during my late teens and twenties when I detected signals that my concept of an evolutionary arc of continual societal betterment may have been mistaken.  Thousands of small, seemingly insignificant digressions were probably occurring at that time, but I found four developments particularly disturbing.

While I was in college, disco music began to receive a lot of radio play and asserted a strong influence on American culture.  The music was glitzy, bass-driven, extremely repetitive and accompanied by sparse, vapid lyrics.  It was all about shutting down the intellect and surrendering to a simple dance beat, in many ways in opposition to the innovative arrangements and sophisticated lyrics of earlier folk and rock music.  Disco was anti-art, popularist and basically pablum for the ears.  For me, the rise of disco represented a decline in taste and a change in what we expected from art.

Another change that occurred at that time was the emergence of designer clothing – particularly formfitting jeans.  In the 60’s and early 70’s, clothing was thought of as utilitarian.  The goal was to buy clothing that was cheap and functional and to wear it until it was threadbare.  To be dressed up formally was akin to betraying the ethos of the era.  For most of my high school years, my school uniform was a pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt.  In the winter, I augmented my wardrobe with an inexpensive, poorly fitting snorkel coat complete with a faux fur-lined hood.  So it came as a surprise when during my college years people started wearing clothing with designer labels: Calvin Klein, Gloria Vanderbilt, Jordache, Izod Lacoste and Sasson.  Clothing ceased to be inexpensive and practical.  Designer jeans, for instance, cost about three or four times as much as standard brands.  They resisted fading and would be discarded once they showed signs of wear.   And by way of some fancy stitching and a recognizable label, they conveyed an aura of status on the wearer.  The idea that a sexy pair of overpriced jeans could magically make an individual more “worthy” was anathema to the values that I had adopted during my childhood years.

In 1980, Ronald Reagan was elected president.  He was pro-military, anti-government, pro-school prayer and anti-union.  A conservative, he championed states rights, and, to lower taxes, he reduced or stripped benefits from disabled citizens (many of whom were World War II veterans) and slashed funding for subsidized housing, Medicaid, food stamps, the EPA and federal education assistance.  During his presidency, the gap between rich and poor widened and the erosion of the economic health of the middle class, which continues to this day, commenced.  Reagan made Nixon look like a compassionate liberal.  His election, a landslide victory in which he carried 44 states, represented a sea change in our country’s way of thinking; shallow, selfish, opportunistic narcissism seemed to be the order of the day.

And lastly, in 1986 Paramount Pictures released the movie Top Gun, which went on to become a major hit.  The movie tells the story of the competition that develops between two navy pilots, Maverick and Iceman, participating in an elite training program.  The film glorifies militarism, nationalism, macho bravado, risk taking and mindless competition.  During and shortly after the Vietnam War, the release of such a movie would have been unthinkable.  In fact, back in 1968 Warner Brothers had released The Green Berets, a film which starred John Wayne and sought to justify America’s intervention in Vietnam.  The movie became a target of mockery, lambasted by progressives and intellectuals and slammed by critics (Roger Ebert gave it 0 stars).  Top Gun was so silly, so childish, so pandering, so gratuitous that after seeing it I was completely dumbfounded as to its appeal.  Clearly, attitudes in our country had gone through major changes.

Obviously, these four developments which I here note vary in magnitude from the consequential to the frivolous, but, honestly, each was pretty much of equal significance to me at that time.  I believe that change occurs at the grassroots level – almost imperceptibly.  The way we dress, the music we listen to and the movies we watch are potent indicators of our beliefs, ideals and desires.  Ronald Reagan didn’t change our society; our society had changed until someone like Ronald Reagan was acceptable to it.

Years later, while working my nine to five, “career” job, I used to hang out with a couple of coworkers who were about ten years older than I.  They had been full participants in 60’s culture.  They attended college at that time, had engaged in all the experimentation that the era demanded and had faced the real possibility of being shipped out to Vietnam.  I’ve seen pictures of them in which they’re barely recognizable, so thoroughly did they adopt the guise of hippie culture.  Regularly, we would end our workday at a nearby bar to unwind, have a few beers and shoot the bull.  One evening, we fell into a discussion about the 60’s.  At one point in our conversation, I bemoaned, “You guys were lucky.  When the 60’s hit, you were old enough to have some perspective.  Not me.  I was born into it and believed that progress was normal… that society would continue to make ethical and intellectual gains throughout my lifetime.  The realization that this was nonsense was one of the greatest disappointments of my life.”  And this is really the crux of what I’m getting at.  Like Neo Rauch, I’ve lived in two distinct worlds during my lifetime.  If you happened to be born within just the right window of time (young enough to have no prior experience and old enough to be conscious of what was going on), the 60’s were not just another stop on the conservative-liberal-conservative-liberal cyclical pendulum swing. They were reality.  When that reality proved to be an illusion, I was shaken, my perception of our world was refuted and I became interested in exploring narratives in my art that evinced ambiguity and contradiction.  I guess I have become somewhat of a cynic.

