Over the years, I seem to have painted myself quite a few times. Not because I have a particular fascination with my own face. I simply needed a model, and there was usually one available.
Once the painting begins, however, resemblance is only part of the game. A different place, another time, a change of clothes, an improbable hat — reality is allowed to become negotiable. Artistic license is a wonderfully convenient thing.
After a while, I stop thinking of the person as me anyway. He becomes a face, an expression, a character, sometimes someone who appears to have wandered in from an entirely different story.
And since he is still available, I suspect this collection isn’t finished yet.
Related Posts