Most art lovers who find
themselves in Washington, DC seldom venture very far. That’s understandable,
given that you can take in five major art museums without straying from the
National Mall. But if you wander four blocks up 8th Street from the
National Gallery of Art, you’ll come to an underappreciated gem: the National Portrait Gallery (NPG). Don’t
be put off by the name; there’s a whole lot more there than stiff formal
portraits. I’d even go so far as to suggest that it's one of the best places in
the city to get (ahem!) a good picture of America.
In Part Two I’ll discuss
some of the more unusual things you’ll find at the NPG, but first let’s consider
lessons embedded within the namesake images of well-known people, beginning
with those who have served as President of the United States. Many of these provide
insight into the character of the individual represented and the times in which
they served. I will skip most of the early portraits, as images of Washington,
Jefferson, Jackson, and other such figures are precisely the ones you’ve seen
in textbooks since the time you were in primary school. I was, however, quite
taken with a Lincoln portrait
painted by George Peter Alexander Healy. It shows Lincoln chin on hand, as if
he were pondering the nation’s future. That’s exactly what he was doing. Remember that seven Southern states had
left the Union before Lincoln even
took office. No president other than Franklin
Roosevelt ever faced such perilous burdens or had a shorter honeymoon
transition period.
Lincoln conveys
thoughtfulness; FDR opted for confidence. FDR gazes at us with sphinx-like
steeliness, a strong leader to guide Americans through the Great Depression. If
the splotch of red behind him seems hagiographic, you have but to read accounts
from the legions of ordinary Americans who saw Roosevelt as a secular savior. Artist
Douglas Chandor used FDR's trademark cigarette holder to contrast his imperial
cape and suggest folksiness that resonated with the era’s appeal to ordinary
Americans.
Official portraits are often
an assemblage of impression, pageantry, stagecraft, and ego. Sometimes they
offer unintended psychological insights, or eerily foreshadow fate. Elaine de
Kooning painted John F. Kennedy in loose
brushstrokes and splotches that give an impression of JFK, not a spitting
image. She painted Kennedy in 1963, and it’s hard not to think of Dallas when
one sees the tattered texture about Kennedy’s head. The intended message was
that JFK heralded a new era and a new spirit. That was the case, but not in the
ways anticipated, and de Kooning's (deliberately) indistinct brushstrokes now
evoke a torn body and faded hope.
If you wonder if Richard Nixon had a soft spot, the
answer is maybe. Norman Rockwell’s image suggests there is one. It’s a
surprisingly tender look at a guy almost no one associates with such a quality.
Like FDR, Ronald Reagan wanted to
invoke the common man. Aaron Shickler’s portrait is very Rockwell-like and
shows Reagan in a blue work shirt, as if ready to dispense backwoods wisdom.
Anyone familiar with Reagan nostrums knows that’s exactly what he often did.
On the other hand, the terms
ego and Bill Clinton interlock like
the bubbles of a Chuck Close painting, which is precisely who painted him. The
portrait is huge and you can draw your own conclusions from that. I also found
it unflattering in cartoonish ways suggestive of clownishness. Is that also
telling?
The star of the hall right
now is Barack Obama, painted in the
style of an African chief by Kehinde Wiley. It’s simultaneously formal and
relaxed. You can snap a shot of it from the side, but if you want to stand
directly in front for a selfie, be prepared to queue for about 45 minutes. I
heard no grumbling, though I did see tears, smiles, and genuine outpourings of
respect. The Obama portrait is unique, even if it’s not your cup of tea. I
can’t imagine we shall see such enthusiasm when #45 is hung on the wall.
To round off Part One, a few
comments are in order on the differences between men and women in high places. There
is a quiet dignity to the robed figures that make up the entire pantheon of
female Supreme Court Justices. These
individuals radiate competence and seriousness—more as if they just want to get
on with their jobs rather than casting lines upon the waters of reputation. Eleanor
Roosevelt’s portrait looks a bit like that as well. She has a Mona
Lisa-like smile, but she also looks as if she has just come in from puttering
about the gardens of her Val-Kill retreat.
You’ve probably seen the
famed painting of Marian Anderson,
but it’s even more powerful in person. She looks defiant and strong, as if to
say, “You can deny me, but you cannot break me.” If you don’t know what I mean,
educate yourself and find out how she and Eleanor Roosevelt said no to racism
and turned one of America’s ugly moments into a glorious triumph. I see
Anderson and Eleanor as bookend portraits, not to mention examples of American
history that is too often left off the table. The Hall of Presidents if
history; Eleanor and Anderson represent herstory.
Currently, one of the NPG’s
most controversial portraits is that of Michelle
Obama. Many have said that Amy Sherald’s likeness doesn’t look like Mrs.
Obama. It doesn’t, actually, but in some ways Sherald succeeded where de
Kooning and Close came up short. As we've seen, there's no rule that says an
official portrait must look like a painted photograph. The Michelle Obama
representation makes more sense if you see it as an icon inspired by African
art. Michelle has always been bolder in asserting her heritage than her
biracial husband. In this portrait, Obama is both First Lady and mindful of her
African heritage. This is Michelle on her own terms.
Rob Weir
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