Portraits: why do I paint them?
"The whole experience of painting any portrait is underpinned by a deceptively intense dynamic - the artist has to carefully observe someone who is, at the same time, observing them."
Like most artists, I’ve painted a fair few portraits over the years. In fact, I’ve sometimes wondered whether virtually all my paintings are ‘portraits’ of one sort or another.
There is a technical side to portrait painting. You have to think about lighting, colour-schemes, objects/props to include in a composition, and whether your model should sit, lie down, or stand.
But the myriad of decisions I have had to make when thinking about those sorts of things have always been driven by much deeper considerations than simply how best to catch, say, the physical likeness of someone’s face, or the intensity of the sunlight casting shadows across their hands.
Instead, I try to focus on the emotional impact of the portrait - on how it might best communicate something about the unique personality, temperament, life history, and qualities of the individual I’m painting.
The clothes that sitters/models wear are really important too.
For example, dressing someone in a suit and sitting them in a throne-like chair can transmit a sense of assertiveness and power; whereas painting them partially clothed and with their gaze deflected can make them seem reflective, preoccupied, or vulnerable.
The wider links between clothing/fashion and portraiture are fascinating.
Whenever I flick through fashion magazines, I’m always struck by how many of the images look like portraits.
There’s also a long tradition of artists creating portraits that remind us of the inevitability of death - that act as a memento mori.
Simply including a skull or something fragile (like a single flower or candle) in a composition can help to transmit a sense of impermanence and mortality.
In fact, because of their capacity to outlive their creators, in a way, every portrait is a memento mori.
They’re poignant artworks - they preserve moments in time and lived emotions that would otherwise be lost.
In this age of smartphones and social media, digital ‘self-portraits’ are ubiquitous, but there’s a big difference between taking a quick selfie, and standing in front of a mirror for hours to paint yourself.
And the whole experience of painting any portrait is underpinned by a deceptively intense dynamic - the artist has to carefully observe someone who is, at the same time, observing them.
Painting self-portraits is particularly intense because the separation between observer and observed dissolves. Artists are forced to watch themselves painting themselves - which can, at times, feel quite disorientating and weird.
The great thing about self-portraits is that artists can use them to hone in on particular aspects of their life and identity.
They can portray themselves as anything - as sorrowful or joyful; vulnerable or powerful; painfully insecure or rebellious and cool.
But it’s not always easy to make sense of our own self-portraits.
In my most recent one, I painted myself with a head of flowers. At the time, it felt like the most natural thing to do, and I have a vague sense of what I was trying to express, but, beyond, that - I have no idea why I painted it.
It’s still a mystery - even to me!
James Lee © 2024
I love getting to see your artwork here— but especially with the commentary alongside. The ones you included are all so different. That self portrait is so mysterious and the biographer so direct. And both work! Is there any common thread you always aim for or is each one driven by the sitter?
Thanks for this!
Really lovely artwork, James!