The Elusive Portrait: A Journey Beyond Likeness
What makes a portrait? Is it the brushstrokes that capture a person’s features, or is it something far more intangible? This question lies at the heart of The Face of Modern Life, The Met’s latest exhibition, which challenges us to rethink what we know about portraiture. Personally, I find this show utterly captivating because it doesn’t just display art—it invites us to question the very essence of human connection and memory.
One thing that immediately stands out is the exhibition’s bold definition of portraiture. Curator Stephanie D’Alessandro doesn’t limit herself to traditional depictions of physical likeness. Instead, she includes works like Max Beckmann’s The Beginning and Wifredo Lam’s Ídolo, pieces rooted in memory, myth, and spiritual transition. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it blurs the lines between representation and abstraction. Are these portraits? Absolutely, but not in the way we’re accustomed to thinking.
Take Picasso’s iconic portrait of Gertrude Stein, for example. What many people don’t realize is that Picasso reportedly stopped painting Stein’s face because he could no longer ‘see’ her, only to recreate it months later from memory. This raises a deeper question: is a portrait about capturing what’s in front of us, or is it about what we carry within? Stein herself wrote that the painting was ‘always I,’ a statement that feels both profound and elusive. From my perspective, this piece isn’t just a portrait—it’s a dialogue between artist and subject, a testament to the fluidity of identity.
Lam’s Ídolo takes this idea even further. Depicting the Yoruba goddess Oyá in a state of transformation, the painting feels alive, as if the very act of creation mirrors the subject’s metamorphosis. A detail that I find especially interesting is D’Alessandro’s observation about the dripping media, which suggests the painting is ‘coming into being’ alongside Oyá’s transition. This isn’t just art—it’s a spiritual experience, a reminder that portraits can transcend the physical to explore the divine.
What this really suggests is that portraiture is as much about the artist as it is about the subject. Francis Picabia’s Elegance, paired with Wallace Stevens’ poem Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, exemplifies this. Picabia’s monstrous yet mesmerizing woman with a parasol feels like a riddle, while Stevens’ lines about inflections and innuendoes add layers of ambiguity. If you take a step back and think about it, this pairing isn’t just about beauty—it’s about the tension between what we see and what we infer, a theme that runs through the entire exhibition.
The show also challenges us to consider abstract works as portraits. Paul Klee’s May Picture and Vasily Kandinsky’s Improvisation 27 (Garden of Love II) are not likenesses in any traditional sense, yet they capture emotional and sensory experiences with remarkable depth. What many people don’t realize is that abstraction can be just as revealing as realism—perhaps even more so. These pieces don’t show us faces, but they reveal something far more intimate: the texture of human experience.
In my opinion, the most compelling aspect of The Face of Modern Life is its exploration of timelessness. D’Alessandro notes that while the tools and philosophies of portraiture evolve, its core concerns remain unchanged. Whether it’s a 20th-century painting or a virtual reality avatar, we’re still grappling with the same questions: How do we see each other? How do we connect? What this really suggests is that art isn’t just a reflection of its time—it’s a bridge between past and present, a way to ‘reconnect with the past’ while navigating the future.
As I reflect on this exhibition, I’m struck by its underlying message: portraits are not just about the people they depict—they’re about us. They challenge us to look beyond the surface, to question our assumptions, and to embrace the complexity of human existence. Personally, I think this is why The Face of Modern Life feels so relevant. In a world dominated by screens and algorithms, it reminds us that true connection requires more than just a glance—it requires curiosity, empathy, and a willingness to see beyond what’s immediately visible.
So, the next time you encounter a portrait, whether it’s a classical painting or a digital avatar, ask yourself: What does it reveal? What does it conceal? And what does it say about the person looking back at it? After all, as D’Alessandro aptly puts it, ‘If we take the time to look into a portrait, we can understand something far beyond the subject.’ And isn’t that what art—and life—is all about?
The Face of Modern Life: Modern Portraits at The Met is now on display at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Don’t miss it.
