I was struck by the appearance in Monday’s The Times of the Jan Van Eyck ‘Arnolfini Portrait’, a painting I have always found fascinating for its depiction of a wealthy merchant and his wife. The detail to be explored in this marvellous creation of character and setting has not only human but also symbolic value, suggestive of the real existence, aspirations and lifestyle of this couple in their Bruges home. It cries out: ‘Here we are! We are rich and wonderful people! Look at us!’ The most intriguing aspect for me is the reflection in the convex mirror on the wall behind the couple, depicting two figures, one of whom is commonly assumed to be Van Eyck himself. Velázquez later did much the same thing in ‘Las Meninas’, showing himself as painter of the scene. It’s a clever way of putting your personal stamp on your work. As well as that, Van Eyck painted boldly on the wall (in the style, popular at the time, of a maxim or moral text): ‘Johannes de eyck fuit hic 1434’ or ‘Jan Van Eyck was here 1434’. I’ve always found it pleasantly ironic that the painter should have muscled in on the proud self-declaration of the Arnolfini couple, in a kind of portrait-bombing that elbows aside the intended subject.
My mind jumped quickly to the concept of self, as presented by ‘Kilroy was here’ and graffiti tags: ‘Notice me – I’m everywhere – I can get into the most unlikely and bizarre places… because I’m wonderful!’ That too seems pretty ironic to me, as I feel that shouting out about myself or my achievements is de trop and immodest; creating a ‘Christina James’ brand and promoting my writing here on the social media, I confess, does make me feel uncomfortable, even though I accept the need for it in the current bookselling market and therefore join in. However, I know how I feel about those who simply churn out plugs for their books without any engagement with others – it’s so much spam. Van Eyck’s skill sold itself and I suppose all writers and artists and craftspeople hope that the quality of their handiwork will do the same and that people will notice; in the meantime, they give it what they consider a helpful push. Shakespeare definitely, with his choice of the word ‘powerful’ in Sonnet 55, knew the value of his own words in outlasting even the hardest stone (‘Not marble, nor the gilded monuments of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme.’) and was clearly right to say so: his sonnet certainly seems to be standing the test of time. So… we turn the words and polish them, with ‘perhaps’ floating in our heads… and promote them.
Which in turn leads me to the ‘selfie’, a bizarre bi-product of the technological society in which we live. We have a ‘smart’ phone (there’s a misnomer) which we can turn upon ourselves with no skill or effort whatsoever and take our own picture. Why? Narcissus fell in love with his reflected image, because Nemesis, having noticed his overweening pride in himself, led him to the pool in which he saw himself and he couldn’t drag himself away from the image in its surface; he therefore died, his hubris preventing him from seeing reality. Messrs Obama and Cameron, perhaps flattered by the photographic attentions of the personable Danish PM, fell into much the same trap, losing their sense of reality in the process. Not only did they use no art in the creation of the resulting silly picture, but also failed to use even the most basic commonsense, and Mrs Obama and the rest of the world clearly eyed them with the sharp vision of objectivity. Oh dear. The ‘selfie’ doesn’t work very well as a self-promotional tool.
I didn’t set out to be moralistic, but this is beginning to feel that way. We care about what we create and care about how others view it; there is ‘self’ in that! I have been privileged to receive positive reviews about Almost Love from writers whose own work I value and enjoy and I’m therefore sharply aware of how important it is to celebrate what I find successful and admirable in what others do; there is joy to be had in reviewing books that stand scrutiny. I’m also very much aware of how selflessly many of the people with whom I interact on the social networks behave; they deserve to feel proud of themselves for making someone else’s day. I’m glad, too, that the social media allow all of us to find our way to what we like; we’d miss out on some gems if their creators were utterly selfless!
12 thoughts on “Turning the eye upon our selfies…”
Velazquez. _The Water Seller of Seville_.
Wellington’s was the first painting I saw where portraiture emerged as something beyond mere rendition. We had a Manet in the den as a child and the impressionist image stuck with me as what I desired in “art.” Then: Velazquez.
Ruined forever after that. I had not realized the emotion possible on canvas prior. Maybe I just didn’t have the emotion on the canvasses I’d seen.
I’ve seen all three of these. Wellington’s is the most moving though all are stunning in some way.
That’s what we like best about sound writing, isn’t it?
We get an emotional immersion we didn’t bargain for but cannot help but internalize. At least, that “selfie” transference happens to me even if the image depicted is contrived by the author rather than captured by the smartphone.
In lessor writing, it’s just a snapshot. Those can be pretty enjoyable as well.
You’re right, Jack – the Velázquez grasp of human nature is astonishing and captivating, making us scrutinise every wonderful detail in quest of insights into the personality and mind of the subject. Writers who can achieve the same engage the reader and are utterly convincing, but I agree that light verbal sketches can work well. Thanks for this very personal account of the impact of portraiture on you – children look at paintings with fresh eyes and often see things that tutored adults fail to grasp. I’ll bet that you came to know that Manet very well indeed (Which one was it?).
Rue Mosnier. We had a small line study on one wall and a print on the other. I think back now that I never liked the sketch! The print I loved. No accounting for judgement. The print was “colored.”
I see a small boy peering intently! Thanks, Jack. 🙂
Oh man, don’t even get me started on the whole selfie thing (although I do like your eye photo above!). When you see 20 year olds holding their phones up high and taking cleavage shots with duck face, that’s one (irritating) thing, but when you see your 40-something-year-old friends doing it, too, sweet Jeebus, KILL ME NOW.
:))))))))))))) If ever there were an impassioned and also hilarious condemnation of folly, this is it! Just brilliant!
I really don’t like those silly selfies but I suppose that’s my age. When I was about seven years old my family went on holiday and in the boarding house as we sat at the dinning table I faced a large mirror and I couldn’t eat my meal for looking at myself. My mum had to cover the mirror with a bedsheet,I must have drove her crazy.
Hello, Anne. That’s a lovely anecdote. I love the way you bring scenes to life in this way. Selfies? No thanks.
I don’t know either the van Eyck or the Velázquez Christina, but I have to think of Van Gogh, probably the artist whose work I most admire, but who was also rather ‘selfie’ immersed. He painted several self protraits, so maybe he was the forerunner of what I agree is the awful selfie obsession 🙂 Self promotion doesn’t sit comfortably with most of us, I think, but as you say, as writers whose publishers expect us to be ‘out there’ promoting our jointly delivered goods, it has to be, but we can at least draw the line at selfies 🙂
I really don’t see the point of selfies. The nearest equivalent from my younger days were pictures taken in those photo booths, where groups of friends crowded in and pulled faces to laugh at later. The difference now is that the images are shared on the networks, which seems absurd because they are of no interest to most other people. There is a vanity about it and it makes little sense to me. Artists who turn the eye upon themselves are up to something else… painting others most of the time, they perhaps need to feel what it is to be under scrutiny or are trying to make sense of themselves.
PS, I do like your ‘eye’, though!
Just a joke, really! 🙂