Photography’s gift to art
J’ai écrit une version française de cet article aussi.
On 19 August 1839, the French government officially declared its patent of Nicéphore Niepce’s and Louis Daguerre’s innovation: a commercially viable chemical process for fixing the images projected inside a camera obscura. One hundred and seventy years later, all of art-kind is still reeling from the announcement.
Where once the goal of art had been to imitate life as faithfully as possible, photography negated that purpose. Though some artists continued (and continue today) on that trajectory, the Daguerreotype, along with subsequent photographic processes, put an end to the all-consuming quest for realism that had plagued Western art for too long.
And it’s a good thing too! Photography rescued painters from the slavish imitation of life and re-opened creatives to all manner of expressive mark-making and interpretive invention. Because of photography, paintings and artwork of all media (including photography) are allowed to evoke instead of simply represent the world.
What’s more, from the very beginning, photography has been an important tool for painters, recording background elements and props which the artist did not always have access to in person and saving models hours of posing.
And it’s the latter that more fully impacts my own work. I maintain that the best portraits are the ones that reveal the way the subject moves and breathes, and it’s impossible to capture that in paint without the help of a modern camera.* A few months ago, I interviewed an artist who works primarily from life and tends to favor that process. But, when I look at his paintings, it is immediately obvious which ones he made using reference photos: they are the more interesting and lively images! Photography makes paintings better.
As I set to work on a double portrait of Andrea…
...and Paula for their wedding, I originally thought that I would combine two images from our interview and photo-session.
I played around with a lot of different possibilities, sketching in marker and pen on paper as well as mocking up a couple of versions of the double portrait in charcoal on the canvas itself in order to see the possible compositions in full size.
But I was never quite satisfied with my combinations. I found myself returning to this photograph repeatedly. It represents such an easy and natural moment, one that expresses so much about the relationship that I was trying to portray.
As I dove into painting the double portrait using this photo, I was reading De Kooning: An American Master, the Pulitzer Prize winning biography by Mark Stevens and Annalyn Swan. It’s strange to say, but the book made me paint differently.
I was very nervous about creating a double portrait, and the descriptions of de Kooning’s process helped me to overcome my anxiety. I tend to prefer fresh-looking paintings—images that don’t feel overworked—but reading about the abstract expressionist’s manner of building and rebuilding a painting reminded me that a fresh look can sometimes take a lot of work.
Part of my concern over the double portrait stemmed from the fact that I’ve made so few over the years. (This was also one of the reasons why I wanted to make one for Paula and Andrea.)
The first was in 2007, and it was a combination of three separate photos: one of the mother’s face and one of the daughter’s face along with a third of the daughter’s body and arms.
Even at the time, I knew that the 2007 painting looked constructed, but I didn’t mind. I wanted the image of the child to be arresting and the stiltedness of the image added to the effect that I wanted to create.
My second double portrait is from earlier this year.
In that case, I worked hard to get a single reference photo to work from. I learned that it’s much easier to construct and reconstruct the composition in the camera than on the canvas.
That lesson influenced my decision to work with the kissing image of Paula and Andrea. It was important to me that their double portrait have a natural look instead of a fabricated one.
Even so, I was working from a partial photo of the two of them and had to invent Andrea’s elbow.
I got a little carried away in trying to make her arm look right…
...and instead made it look completely wrong!
Still wrong.
More wrong!
Finally getting back on track.
Here, I’d mostly resolved the issues surrounding Andrea’s elbow. I was starting to bring in an element from our interview: typewriter keys. There’s a suggestion of them above where their two heads meet.
Andrea loves typewriters and they’ve played an important role in her relationship with Paula, witnessed by the fact that the guest book at their wedding consisted of cards that we typed a note on!
I used a suggestion of keys to bring the composition together as a whole.
And, though this has nothing whatsoever to do with de Kooning, I felt a kinship with him as I worked this way—a special kind of freedom about the way I responded to the canvas.
It was as though I had peeled back another layer in my ongoing argument with myself about likeness. Though it’s always important to me (and to my process) that my portraits resemble their subjects in an obvious manner, I’m also keen on exploiting photography’s gift to art: I don’t see a reason for being too literal even while making a likeness.
Gwenn Seemel
The Buccas
2009
acrylic on canvas
47 x 35 inches
(detail below)
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*The earliest cameras required long exposures and could not capture dynamic moments.
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CATEGORIES: - Process images - Philosophy - On portraiture - On photography -
(6) Comments / Commentaires: Photography’s gift to art
Next you’ll try to tell me that New Jersey invented apples…
I just read the article about Norman Rockwell and his process (painting from photos), and I was struck by the remark “Although Rockwell’s use of photographs may discredit him in some eyes, it’s hard to deny the breadth of Rockwell’s aesthetic influence.” (Link below)
I immediately looked for one of your blog entries about photography and art, to ask what you think about this. Apparently Rockwell only worked from photos taken by someone else (even though Rockwell set up the shot himself), and apparently “Rockwell never considered himself an artist, but rather a commercial illustrator,” whereas you work from your own photos and your art is not for commercial purposes. But as a portrait artist, have you been criticized for working from photos?
Link:
http://www.npr.org/blogs/pictureshow/2009/11/rockwell.html
Discrediting painters based on the optical tools they use is a game that lots of artists like to play. As I see it, the problem isn’t in whether or not a painter uses them but in how they’re used. Is the process of creating the image obvious in the final piece? Is it distracting? Does the painting look like a glorified coloring book page? That’s the issue.
The only people who will have a problem with a portrait artist working from a photo are those who think that portraits must always look like this, and they’re not going to be interested in my work anyway! Photos are integral to my process as well as integrated in it, and I’m proud of it!
It’s unfortunate that Rockwell is so often dismissed by the fine art community, but I think it’s simply a matter of jealousy. The elitists are suspicious of creatives with popular appeal, but it’s because they just don’t get what art is about. COMMUNICATION!
Your talent and unique style blows me away. I am so excited to watch your videos each time you post. I have been thinking about doing a portrait series to capture faces in my hometown of Chicago. Thanks for all the great advice!
Thanks, Martha, for all your nice words! I look forward to seeing Chicago how you see it!
David...
Photography was invented in New Jersey. The French stole it.
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