I have to admit it: though I may get frustrated by portraiture’s low status in fine art circles, I understand where it comes from.
To be sure, humans are fascinated by faces and, specifically, the faces of other humans. It’s a function of being social animals, and also a self-defense mechanism. Another person’s face gives us a lot of information about her-his general health and disposition towards us, invaluable information when judging whether or not another can or will harm us. But while we like faces so well that we see them everywhere--in cloud shapes and electrical outlets--there is something we like still more than a pair of eyes, a nose and a mouth, and, consequently, still more than a straight portrait. And that’s a storied face.
By combining narrative with a human face, a visual artist turns her-his viewers’ self-defensive curiosity about another person into the possibility of a connection. Faces may be how we communicate certain basic information, but it is through story that we actually relate to one another. By this logic, the painting of a face or full figure that tells a story is rightfully at the top of the “hierarchy of genres.” And, in the 17th century, certain stories were rated more important than others, making history painting the reigning champion of that time. That said, in the modern, relativistic world, the game has changed, and more intimate and small-picture stories have replaced history, the Bible, and Greek mythology as principal source material.
Today, the most obvious kind of storied face, and maybe the kind with the broadest appeal, are those belonging to celebrities. Famous people’s faces always have a story attached to them, even if it’s one gleaned from the tabloids. And, in the case of Hollywood actors, we may associate their faces with the roles they’ve played, with their movie-stories. It’s the narratives that go along with these icons’ faces--narratives which almost everyone knows--that make them attractive. The stories behind the faces (more than simply the faces) lead us to plaster our teenage bedrooms with enormous posters of them.
And it’s the very same thing that makes the faces of loved ones so pleasing. In this case, the stories we tell ourselves about the subjects are personal ones: they are our own stories since our loved ones are part of our private narratives. While we may like a portrait of our own mother, we don’t necessarily want our neighbor’s mother staring down at us from over our mantelpiece. That’s because we have no stories associated with her. Her face may be interesting on some level, but it doesn’t connect to us without a story.
And this was the genius of those 18th century British artists who invented allegorical portraiture. Their motivation may have been a far more practical one--capitalizing on portraiture’s inherent profitability while retaining some kind of intellectual cachet by visualizing literature and other cultural stories like history painters--but the end result is a combination to rival peanut butter and jelly! Faces and stories are meant to be together.
For Love AND Money
2005
acrylic on canvas patchwork
48 x 34 inches
This self-portrait may connect with you if you know me, and, more so, if you knew my grandfather and how he would make this face all the time.
Once Was My Father’s Hero
2007
acrylic on twill
17 x 13 inches
This one could have a better chance at connecting with you since there are more background elements than in For Love AND Money. That said, those added access points are a bit obscure. It would help if you had visited my parents’ house and recognized in those shapes the most prominent feature from their home, an octagonal window.
Liberty (French-American)
2007
acrylic on linen
42 x 19 inches
(For more information about the making of this painting, visit this post.)
Unlike the previous two, this portrait immediately has many readings, associated with either Lady Liberty or myself (the subject). Even if you don’t know me, it’s clear that the Statue has non-generic features and a livelier expression in this version. You would probably wonder why Liberty has had a facelift and that might bring into focus the fact that she isn’t carrying a torch in this image.
In other words, with this portrait, it doesn’t matter whether or not you know a thing about me (the sitter), because you probably know something about the American icon with which I’m combined. Of the three paintings here, this one is the strongest in the sense that it is the most able to tell a story.