And, much to my chagrin, at the present time I find ambiguity and contradiction to be more prevalent than ever before in my lifetime.  We have elected an unpresidential president who blithely presents lies as facts, unconcerned that the most superficial bit of research will prove him a liar.  He admires and lauds corrupt, ruthless dictators and insults progressive, democratic allies of our country.  The Senate voted to confirm a Supreme Court nominee after most of them agreed that the woman who testified that he attempted to rape her while in high school was credible and truthful.  A Chicago cop, who shot a knife wielding black teen 16 times while the kid was walking away from him, claims that he felt his life was in jeopardy – even though the incident was videotaped and clearly contradicts this assertion.  Seems like every other day a respected and beloved entertainer, journalist or politician is revealed to be a warped, sex-crazed predator.  Periodically our nation reacts to another tragic mass shooting, mourning an ever-increasing count of innocent victims, many of whom are school age children; but for all our outrage and sorrow we are unwilling to consider any effective form of gun control – not even for semiautomatic weapons.  Our legal system is completely arbitrary.  In some states possession of marijuana by an individual with prior convictions will result in a mandatory sentence of life without parole, while murderers are commonly paroled after serving 10 or 25 years.  The economic collapse of 2008, which clearly resulted from fraudulent activities, caused tens of millions to lose their jobs or homes, triggered a plummet in the stock market and saw trillions of dollars in consumer wealth evaporate, resulted in the conviction of just one Wall Street executive (30 months, by the way).  Medicine, which once held the objective of improving the health, relieving the suffering and prolonging the lives of people, has become a ruthless industry whose primary purpose appears to be to bankrupt the sick and dying before their exit from this world.

I really could go on forever.  I must admit that my list of observations is comprised mostly of contradictions and is pretty light on ambiguity.  I guess the ambiguity results from looking toward the future and wondering if we still possess the desire, resolve and courage that motivated the 60’s generation to improve our society or will we permit greed, aggression, intolerance, ignorance and sloth to steer our nation’s course in the years to come.  Sadly, the answer to this question is not at all clear.

As always, I encourage readers to comment here.  If you would prefer to comment privately, you can email me at gerardwickham@gmail.com.

Entry - 7.21.18

“There’s no retirement for an artist, it’s your way of living so there’s no end to it.”

                                                                                                               - Henry Moore

So, as previously stated, one of my retirement goals is to become proficient in the use of gouache, an opaque medium similar to watercolor.  There are a couple of advantages to gouache.  You can thin it with water, so there are no solvent fumes with which to deal.   It’s very portable making it ideal for painting on location.  Your brushes and palette can be cleaned with soap and water.  And, most important for me, because of its opacity, you can rework areas and cover up mistakes, a critical feature for me since I tend to rely on the “trial and error” method often in making determinations while painting.  One reason I’ve struggled with watercolor in the past is its transparency makes recovering from my “experimental excursions” impossible.

I’m pretty sure that I had two tubes of gouache in my pencil box at one time.  I never explored their potential seriously, using them more as an occasional supplement to enhance my graphic work.  But I am ready to roll up my sleeves and master their use now.  At this point in my life, I am basically an oil painter who spends months on a single work, building up layers of paint to arrive at the exact tones and textures I desire.  Yes, I’ve become a bit slow and fussy, not a horrible thing but not a great one either.  I thought it might be a good experience for me to tackle a new medium, one that might encourage me to be a little more spontaneous and inventive.  After all, gouache paints and decent watercolor paper are relatively cheap, and there’s really no preparation involved.  So I can certainly shrug off disappointing results gracefully, abandoning an unpromising effort in its embryonic stage rather than toiling stubbornly to save the work.

These days, whenever I want to learn a new technique, I turn to the internet.  There I can usually find an endless array of videos available providing instruction and demonstrations.  These videos are really a wonderful resource, the only problem being that often the quality of the material can be poor or designed for a lay audience.  Some of the gouache demonstrations were clearly intended for craft enthusiasts, but I did find a good many that provided professional instruction for artists.  From these I got the impression that gouache could be used very much like oil paint, applied in thick, lush strokes and built up in layers.  This appealed to me very much, and I was eager to start my first project.

