There was a time when I thought being a portrait artist would be desirable. Get to meet new and interesting people, rise to the challenge of capturing their personality on canvas and at the same time make good art that the sitter or commissioner would cherish.
Ha, if only.
Getting a likeness is really the easy part. Capturing their personality a bit harder. Making a good piece of art harder again. Making a portrait that someone would actually want, harder again.
Recently TVO aired a series on Australia’s Archibald Prize, which honors the best portrait works every year. In the series, actor Rachel Griffiths tracks down many of the paintings in consideration for a 100th anniversary exhibition featuring the best from the Archibald’s history. The Gallery of New South Wales had no idea where many of the paintings were at the time. That’s where Griffiths came in.
The first place to look is usually the sitter, many of whom still had their paintings. It was obvious from the documentary series that many also never liked their portraits despite their status as among the best work the country’s artists had to offer that year.
The other thing is, some people get really self-conscious about hanging a portrait of themselves in their homes, concerned perhaps that others would see it as an act of narcissism or ego. An early self-portrait of myself is currently being stored in our garage, likely to its detriment. It’s so big I don’t know where else to put it. But I do feel self-conscious about it, especially given I painted it. At least I gave it a cheeky title.
My spouse’s parents commissioned a pair of portraits of themselves. His was cherished and upon his passing giclees were made with the permission of the artist. Hers, she hated it. If it ever hung in the home, it wasn’t for long. I did eventually see it. The likeness was not quite there, but as a painting, it was amiable. Nobody asked for a giclee.
The most elusive portrait I have ever tackled is of my spouse, who remains kind about it. I think it is also the canvas that has the greatest number of layers on it by now. About five or six years ago I took it down from its place in our hall and moved it into my studio, where I brooded about it for some time, unhappy with it. Yes, it looked like her, but did it feel like her? Not really.
I initially worked from a photograph I took in Cobourg, Ontario. We had a late lunch sitting outside on a cafe before heading home that day. What appealed to me was the way the late afternoon daylight landed on her face. I also liked the casual attire and her smile.
I’ve taken dozens of photos like this, but for some reason this one compelled me to take it on as a portrait. My initial go-around seemed to go back and forth between it being took dark, then too light, too washed out, too saturated. I got the likeness, then lost the likeness. Then I found it again, but only just.
This is the third old painting I’ve put back on my easel this year. Surely, since I originally painted it in 2006, that I would have enough distance to be able to finally bring this one around.
Nope.
My spouse says she doesn’t look like that anymore, which is true. But had I got this right in the first place, that would still likely be true. Others who have seen it have recognized her immediately, although to me there remains something plastic about it.
She recently came into my studio and saw it on the wall as I was working on a painting of her daughter. Comparing the two portraits, one an interior, hers an exterior, she commented on how pale she looked next to her daughter. The daylight on her face likely contributes to that.
This is still in my studio. I put it back in its original frame. Meh. Maybe next year.
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