Portraits have never really been my cup of tea. I have done several, but often as incidental inclusions in a picture the principal purpose of which was not the figure. (An example is the portrait of my father that features in one of the images in my T.S. Eliot series.) I have never made a conscious decision not to do portraits, but have just gravitated by some natural process towards an emphasis on landscape. The evidence of an underlying interest has been there, even so. It has often been the case that in the life-drawing sessions I have attended over the years I have not infrequently ended up by doing a portrait of the model instead of a full–figure image. Over the past few weeks, however, I have felt a discreet tug towards something new.
I guess it began with a conversation recently with a friend and colleague, who does include portraits in his regular repertoire. He has been badgering me since to have a go, and indeed has rather pointedly loaned me a couple of CDs dealing with this topic.
When my father died several years ago his neighbour (an artist with a reasonable regional reputation) revealed that he had actually painted a portrait of my father. It seemed that Dad had not actually liked it, and neither had other members of the family. I didn’t previously know of its existence. He kindly gave it to me. The piece is curious in many respects. I think that there are things wrong with it technically as a portrait, but it does capture an aspect of Dad’s personality that most people did not suspect, but which I had seen in conversations with him around the time of the break-up of my first marriage. A couple of weeks ago I rediscovered the piece during a clear-out and have spent some time looking at it critically. Specific ideas have come to mind as to how it might have been done better.
Than last night, as my wife and I were watching TV, she looked up at one of the rare portraits I have done, recently recovered and hung on the living-room wall. It is a picture of my late grandmother, surrounded by images of other members of her family. My wife remarked (quite forcefully) that it is quite good, in her opinion, and she urged me to try something more in this genre. The pressure is building. I suppose there is some kind of hint being given by the universe in the fact that I have been unable for several weeks now to commit myself seriously to a new venture. It does look as if I might have to give in, and give it a go. I’ll let you know how I get on.