Why Paint Portraits?
Why Paint Portraits?
Doesn't it seem counterintuitive that an American left-wing lesbian, indisputably one of the most famous members of the western world's artistic avant-guard in the first portion of the last century, should have coined the phrase that became the unacknowledged motto of both the modern industrial and artistic eras?
With a "rose is a rose is a rose" all of nature's infinite diversity collapsed into mere duplication. All roses were suddenly indistinguishable. It was sheer magic. With the wave of a bon mot, once you had met an Englishman or a Frenchman, you had met them all.
People with names, families, memories and futures - abracadabra - turned into "workers" and "consumers." Dispensable, indistinguishable: boring. Mass culture and production didn't bury our essential individuality and our dignity: Gertrude Stein and her cohort earned that honor.
Thanks but no thanks, Gertrude. (Take it from me: A stein is a stone is a beer mug is an unreadable poet.)
The UN reports that world population is expected to reach 6.5 billion this July 2005. All of them, each of us, is unique - and however obnoxious - evanescent. Each body, each face is a story unlike any told before. The hard part, the art of portraiture, is revealing those hidden stories with just a few visual cues.
Why "paint" portraits?
People are made of mud and shaped by their traditions. Paintings are made of mud and shaped by traditions, too. The parallel appeals to me.
A lot of artists work hard to prove that they're special by exploring unusual materials or approaches. I already know that I'm unique, so applying good, old-fashioned paint skillfully is all the challenge I need.