Self Portrait
There are two mirrors in my house, one in the bathroom and one in the bedroom. I have no vanity and when I walk out the door I walk out as I last saw myself after I rolled on the anti-perspirant and replaced the toothbrush. Yes, I wear make-up, but I can’t say that I pay particular attention to what it makes me look like. Eyeliner, mascara, highlighter, blush, bye-bye. What does that say about me? It’s up to you to interpret. Just as an artist paints a self-portrait with a reason in mind, so does the audience come to their own conclusion about the subject. There are cultures from the Amish to Aboriginal tribes, who believe a picture of oneself leads to vanity and the loss of your soul. Powerful statements that are testaments to the eyes being a gateway to one’s soul. Rembrandt painted himself many times over the course of forty years, a psychological diary that I admire for its subject willingness to tear himself apart time and time again.
I stumbled upon Albrecht Dürer in the book The Relic Master by Christopher Buckley. In it Dürer is portrayed as a mischievous totally self-absorbed painter who can’t look away from his own beauty. The book is a laugh and Dürer’s character so extreme that I was almost convinced he was a complete fabrication. Then I looked up the painter Albrecht Dürer and sure enough he did indeed create quite a few self-portraits, one being particularly grandiose. I can imagine Buckley pouring over his research, spending countless hours scrutinizing Dürer’s three famed portraits, putting to paper the man Dürer. Written accounts are one thing, but I believe the painter’s self-portraits were the best guides. The mischief in Buckley’s Dürer I suspect came from Self-Portrait at 26, where there’s a little glint in Dürer’s eye that suggests he’s messing with the viewer/audience. That only he’s in on the joke and he’s going to tease you into finding out what it is. And Buckley’s Dürer’s vain pomposity could have only come from his most famous painting Self-Portrait at 28, where the painter portrayed himself like Christ. Dürer did not leave the viewer wanting, it is an incredible portrait of a holy interpretation of a Renaissance man. It is said that Albrecht Dürer was a man very concerned with his self-image and that’s evident with his beautiful hair, where every brushstroke accentuates the glistening soft touch of a strand. When you think of the great portraits of Christ, one instantly identifies with the Nazarane’s long hair. With Dürer, he takes it one step further, making you—at least me—feel as if you’re blaspheming because this man with gorgeous long hair is very attractive indeed.
Honestly, I don’t quite understand the reason for Cindy Sherman’s work, yet there’s something skillfully entrancing about her millions of self-portraits. On the surface Sherman’s work seems unsophisticated; taking a picture of oneself in dress-up. Yet with closer inspection, with a more in-depth glare into each persona’s eyes, you see the same puzzling stare. A stare that is without message yet obsessively talkative. It’s like these people are having a full-on conversation with you, and yet nothing is coming out. Or more importantly, nothing of great importance is being uttered. They are essentially just being. Which says something about Sherman’s ability to see and mimic other people. Like an actor she’s a cipher, letting the characters speak for themselves. When I look past the make-up and costume’s I very distinctly see the outlines of a woman’s face: Cindy Sherman’s. And I wonder why. Why has she chosen this milieu to comment on our existence? And who does Cindy Sherman believe she truly is? On her Wikipedia page is a quote apparently attributed to Sherman herself, where she says: ‘I'm trying to erase myself more than identify myself or reveal myself. … It's really about obliterating myself within these characters.’ And this she does superbly, but in doing so, as any number of famous psychoanalysts would agree, she is revealing herself. She could have made these images with another person as a model, yet she has continually used herself as a model before and during her fame. To me, that signifies Cindy Sherman communicating something about herself. As an artist there is no way not to reveal yourself in your work.
How do I see myself as I am? Let me look in the mirror; what I see is what I am. My skin is brown with a golden underglow, my hair is dark brown almost black, from my thick eyebrows to long lashes. I’ve got high cheekbones, plump, full lips and a nose that is broad. The shape of my eyes are sideways ovals, my pupils a dark brown. The whites of my eyes have dark sunspots that are like the spots that flutter across my face—pimples that healed black. Those are the givens of my face, now what are the mades. The mades come from my eyes, the depths from which the hard, sad, happy truths of my existence lie. This is my self-portrait, the constant sharing of who I am by showing myself as I am to this world. With or without make-up. I could take a picture as I see myself every year, and just as much as lines and blemishes would change, so would the story of my eyes remain the same.
How you see yourself from how other’s see you, is incredibly rife with nuance and wild [mis]interpretation. I think that’s wonderful because it means we get to examine ourselves, add or subract what’s not ringing true, and continue on with the creation of our selves. It’s the beginning of a new year, we’re all making proclamations to better ourselves and our lots in life. Worthy and noble wishes to get us through the storm of life. It’s admirable that we as human beings feel the need to do this. Like a great outfit I believe it gives us meaning, an identity, a reason to live. I proclaim to be true to myself this year. To honour the grey hairs of wisdom that have sprouted and to keep supple and hydrated the skin around my mouth, that so that I may continue to easily express joy through laughter.
