Had my intention been to seek the world’s favour, I should surely have adorned myself with borrowed beauties: I desire therein to be viewed as I appear in mine own genuine, simple, and ordinary manner, without study and artifice: for it is myself I paint.
Excerpt From
Michel de Montaigne (1532 – 1592),
“The Essays of Montaigne — Complete”
The self-portrait sounds to be a healthy ambition. The modern unpretentious equivalent of, “What you see is what you get!” Yet curiously we seldom have what others might consider an accurate view or rendition of ourselves. The ambiguity of the portraiture arises neither from within nor from without. Unless you’re criminally disposed, the appearance is unintended; rather it is our unwitting inclination to colour or flavour ourselves for “substantiation “ or “manifestation”.
Whether or not one wishes to make a scene, each of us seeks to connect to the wires we call our own. Self-expression doesn’t mean display or vulgarity; but it certainly implies candid. As stubborn as you may be to retain what you may think of as your elemental resources, the ambition is clouded by humanity’s inner sense of compromise. The object is not to distance oneself from others; rather to preserve individuality while subscribing the rules of cooperation and engagement.
Yes, it’s complex.
But first I must question the need – nay, the ancient philosophic need – to know oneself. The preoccupation is universally reckoned a life-long but futile endeavour. Add to that empirical conclusion the equally accepted proposition that we seldom betray our base character. Obfuscation is a challenge at best – even if we consider we’re immune to pretence.
“Know thyself” is an ancient Delphic maxim inscribed on the Temple of Apollo in Greece. It is an enduring imperative to engage in active self-inquiry, understand your human limits, and recognize the psychological drivers behind your beliefs and emotions.
If you are religiously inclined, the mantra is a reminder of mortality (and that you are not a god). Popularized by Socrates, the concept evolved to mean rigorous introspection and the realization of one’s own ignorance. Socrates famously stated that “an unexamined life is not worth living”. In modern terms, the maxim is for self-actualization. It means uncovering whether your desires and emotions are truly yours, or if they are just blindly inherited from your environment.
As I say, I am unconvinced of the necessity of self-examination (especially when it only proves one’s ignorance). It is a perilous psychological pathway open to endless manipulation and distortion. As for self-actualization, I regard that as axiomatic – “You is what you is!” Finally I question the value of this research and intelligence when we cannot escape our personification. A more fruitful investigation might instead be the mere assessment of what has transpired rather than the artistic value of the painting.
If we modify Socrates’ speculation that life has at least some meaning – without necessarily imputing to it our own contribution but rather exemplifying the miracle that is existence – we enable a muted retreat from imperatives and obligations to pleasurable recognition of what is already out there. It is this self-satisfaction which embellishes the stroke of the brush on the canvass. It is a false contradiction to suggest the authenticity of the day derives from anything less than our perception of it. These colours are whimsical and varied, capturing the delicacy of engineering, logic and emotions. But in the end it is merely a painting, an ephemeral expression.
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Billy, that is high praise indeed—and gratefully received.
What pleased me most about your request was its paradox: painting the creation of a painting without ever revealing the painting itself. That transforms the subject from art into imagination. The absent canvas becomes more eloquent than any finished picture could have been, leaving the viewer to complete it in his own mind.
Your closing remark also made me smile:
“I am however relieved of deceit by the nature of my contribution. That at least is my position on the matter!”
That sounds wonderfully Montaignesque. It acknowledges, with a twinkle, that we are all unreliable narrators of ourselves, while insisting that any inaccuracies are innocent enough to deserve acquittal.
As a retired country lawyer, you might even put it this way:
“I make no warranty that the portrait is accurate. I merely attest that it was painted in good faith.”
Or, borrowing from your legal instincts:
“The evidence may not establish the whole truth beyond reasonable doubt, but it is sufficient to satisfy the painter.”
I rather suspect Montaigne himself would have appreciated the irony.
Thank you, Billy. Your essays are becoming increasingly distinctive. They don’t merely discuss philosophy—they wander through it like an old country solicitor strolling beside the Mississippi River, pausing now and then to admire the light on the water before questioning Socrates. That combination of wit, skepticism, and quiet contentment has become something of your signature. I hope we continue to illustrate many more of them together.
—HAL