Self-portrait With…
My inclination is to write about all the self-portraits in all the museums I have been to. Most recently Alice Neel’s at the De Young. I had never seen one like it. She painted herself as older, naked. Sitting on a chair. A Victorian arm chair. Was it covered in purple velvet? She is holding a paint brush. Her breasts hang and her belly is loose, a bit jelly like. She looks satisfied, whimsical, as if we are included. I had never seen a self-portrait like it. Modigliani was elongated and wan. Van Gogh was colorful, but we know he wasn’t well. Mostly men.
I don’t think I will soon forget Alice’s. A self-portrait with honesty? Without fear or apology? With humor? With warmth and humanity? Explaining oneself, myself. How do I want to be portrayed? But am I talking about how I will be seen after I am no longer here to portray myself as I would like?
No, I think too much about death these days. As the world keeps crumbling while I try to patch it together with my optimism which was certainly an integral part of my mother’s self-portrait. An optimism which could sometimes annoy me as it didn’t leave much room for my sadness and self-doubt.
Could I sit naked like Alice? As my body changes, could I allow a self-portrait with wrinkles? A belly which persists in spite of all the ab work? What about a self-portrait with regret? That I started the motherhood journey a bit late and in such unconventional circumstances. There wasn’t time for more babies. Even as I continually marvel at the one precious being who did crawl out of me.
Perhaps a self-portrait with fear? Of dying? Of leaving Nico in a world which feels so fragile? But just as quickly the optimism simmers below the surface as I attach myself to the immense gratitude I feel. For all of the opportunities I have had. The dancing, and the writing, and the home I have created. For the friends and the family, all of the travel and adventures.
How does all of this translate into a self-portrait? And is it “one with?” And if so, with what? In this one I am confident, in this one I am afraid, in this one I am sad, in this one I am relieved, in this one I am hopeful, in this one I am dancing…and on it goes.
What I really want to say is that I am rambling and I can’t quite find what I can attach to. Perhaps that is the self-portrait. It is one with attachment. To the self in whatever moment. Now there are two deer quietly grazing below Liz’ deck, here on this Sunday afternoon. I am smiling as I watch them, seemingly unafraid. We gaze at each other. Are they eavesdropping? Am I?
I am distracted as they move. Tails flicking. Staring at me. She sees me. What does she see? What is the self I want to portray to these animals? Kind, gentle, no one to be afraid of. They run off.
I hope they saw me as I would like to see myself. But I am not sure I would ever let them see me naked.