I already knew that I would work on a series of self-portraits.  I wanted to work freely from a live model, and I recognized that I was the only model available who was willing to pose for hours at a time, sometimes for several consecutive days.  Another benefit of using me as my subject matter was that I didn’t have to flatter or satisfy myself.  I could experiment with this new medium without constraint, portray myself unconventionally, strike unusual poses and produce unquestionable failures, and I would be fine with that.  I couldn’t imagine a volunteer model being as understanding.

Another predetermination I had conceived was to get out of my studio.  I had had enough of being locked away in an upstairs workspace, exiled to some degree away from social interaction and customary activity.  I wanted to blast music from the downstairs stereo while I painted and experience, peripherally at least, the daily comings and goings of my wife and children.  Probably more important was the fact that though the lighting in my studio is ideal for someone painting in a fixed area, it was less conducive to illuminating a model.  After years of trying, I had yet to find a way of satisfactorily lighting my paint surface and my subject matter.  The room was simply too cluttered with paintings, pads, easels and art materials to provide a lot of maneuvering space, and the only natural light was provided by one double-hung window with a southern exposure.  I guess if Virginia Woolf needed “a room of one’s own” for her creative efforts, I needed a bigger, brighter one for mine.  Moving downstairs allowed me to investigate a number of locations with unique lighting conditions.

So on a midwinter morning, I set up a mirror and an easel in the middle of our kitchen and went to work, first quickly sketching in my features in pencil before moving on to gouache.  Informed that gouache behaved comparably to oils, I adopted my most common technique, blocking in a rough underpainting in green tones to establish lights and darks and provide a complementary foundation against which the flesh tones would sing.  I was committed to working loosely, so I employed large brushes (well at least in consideration of my paper size) and loaded them generously with pigment.  In winter, if the wood burning stove is not fired up, the kitchen can become quite cold; and after hours perched on my chair, posing stiffly before a mirror, my back began to ache and body temperature drop.  It certainly wasn’t hell, but it took a bit of determination to continue.  My real challenge was not to overcome physical discomfit but to master this new medium; and my efforts were proving insufficient.  The gouache was behaving more like watercolors than oils, overpainting never quite subduing a lower layer of color.  When multiple layers of dense pigment were applied, the tonality grew darker and darker, and even white directly from the tube could not restore luminosity to my image.  I also learned that gouache will darken considerably as it initially dries but will reach a middle tone when fully dry.  The painting became murky and lost definition, and I felt I lost control of the work.  Chalk this one up as a learning experience.

Gerard Wickham - Kitchen Self-Portrait - 2018

In executing my next self-portrait, I was determined to maintain control of my efforts.  After penciling in a light sketch, I used pen and ink to fix detail; then I applied color in thin washes, incrementally building up tones.  I was too tentative, the resulting image developing into essentially a toned drawing.  To mix it up a bit, I worked this time in our dining room directly beside a window, portrayed myself head-on rather than in three quarter view and donned an eccentric earflapped hat to boot.

Gerard Wickham - Self-Portrait in Earflapped Hat - 2018

So it was back to the drawing board for me.  As with the second work, in this image I retained the pen and ink drawing and jettisoned the underpainting but now was more committed than before to working loosely.  I also wanted to use bolder colors to suggest form.  To my advantage, I had already gained a partial understanding of how gouache behaved and recognized that limiting my palette would be advantageous.  For this portrait, I wore my black hoodie, allowing the hood to cast dark shadows over my face.  This time I set up my easel in the hallway beside the side entrance to our home.  Outside light entered through the door’s glass insert, but I was predominantly lit by a harsh incandescent globe light directly over my head.  I chose to stand for this painting because only in this position could I get the light right.  I started at nine in the morning and finished up at seven in the evening, only stopping briefly for a quick bite to eat at midday.  Not until I walked away from the easel did I realize that my hands were shaking and I was a bit dizzy.  I had definitely pushed myself with this work…at least, physically so.

Gerard Wickham - Hooded Self-Portrait - 2018

For the next portrait, I wanted to paint myself in profile.  It took some effort to arrange two mirrors in the precise positions required to provide an acceptable side view.  I started with a pencil sketch before moving to pigment.  Maintaining a consistent pose proved rather difficult since I was working from a reflection twice removed, and my drawing and painting suffered for it.  After working several hours, I decided that I couldn’t salvage this painting and called it a day.

Gerard Wickham - Unfinished Self-Portrait in Profile - 2018

I felt that one of the problems with the previous painting was that I didn’t start work with a formal conception, meaning that I was relying totally on a visual presentation and was not applying an intellectual structure to the image.  So as I regularly shifted position and struggled to regain my original pose, my perspective kept varying, contributing principally to an unsuccessful representation.  Therefore I began my next self-portrait by drawing a series of perspective lines on my watercolor paper.  I chose to use what I would call an extreme perspective, one that might be obtained by a mosquito flying directly in front of my face, then I drew my portrait, forcing my features to conform to my perspective guides.  Again to provide some variety, I wore a knitted winter cap for this portrait and can attest that as the spring season brought warmer temperatures I began to regret that choice.  After producing a rough sketch in pencil, I used pen and ink to fix the detail.  I had wanted to record my pen and ink drawing before painting but forgot and had already painted in the eyes before taking my photo.  Oh well, you can get the general idea.

