The Elusive Portrait: A Journey Beyond Likeness
What makes a portrait? Is it the brushstrokes that capture a physical resemblance, or is it something far more intangible—a memory, an emotion, a myth? This question lies at the heart of The Face of Modern Life, The Met’s latest exhibition, which challenges us to rethink what we know about portraiture. Personally, I think this show is less about defining portraits and more about unraveling the very idea of identity, connection, and the human urge to see beyond the surface.
One thing that immediately stands out is the exhibition’s bold curation. Stephanie D’Alessandro, the curator, has assembled a collection that defies traditional boundaries. From Pablo Picasso’s iconic portrait of Gertrude Stein to Wifredo Lam’s mystical Ídolo, the works on display are as diverse as they are thought-provoking. What many people don’t realize is that these pieces aren’t just about the subjects they depict; they’re about the artists themselves, their struggles, and their interpretations of the world.
Take Picasso’s portrait of Stein, for example. What makes this particularly fascinating is the story behind its creation. Picasso reportedly stopped painting Stein’s face because he could no longer ‘see’ her, only to return months later and recreate her likeness from memory. This raises a deeper question: Is a portrait a reflection of the subject, or is it a window into the artist’s mind? In my opinion, it’s both—a delicate dance between observation and imagination.
Lam’s Ídolo offers another layer of complexity. Rooted in Santería, the painting depicts the Yoruba goddess Oyá in a state of transformation. The way Lam uses dripping media to capture her emergence feels almost alchemical, as if the painting itself is alive. From my perspective, this piece isn’t just a portrait; it’s a spiritual experience, a bridge between the human and the divine.
What this really suggests is that portraiture is far more fluid than we often acknowledge. It’s not just about capturing a likeness; it’s about capturing essence. This is evident in works like Paul Klee’s May Picture and Vasily Kandinsky’s Improvisation 27 (Garden of Love II), which are abstract yet deeply personal. These pieces challenge us to consider whether a portrait needs a face at all. If you take a step back and think about it, they’re portraits of emotions, of experiences, of the intangible.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how the exhibition pairs visual art with poetry. Gertrude Stein’s If I Told Him, A Completed Portrait of Picasso and Wallace Stevens’ Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird aren’t just additions—they’re dialogues. Stein’s poem, with its repetitive exploration of ‘exact resemblance,’ mirrors the exhibition’s central theme: the elusive nature of likeness. It’s as if the words themselves are trying to pin down something that inherently resists definition.
This brings me to a broader point: portraiture is a timeless endeavor, yet it’s constantly evolving. D’Alessandro notes that the fundamental concerns of portraiture—identity, connection, and the human drive to ‘only connect’—remain unchanged. But the tools and technologies we use to explore these concerns shift. In an age of virtual reality and smartphones, we’re still grappling with the same questions artists like Picasso and Lam faced: How do we truly see one another?
What many people misunderstand about portraiture is that it’s not just about the past. It’s about the present and the future, too. When we look at a portrait, we’re not just reconnecting with history; we’re reconnecting with ourselves. This exhibition reminds us that the act of portraiture is, at its core, an act of empathy—an attempt to bridge the gap between the inside and the outside.
In conclusion, The Face of Modern Life isn’t just a showcase of art; it’s an invitation to rethink what it means to see and be seen. Personally, I left the exhibition with more questions than answers, which I think is the mark of a truly great show. It challenges us to look beyond the obvious, to find meaning in the abstract, and to recognize that every portrait—whether of a person, an emotion, or a myth—is a testament to our shared humanity.
