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The Future of Portrait Painting
From remarks delivered January 27, 2006, at the Carolina Country Club,
Raleigh, North Carolina, marking the thirtieth anniversary of Portraits
South.
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great artist Richard Schmid — perhaps the foremost living American
artist — in his brilliant book of instruction and counsel, Alla
Prima, says this: "May each painting that you do... include
an expression of gratitude for the extraordinary privilege of being
an artist."
I love that quotation. First of all, I note that we are to be thankful
that we are artists, but more than that - that we should recognize
that being an artist is a privilege — and that the privilege
is a sacred gift.
How do we respond to this? How do we respond to the extraordinary
gift of a precious privilege? The answer is: by being the very best
artist that we can be.
It means that — no matter what our age or no matter how many
years we have been in this business — we daily strive to improve
our craft, our drawing, our tonal values, our color, our design. We
are never satisfied. That elusive masterpiece still lies out before
us somewhere.
Dear friends, I heard something the other day that I found deeply
troubling. It was a casual remark from a beloved longtime friend and
fellow artist. I will not mention his name, because most of us in
this room would recognize it. This artist is a painter of children's
portraits, and I had asked him to describe his methods. Here, in part,
is what he said: "After the child is dressed and ready, we go
into the back yard. I have my 35mm digital camera ready, and I follow
the child around the yard, snapping rapidly as we go. The next day,
back in the studio, I select the best one and go to work."
I remember saying to myself, "God help us!" Have we come
to this? Following a child around the backyard, snapping candid photos,
one of which will be enlarged, hand-colored and framed? Have we come,
at last, to this?
If that is where we are — and every exhibition of contemporary
portraiture that I see seems to confirm that is indeed is where we
are — then we are staring directly at the imminent demise of
portrait painting.
If we have reduced the noble art of Velázquez, Rembrandt and
Van Dyck to following a child around the backyard with a 35mm SLR,
then we are finished. Finished, utterly, as one of the great artistic
pursuits of mankind — a pursuit that began before the dawn of
history, flourished during many great centuries, reached its apogee
in the eighteenth century, and died pathetically, unmourned, in the
twenty-first.
Can we avoid such a melancholy end? Of course we can. How? By returning
— every one of us — to the principles and standards that
elevated this profession to be the crowning glory of the Louvre, the
Prado, the Uffizi, and the Metropolitan... by working diligently at
our command of drawing, by straining to grasp the subtleties of the
tonal values, by worshiping at the altar of nature's exquisite color
in all its complexity and diversity — and by studying the giants
of the past, those titans in the museums who have shown us the way.
We can save our profession from extinction, we can restore it, we
can enhance it by a determined study of the great masters. There is
the solution: a determined study of the great masters. And by turning
our backs on the effects of the candid backyard image.
But now I'm preaching. You know that I love you all, and I am so proud
to be a member of this group. I hope that you will not hold against
me that bit of chastisement. It is a warning delivered from the heart.
God bless you all, and God bless us as we work to carry portrait painting
to new heights. We can do it. Thank you, and good night.
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