Gerard Wickham - Preliminary Drawing - 2018

I had purchased a larger watercolor pad prior to my start on this work, and the larger format definitely facilitated my efforts.  All of the earlier paintings were completed within single day sessions; but numerous days of work went into this piece.  I was back at the kitchen window, and, having marked with labeled masking tape strips the positions of my easel, mirror and chair, I could set up my work area each day precisely as it was when I had started.  I carefully applied semitransparent layers of gouache to my drawing.  The heightened coloration and exaggerated perspective reminded me of some Early Renaissance works, so I thought it would be fun to insert a sprawling landscape in the background.  A photograph I had recently taken while hiking on the Appalachian Trail served as the ideal source.  Just as with my head, after drawing in the detail with pen and ink, I applied gouache in thin layers in my landscape.  The resulting image is awkward and disconcerting, but I’m inexplicably satisfied with it.

Gerard Wickham - Self-Portrait in Knitted Cap - 2018

I still wasn’t fully certain that I was using gouache as intended, so I went back to the internet and watched more instructional YouTube videos.  In one of them, a woman cautioned against using cheap paints, singling out Reeves as a prime example of a substandard gouache.  Of course, I had been using a Reeves set of 18 colors in the execution of all the previous works.  I’ve never been an advocate of the use of topnotch materials; in fact I often deliberately purchase very affordable supplies because I can use them more aggressively, without concern of the cost.  For instance, I intentionally seek out cheap brushes because I like to beat the hell out of them when painting and don’t care if I go through five or ten in the creation of a single work.  But I guessed it couldn’t hurt to give a better quality paint a try.  For about $25, I ordered a set of Winsor & Newton paints which included the following 6 colors: black, white, red, blue, yellow and green.  The set was pretty basic, but I wasn’t too concerned - after many years of oil painting, I’m pretty adept at mixing colors.  I would have to say, after using the Winsor & Newton colors on the following self-portrait, that they did cover better, didn’t become murky and could establish reasonable highlights over underpainting.  Purchasing them was definitely a wise investment.

Even though my earlier attempt at a portrait in profile was an unquestionable failure, I did like the format and wished to give it another try in the future.  But I didn’t want to use the double mirror technique again, so I cheated a bit and took a timed selfie under my glaring studio lights.  I posed in a hallway before a white wall, lit from behind, my face in shadow.  To keep it interesting, I contorted my face in a fierce snarl.  Thankfully, I got from the photos exactly what I was looking for.  After sketching my likeness in pencil and spending several days painting, I completed work on the image below.

Gerard Wickham - Snarling Self-Portrait in Profile - 2018

I am uncertain as to what I’ve accomplished with this series.  I do know that I’ve achieved some level of mastery in the use gouache.  However I also wonder if these works form any cohesive statement or merely represent a string of independent experiments.  I believe I may have suggested earlier on in this entry that my choices of headgear and facial expression resulted from my simple desire to provide some variety and technical challenge to my efforts.  But then again I’m sure you could ask a thousand artists to paint a series of six self-portraits and not one would come up with the same array of imagery.  Surely there is something of myself in each of these self-portraits.  And perhaps approaching them as technical trials freed me from self-consciousness and allowed me to more fully express my inner workings.  Who knows?  (Considering this bizarre sampling of imagery, maybe I should be less than enthusiastic about admitting this.)

I have a particular weakness for self-portraits.  If we can agree that all art whether portrait, landscape, still-life or abstraction is a visual representation of the artist’s persona, it naturally follows that a self-portrait is most conducive to a successful and penetrating expression of that persona.  Interestingly, some artists (Gustav Klimt , for instance) never painted a self-portrait, while others like Rembrandt and Van Gogh arguably achieved their greatest results while peering at themselves in a mirror.  The intimacy of self evaluation may have repulsed some artists while others found it intensely appealing.

In light of my affection for self-portraits, I thought it would be fun to take a look at some of my favorites and provide a little informal commentary along with the images.

