An art therapy graduate student recently roped me into being a guinea pig for her thesis study. The theme had to do with how women can use self-portraits to help navigate mid-life crisis. I agreed, mostly out of curiosity, but also because I've been very isolated of late, and the connection with new people seemed like a good idea. I used staunchly to deny the existence of "mid-life crisis," preferring to stereotype it as something that happens to men when their spouses lose interest in them. But having weathered several years of increasingly scary depression and "loss of compass", I agreed to the interview and to making a self-portrait for the study. I was almost seduced by the Marlene Dumas style of painting until I figured out what was wrong with it—it's so very slick! I worked day jobs in the design industry for 40 years so I know from whence.... There's an awful lot of design and illustration parading as art in the galleries (and, now, in the very bastion of capital "A" Art: MoMA). I would actually rather look at fashion illustration (like Mats Gustafson or something). At least it isn't pretending to a higher station and it is very sensual and pleasant-looking.
Click image to enlarge.
Have I rambled? Back to the self portrait. I scoured old sketchbooks for earlier attempts; I took a series of photoBooth pix with my iMac thinking to do some conceptual diaristic thing (too easy, plus, way too facebook); I sketched with a mirror in the classical (psychotic-stare) tradition: everything came out looking injured as if wounds had been exposed. Perhaps this is the therapeutic function. Anyway, I ended up making a realistic depiction of my face with a giant cancer scar across the cheek, based on a photo from the time when.... It embarrassed me, being so blatant about feeling poorly, but after talking it over in the interview, I came to the conclusion that I was, in fact, in mid-life crisis and that my self-expression was legitimate.
:::
I am painting in my studio daily this winter, despite having sold nothing since June, and despite the impending crash of the world as we know it. Yes, I am scared, but beauty is what will save us in the end. Put on a recording of Rosenkavelier and bask in the sublime caterwaul of the last act (where women take over the world).
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