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| Self Portrait in Egyptian Cat Gear, 12 x 12 inches, acrylic on canvas |
We interrupt our ongoing creature feature for a creature of a different kind.
I woke up one morning a while back with the bright idea that I should do a self portrait to replace the one I've used for years on my art websites. Like many of my brainwaves, it turned out to be rather unruly.
My history of self-portraiture is neither extensive nor distinguished. I've attempted few and kept only one. Getting a likeness with my limited drawing skills seemed an insurmountable hurdle for many years, and I always thought it was a fluke that I got one to actually look like me.
But my drawing has improved, so I decided to have another try, and proceeded to beat my brains out for a couple of weeks producing one hideous image after the other.
I really do draw better now than I did 20 years ago, so I don't think that was the problem; I've produced enough likenesses of other people. I think the problem was in seeing myself.
Twenty years ago, by definition I looked better than I do now, by the standards of our youth-obsessed culture which I am as brainwashed by as the next person. I'm horrified at times by an inadvertent glimpse of myself in a shop window or mirror in harsh light, or from an unfortunate angle, or in almost any photo -- who is that old hag, anyway?
Some women look great at any age. Alas, I am not one of them. Women who age well tend to be tall and really skinny, with fabulous bone structure and generous mouths, which I do not have. Think of Jane Birkin, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell, Lauren Hutton, and numerous models from the 60's who are currently enjoying a resurgence of popularity in the fashion press.
My inability to produce a creditable self-portrait now, I think, is because when I look at myself in my (ill-lit) bedroom mirror, I see the same face I've seen since I was a teenager. I see my face every day, and changes happen imperceptibly over time.
It's a trick, one of the few kind ones Nature plays on old folks. After all, you feel just the same as you ever did on the inside (I'm not talking about aches and pains, but of personality, character), so it seems completely natural that the same person should continue looking back at you over the years.
Who knows, maybe among all those attempts I made, I actually did get a likeness or two, and found them too unacceptable to reconcile with my own image.
Thus, my solution to this dilemma: Voila, boys and girls, my new self portrait! Regard it and weep.
What can I say? It feels as much "the real me" as anything else these days.