Edvard Munch - Self-Portrait with Cigarette - 1895

Max Beckmann - Self-Portrait in Tuxedo - 1927

A century ago, it was very important for artists to assert their professionalism and refinement.  Historically, artists were viewed as craftsmen or artisans and not as intellectuals.  There actually is an old French expression “bête comme un peintre” which translates as “dumb as a painter”.   In the firmly structured caste system of late nineteenth century society artists struggled to achieve respectability and status.  As strange as it may seem, artists commonly worked in formal attire.  And, of course, the addition of a smoldering cigarette in hand would have suggested the ultimate in sophistication back then.  It’s interesting how similar these two works executed thirty years apart are.  But while Edvard Munch presents himself as haunted and spectral, Max Beckmann displays a concrete and confrontational presence.

Gustave Courbet - The Desperate Man - 1844 to 45

Gustave Courbet - Bonjour Monsieur Courbet - 1854

Regarding nineteenth century artists striving for respectability, it’s interesting to compare these two paintings by Gustave Courbet.  At the age of twenty five, he sees himself as a desperate man, perhaps one on the verge of madness.  Most likely, the economic and emotional stress of being a social outsider has taken quite a toll on him. A decade later, he has achieved some recognition and even depicts himself being respectfully greeted by a gentleman on the roadside.  The gentleman doffs his hat to him, while Courbet tilts his head backward, causing his beard to be thrust confidently outward.

Some artists deliberately denigrate themselves, defying the urge to achieve acceptance and respectability.

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner - Self-Portrait with Model - 1910

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner establishes himself as a Bohemian, his nude form barely draped in a colorful robe - his model, clad in lingerie, is not a paid worker but an intimate associate.

Egon Schiele - Self-Portrait with Arm Twisted above Head - 1910

In the same year, the Austrian Egon Schiele portrays himself as a degenerate, an individual gripped by animal urges.  His hair is an unruly mane, and his raised arm exposes a scraggly tuft of underarm hair.  His leathery flesh is scarred with lines.  Scarcely shrouded by atrophied muscles, his skeletal frame protrudes awkwardly through his skin.  There is a wariness and carnal blankness in his expression.

Chuck Close - Big Self-Portrait - 1967 to 68

Chuck Close would suggest that he unemotionally reproduces the exactitudes of a photograph without regard for his subject matter, but, of course, that’s not true.  I’m sure that Close carefully selected the black and white source photograph for his Big Self-Portrait with the intent of shocking his audience with his own repulsiveness.  He portrays himself unshaven, his greasy hair uncombed, a cigarette clutched between his lips.  His audience is granted a view up his nose.  His large, plastic horn-rimmed glasses rest solidly on his protruding ears.  He is the perfect counterculture villain of the late sixties, the radical nightmare of the establishment, and we onlookers cannot help but be amused at how ruthlessly he documents his slovenly appearance.  And, by the way, if you’ve never seen this painting, you might be surprised to learn that it is extremely large, nearly nine feet tall and seven feet wide (which only intensifies the comic absurdity of the image).

Alice Neel - Self-Portrait - 1980

This is Alice Neel’s only painting of herself.  Unconventionally, she chose to record herself nude at the age of 80, four years before her death.  She coldly documents the impact the passing years have had on her form.  A mass of white hair crowns her head, and her sagging breasts droop over her swollen belly.  But, as with all of her portraits, Neel takes a humanist view of her subject.  In spite of her humiliating situation, she maintains an undeniable dignity.  Her eyes are sharp and alert as she studies her features; her mouth contorts in a frown of concentration.  She returns the viewer’s gaze quizzically, as if to ask, “And you don’t think this will happen to you?”  (Excuse the digression, but I wish to relate an unusual connection I have with this painting.  In 1981, Neel had a solo show at SUNY Stony Brook’s Fine Art Center which I attended.  I was surprised to find the artist seated in the middle of the otherwise vacant gallery.  I immediately turned left on passing through the gallery’s door and was confronted by Neel’s painting of herself nude.  It was a bit disconcerting to have the artist, situated so she faced the entrance to the gallery, watching me as I scrutinized her weathered body.  Part of me wanted to flee this intimate image, but another part refused to be cowed into flight.  I probably studied this individual work longest of all in defiance of my prudish inclinations.  Fortunately, this is a masterful work manifestly worthy of lengthy examination.  It is now in the National Portrait Gallery’s collection.)

Often how an artist views him or herself is determined to a very great degree by the aesthetic predominating in the era during which he or she lives.  For instance, Philipp Otto Runge portrays himself as the ultimate Romantic figure in 1810.  With his soulful eyes, sunken cheeks, generous lips, unruly hair and upturned collar, he could easily pass as the hero of one of Byron’s poems.  And I’d bet that Runge believed himself to be presenting a very personal image of himself rather than a Romantic archetype.  That’s the way we are swayed aesthetically; it’s really quite insidious.

