My most important self portrait painting is lost. Perhaps it no longer exists. My lost self portrait has gained more importance to me as I grow older. I did it my Sophomore year at Portland State College as a third hour assignment. I had a great deal of freedom to do the self-portrait as I wished. The colors I selected were the ones Mary Hearn, another student, used in a painting of a dieing pine tree. I loved the fiery oranges so much it reminded me of my small family tree. I didn't want to look at myself in the round mirror at my back. I felt invisible as an aspiring emerging artist. My face and body melts into the atmosphere. The most important part of me was my determination and the paint brush and colors.
Mary and I traded paintings and my self portrait hung in the dining room of her folks for years. Now what happened to it is a mystery.
I thought the image of the lost portrait was so clear in my mind that I would not have any trouble in repeating it. Plus it would be most interesting to contrast the old portrait ideas with how I see myself now as an artist. Painting me as I see myself now was easy. But recapturing the idea of the early portrait was not. I started out putting liquid acrylic on with a palette knife. Well needless to say the liquid acrylic did not behave like the oils in 1962. Furthermore, I am not using cadmium colors anymore. But eventually I succeeded in rendering my memory of the essential portrait.
While I painted I went off on some interesting false starts. My posture had to be tightened up to make me more tensely upright. For awhile my arm was up and I remembered that in other portraits during my child rearing years I took the stance of a painter orchestrating my canvas as a conductor. In my college portrait I was holding my brush in a vice grip as though it were all my life. Then I was 19 almost 20. Now I am almost 65.
After nearing the completion of my portrait of the past, I occasionally made a few marks on my portrait of now. As I painted the hands I was surprised that I made a more relaxed hold on the brush. How could I be more relaxed? I am just as determined. I was thinking how much I am the same today. I paint in a similar style. I paint colors the way I feel them emotionally and not by trying to match nature. I still feel invisible to the public. But I am my own judge with confidence that what I am doing is right for me. I am more contemplative and reflective.
Should it also justify my style beginning in childhood? Is it to question whether I have a rich involvement keeping to the twisting and whispy brush stroke style?
Here is another painting dating back to 1959. I remember thinking of deep outer space and how reality was abstract if you pick a viewpoint far enough away. I was thinking that nature was usually curved.
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