Portraits

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.”
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

I grew up surrounded by portraits. My father often explained who was who, but the people were only caricatures of distant relatives. I heard stories about them, but they were never real to me. Sadly, the portrait collection eventually included ones of my father and mother. Unlike the others, I’d known them. The portraits provided me with a sense of comfort at first, but, in time, they, too, have become little more than paintings on the wall. I miss the people, the real flesh and blood – the smell of my father’s Vitalis, the sound of my mother’s laugh, and countless other things. You know, the things that made them real.

As I sat with such thoughts, I realized how often we settle of portraits. Whether in the people we spend time with, or the versions of ourselves we offer to others, we present images rather than the real thing. Some of us are master artists, carefully working the paint so that the lighting and posture are just right. Often, what we see or what we offer is impressive . . . but they’re not real.

At some point, the paint cracks.

I think it’s time to put the portraits away. I think its time we let people see and know who we truly are. It’s scary to be real, vulnerability is the ultimate act of courage, but the result is better than being an image. Who knows, maybe by doing so, we give others permission to do the same.

And then there’s this way of saying it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8GY3sO47YYo