Philipp Otto Runge - Self-Portrait - 1810

In the era of Modernism, conventions changed rapidly and within a few short years the aesthetics influencing how artists filtered reality could transform dramatically how they viewed themselves.  Käthe Kollwitz embraces an Expressionist idiom, striving for an essential image that eschews intellectual sophistication and aims for emotional density.  She records her image in a woodcut, a difficult and physically demanding medium which had been in use in Europe from the late Middle Ages through the end of sixteenth century but was abandoned for less challenging printing techniques.  She depicts just her visage, indicating her hair minimally and omitting any evidence of the neck or shoulders upon which her head rests.  The print is in black and white, and there is no attempt to conceal the rough cuts used to fashion the image.  The superfluous and the pretty have been eliminated, leaving only the indispensable and elemental.

Kathe Kollwitz - Self-Portrait - 1923

Henri Matisse was one of the founders of Fauvism, another dialect of Expressionism, but, in the hands of the French, Expressionism had a very different flavor than the German variety.  For Matisse, Expressionism was essentially about making aesthetic decisions that commonly violated established conventions in order to achieve an extremely sophisticated visual language.  As with Kollwitz, he has pared down information to a minimum in his self-portrait, but Matisse is seeking to achieve a perfect balance between line and form, between technique and illusion in his work.  And, most critically, he uses color non-naturalistically, employing a heightened palette while realizing a precarious harmony between tones.  Kollwitz’s self-portrait is a primitive beacon, a timeless totem, while that of Matisse is a flawless arrangement of line and color.

Henri Matisse - Self-Portrait in a Striped T-shirt - 1906

In 1948, Frida Kahlo adopts the principles of Surrealism in creating her self-portrait.  She wears a traditional Tehuana headdress which isolates her facial features against an intricately patterned web.  Certainly, most viewers of this work could not identify this regional Mexican dress and would only see it as bizarre and other-worldly.  There is no attempt at modeling here.  Her face is nearly uniformly lit, and the lace work is recorded in almost manic detail.  Her exotic outfit, the floral patterning in the lace, the cartoony tears that fall from her eyes, the mesh of plant life seen behind her head and the bird imagery in her necklace suggest a symbolic interpretation that the viewer is unable to grasp.  All we are able to glean from this work is that this is a very unusual portrayal of a pained woman with roots established in both the natural world and traditional Mexican culture.  From this starting point, the viewer is free to create his or her own fantasy.

Frida Kahlo - Self-Portrait in Medallion - 1948

I’m truly amazed when examining the following two self-portraits executed by Pablo Picasso.  In the first, Picasso has fully appropriated the Symbolist-Expressionist language which was still relatively new in 1901.  He presents himself set amongst intense blues and grays, only his harshly lit face animated by pale flesh tones and rose colored lips.  Something of sickness and death wafts about this figure, but there is also a spark of intellect in his features to counteract this perception.  Within a mere six years, Picasso has developed a personal language that will become known as Cubism.  In the 1907 self-portrait, Picasso’s face has become distorted and masklike; his features, particularly the eyes, are emblematic.  The image is composed of a series of repeated diagonals which fracture space and defy a traditional spatial interpretation.  Picasso has made the leap from imitation to innovation.

Pablo Picasso - Self-Portrait - 1901

Pablo Picasso - Self-Portrait - 1907

In self-portraits, artists consciously select precisely how they appear, what they wear, their facial expressions and their locations.  Brushwork, paint texture and tonal range are of equal importance.

In his later self-portraits, Rembrandt was obviously at the top of his game.  Every aspect of these works attests to the artist’s mastery of his medium.  In this self-portrait of 1659, Rembrandt employs a very limited palette enhanced with flecks of dense color.  His brushwork is free with individual strokes clearly visible throughout the composition.  Shadowed umbers dominate the painting; only his face is illuminated, bringing the viewer’s focus to his expression.  After years of labor and struggle, Rembrandt has achieved a staggering expertise in his craft.  An unfathomable perfection is embodied in this work.  But for all his ability, Rembrandt concluded his life impoverished, ultimately to be buried in an unmarked poor man’s grave.  He outlived two wives, and his son Titus, the only one of his four children to survive into adulthood, also predeceased him.  When he painted this portrait, he must have understood the cruel irony of having achieved so much while receiving little recognition for his efforts.  His expression conveys disillusionment, exasperation and exhaustion.

