Making Something Of Myself

"Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history's in a strand of your hair.

Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document.

The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent.

The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand."

-- Chuck Palahniuk, Diary

Self portrait with self portrait (acrylic and spray paint on paper) 3-14-14

Of all the genres that I dabble in, self portrait is, by far, the one I turn to most.

Volumes have been written about why artists through history have incorporated themselves, or made themselves the primary subject of, their own drawings, paintings, photographs and sculptures.

There are lots of dark and thorny psychological and artistic theories about why artists choose their own faces as subject matter. And I've definitely used this art form to explore both the dark and the thorny. But I've also followed its path toward the humorous and the whimsical. But behind all those theories lies a more practical consideration that I think the historians sometimes overlook. When there is no other subject available, the good thing is that an artist can always turn the brush or the camera or the pencil or the clay on his or her own face.

This particular self-portrait took me a few days to finish. It was a process that incorporated photography, drawing, painting and sculpture (if you consider a large hand-cut paper stencil a kind of sculpture, which I do.)

I think I like this piece particularly because of how the paint on the eyes bled around the stencil and made them look like the mysterious ink blots of a Rorschach test. (You'll have to look into them yourself to determine if there's something dark, thorny, or humorous behind them.)

Self portrait is an unforgiving medium. It's definitely not for everyone. It requires brutal honesty and a strong stomach. I've created literally hundreds and hundreds of self portraits, using myriad media, some straightforward, some convoluted and complex. Self portrait has given me a way to explore unfamiliar techniques, to experiment and try new things, to stretch myself artistically, to learn and grow. And even though the portraits are literally of my exterior, each one is more accurately a glimpse (or a long, hard look) at what's happening on my inside.

Real Paper . Real Paint.

"In an age of infinite digital documentation,

paper was the last safe place for secrets."

-- Evan Angler, Swipe

Self portrait, spray paint and acrylic paint on newsprint, 1-13-14

"My life looked good on paper -- where, in fact,

almost all of it was being lived."

-- Martin Amis, Experience: A Memoir

"I am full of mistakes and imperfections 

and therefore I am real ..."

-- Shaun Hick, The Ghost And Its Shadow

Sometimes it feels really good to dust off the old-school art supplies.

Digital art has its place, but it can feel cold and unsatisfying.

Sometimes it feels revolutionary, even rebellious, to make something with my hands, something I can feel, something that gets up under my fingernails, smeared onto my clothes and dripped all over the floor. 

For this self portrait, I taped together a large stencil using real Scotch tape, then cut it out with a real X-acto knife. I laid out the stencil on a real sheet of poster-sized newsprint, held down with a spritz of real spray adhesive, then spray painted it graffiti-style with real spray paint. Then I painted over the spray painted image with real acrylics.

Then (gasp!) I had to wait for it to dry. 

I didn't sit at my desk all hunched over my laptop. I stood at my worktable, and knelt down on the garage floor. I wore my paint-spattered apron, shirt sleeves pushed up to my elbows. I breathed in fumes and made a mess.

My spirit relaxed and said "Aaah."

Instead of a digitized, computer-bound, deletable image, the result of my effort is a big, real, tactile, poster-sized self portrait that makes that same satisfying crinkly sound that my kindergarten paintings did. My scanner isn't big enough to accommodate it, so I did have to take a digital photograph so I could share it here. Alas. The digital part of art still got a piece of the action. But just a tiny piece.

It's also too big for the fridge, but I can hang it on my workroom wall if I want to. 

I think I just might. 

I think it'll look real good there.

Real. Good.