Rembrandt - Self-Portrait with Beret and Turned-up Collar - 1659

In his self-portrait of 1938, Pierre Bonnard opposes Rembrandt’s approach to portraiture.  Bonnard’s face is in shadow, his expression nearly indiscernible.  His form, small and insignificant, merges with background elements, a network of repeated verticals and horizontals.  His clothing is ordinary and unpretentious.  He appears to be wearing a robe over a white undershirt.  The artist does not disguise the fact that he is seeing his image in a bathroom mirror.  This is the mundane image of a man going through his everyday rituals.  Bonnard is just another compositional element is his endeavor to document in light and color the quiet sanctuary he has established for himself in his small house on the Mediterranean.  While Rembrandt presents his circumstances as unique and specific, Bonnard takes solace in the universality and anonymity of the life he leads.

Pierre Bonnard - Self-Portrait - 1938

 At times an artist’s personal history is so consuming that his biography merges with his oeuvre.  We as viewers can no longer separate the artist from his work; they become indistinguishable.  For such artists a self-portrait almost seems superfluous but all the same can prove to be the most iconic of their works.  Who can look at a Van Gogh self-portrait without considering how he labored for his art and struggled to retain his sanity…how he relied on contributions from his brother Theo to maintain himself while his paintings generated no income…how he and Gauguin briefly and disastrously lived together in Arles…how he committed suicide at the age of 37.

Vincent Van Gogh - Self-Portrait Dedicated to Paul Gauguin - 1888

Vincent Van Gogh - Self-Portrait - 1889

It’s funny to consider that Lucian Freud was a very private painter who wanted to avoid the possibility of his personal life impacting on how his artistic production was perceived.  He was nearly impossible to reach and gave very few interviews.  Even some of his children didn’t have his phone number.  But for a man who wanted to retain his anonymity, Freud seemed bent on establishing himself as a conspicuous personage.  Though he was only married twice, he had numerous affairs, some estimating the number of his lovers to be close to 500.  Fourteen children that he fathered can be documented, but that number may be much higher.  Some of his children had no knowledge of the existence of the others.  Freud painted sexually explicit, nude portraits of volunteer models including several of his own children.  These paintings stressed the animal essence of his subjects and sought to pierce their civilized façades to reveal their inner workings.  Sometimes he portrayed nude models along with dogs or rats or used extremely obese models for his nude figure paintings.  He was an unquestionable eccentric, a regular gambler and workaholic.  He frequently got into conflicts with the galleries that represented him and even became belligerent with strangers on the street.  He lived in unusual circumstances, allowing his studio and living space to become cluttered with painting supplies, drop cloths, dirty clothes, newspapers, food containers and other trash.  In this magnificent upper body self-portrait, Freud portrays himself in his mid-60s, shirtless, crusty and irascible, seemingly substantiating the public’s perception of him that he tried assiduously to elude.

Lucian Freud - Reflection - 1985

Contemporary Norwegian artist Odd Nerdrum also has a reputation as an eccentric.  While a student at the Art Academy of Oslo, Nerdrum became obsessed with the art of Rembrandt and Caravaggio and rejected the principles of Modernism.  He clashed with his instructors and fellow students who wished Norway to be perceived as a modern, progressive state, and, according to Nerdrum, he was forced out of the institution.  Years later, when it appeared likely that Nerdrum would be invited to reintroduce figurative painting classes to Norway’s National Academy of Art, a scandal resulted which included public protests, extensive media coverage and numerous newspaper editorials.  Nerdrum felt compelled to withdraw his name from consideration.

Initially, Nerdrum painted dramatic images of contemporary events: the death in prison of Andreas Baader, Vietnamese boat people, victims of abuse and sensational arrests.  These works addressed political and social issues and, in my opinion, are unsuccessful and would have been ignored.  With time, Nerdrum began to present images of an imagined world that may exist in a time long past or a post-apocalyptic future.  This primordial world is inhabited by men and women dressed in flowing robes, animal skins and peculiar headgear who carry weapons, engage in primitive rituals, drink from stagnant pools and defecate communally in natural settings.  Nerdrum paints amputees and disemboweled corpses…nudes and hermaphrodites…bricks and babies swaddled like sausages…a flayed ram and decapitated horse heads…warriors, cannibals and mendicants, which I suppose sounds pretty…well, odd; except that the technical virtuosity with which the artist executes his paintings demands that the viewer take his subject matter seriously.  I believe Nerdrum is constructing an elemental world in which human emotions and motivations are unambiguously exposed as opposed to the circumstances within our modern society in which these things are deliberately cloaked.  In 1997, Nerdrum outraged critics and connoisseurs by admitting his work was just kitsch, disassociating himself from “high art” because he continues to be committed to the narrative, emotional content and fine craftsmanship, the antithesis of what he sees as the Modernist credo.

Nerdrum has painted many self-portraits; and, since he always dresses in antique robes or leather doublets, no transformation is required to make him a resident of his imagined world.

Odd Nerdrum - Frontal Self-Portrait - 1994 to 95

In Woman and Art: Contested Territory, a book which explores gender bias in art and the art world, Edward Lucie-Smith criticized this self-portrait by Stanley Spencer as expressing the male painter’s determination to possess his female model.  Before going any further, I must question why this desire on the part of the artist should be viewed as negative.  Surely, many an artwork has been initiated through sexual desire; and if this painting accurately reflects Spencer’s mindset, should we disregard it or hold it in disdain.  Why would we proscribe a basic human drive?  It seems that to apply a blanket approach to such a complex issue is counterproductive and misleading.  To give Lucie-Smith credit, he does admit that this painting results from a rather bizarre biographical history and addresses themes beyond the desire for sexual possession.

Spencer was married with two daughters when Patricia Preece entered his life.  She was a bit of a flirt and soon had Spencer twisted round her little finger.  The artist traveled with Preece and showered her with gifts, going so far as to sign over the deed to his home to her.  Finally his wife, no longer able to tolerate the situation, divorced him.  That freed Spencer to marry Preece, who had never ended her long-term lesbian relationship with Dorothy Hepworth.  According to accounts, Spencer was excluded from his marriage night bedroom which was occupied by Preece and Hepworth; and the two women went off on a honeymoon while Spencer remained behind to finish a painting.  It’s believed that the marriage was never consummated.  So the circumstances Spencer documents in this work are very complicated.

Plainly Preece’s nude form is on display here and could be construed to affirm a sexual connection to the artist...as a kind of trophy of his conquest.  But there are some major clues that something is off here.  The artist is also portrayed unclothed, atypical for one wishing to express dominion over a lover; on the contrary, it places the two individuals on an equal footing.  And Preece is not presented as a centerfold model.  At the time of this painting, Spencer was 46 years old and Preece 43.  Both are showing signs of decline.  Preece’s sagging breasts display furrowed nipples; her iliac crest juts out from her hip.  Her dark eyebrows are unmistakably penciled onto a face defined by dipping valleys and swelling hillocks.  Spencer doesn’t fare any better under his scrutiny.  His boney back is capped by an unnaturally long neck.  Beneath a strange bowl cut, he sports large, round spectacles; his weak chin dissolves into drooping jowls.  Preece, appearing bored and detached, looks away from the artist.  Spencer is alert and aware, one could even say aroused.  This is definitely not a work about fantasy; it describes the complex relations between two very real people.  There is no conquest here, only unrequited desire on his part and unenthusiastic compliance on hers.

Stanley Spencer - Self-Portrait with Patricia Preece - 1937

So having examined quite a few of my favorite self-portraits, a number of general observations have been made.  Some artists paint themselves to assert their legitimacy and respectability, while others do so to expose themselves as outsiders and dissenters.  Often a self-portrait is used to declare the artist’s allegiance to a specific movement.  At times, an artist’s lifestyle (or perhaps I should say life story) is so compelling that it is nearly impossible to separate image from biography, the self-portrait becoming merely illustrative of the salacious myths which have taken root concerning an eccentric personality.  I’m certain that most of the self-portraits presented here served a therapeutic function for the artists.  In open opposition to the accepted mores of his times, Schiele needed to reveal himself as a sexual being wracked by animal urges.  Kahlo wished to express the suffering she experienced from her unsuccessful marriage with Diego Rivera, while Spencer felt compelled to document his complicated relationship with Preece.  Rembrandt proclaims his disillusionment and exasperation with a world that has refused to recognize his genius.  Van Gogh expresses a crippling alienation from his society as he struggles in vain to maintain his sanity.  Neel explores the disfiguring changes that time has inflicted on her body as she anticipates her inevitable demise.  Hopefully each of these artists gained some solace and healing through this process of self-revelation and self-analysis.

As for my series of self-portraits, I’ve depicted myself in many different guises.  I’ve appeared harried and anxious…ridiculous and clownish…dark and diminished…distorted by rage.  There are echoes of Close’s willingness to mock himself and Kollwitz’s somber self-examination in these works. I had no intention of displaying these works publicly, so egoism doesn’t intrude here.  I’m painting alone in the privacy of my home, my public persona banished.  Technically, each of these works is flawed.  Though I did make some progress in mastering the medium of gouache, I didn’t come close to attaining the fluidity and spontaneity I was seeking.  I am undeterred though and will continue to experiment with the medium in the months ahead.  I think there’s one thing that my readers and I can agree on: we’ve seen enough of my ugly mug, and it’s time for me to move on to other subject matter.  With the warmer weather having arrived, perhaps some plein air landscapes will follow.

As always, I encourage readers to comment here.  If you would prefer to comment privately, you can email me at gerardwickham@gmail.com.