An autobiography in pictures

B.N.Goswamy

The other day I chanced upon an article in the New York Times, which opened with speaking, in the same breath, of ‘selfies’ — that all-pervading, irritating, obtrusive sight of people constantly taking photographs of themselves with their cellphones — and of Rembrandt, that great 17th century painter. It was a bit unsettling to find a connection being made, but then, fortunately, the article moved on to 

a different plane and led one to consider the Dutch master-painter’s focus on depicting the gaze: “usually one that reflects thoughtfulness, suffering or some other implied inner complexity”, which he brought as much to other people’s faces as to his own. Self-portraits of the painter came to the centre of the article, and the ‘selfie’ — saucily defined sometimes as “self-portrait of yourself usually by teen girls” — went quickly out of the window.

The range of Rembrandt’s work was remarkable: from those luminous, bathed in utter conviction, Biblical themes to majestic renderings of groups of guild-members, from looming landscapes to still life, from impressionistic etchings to fluid drawings. And then, of course, countless portraits of men and women of rank and consequence in that society. But what stands out in the midst of all this is the prodigious body of self-portraits that he kept working on throughout his life. More than 80 fully finished self-portraits are known to have survived: more than those by any other artist of his era, and perhaps of all time. How many more did he paint is not known. It is these that work like an autobiography of his in pictures. He had barely entered his twenties — he was born in 1606 — when he painted his first self-portrait; his last he painted in the year of his death: 1669. We see him at every stage of his life: from the callow but self-aware youth just entering the highly competitive world of professional painters onwards.

When one begins to study his self-portraits, one knows that one is embarking upon a journey: not only that of his career but of his inner life. His years on earth saw him go through initial struggles, worldly success, financial hardship, personal tragedy. And everything is reflected in his self-portraits as if in a dust-free, unblemished mirror. The dazzling technical aspect of these works, the sheer virtuosity, is one thing: it is, however, the penetration of character, the inward-looking quality that lifts them to an altogether different plane.

 To look at a small group of these. In an early self-portrait, we see him with wild, unkempt curls of hair, rendered with rough, vigorous strokes, as if to emphasise and exaggerate his coarse, dishevelled nature that marks him as being at the threshold of youth. As has been said, the ‘immediate impression created is of an extremely forceful, individual and romantic temperament, and one that was attempting to flout the existing standards of smooth and flattering portraiture’. There is a serious, questioning expression on the face half-hidden as it is in the shadow that falls on its upper part. Very early on in his life, it would appear, Rembrandt must have begun to look hard at himself.

The portrait he painted of himself when he was 23 years of age records a remarkable change. Clearly, the work could not have been commissioned by anyone, for who is interested in self-portraits of an artist who is just beginning his career? However, one can see that here he is portraying himself as a polished gentleman who has met with artistic success and is now a member of the cultivated society of his times in Holland. 

The superbly rendered elegance of the clothing, the neatly arranged hair, the mouth about to break into a smile, are all part of the image. Almost for the first time, it would seem, the painter is looking at the world with a degree of self-assurance.

A little over 10 years later, Rembrandt paints a self-portrait that almost takes off on a portrait of a “Man wearing a dress with blue sleeves” that his great predecessor, Titian, had painted, and almost sets out to challenge it. 

Many scholars have written on this portrait, for it is in itself a landmark, a painting in which he is “consciously comparing himself, the painter, with Ariosto, the poet, and thus claiming a status for painting equal to that of poetry, in the spirit of a theory of the arts that goes back to the Renaissance.” To his earlier work, a sense of gravitas has been added, a most overtly public statement of himself has been made.

That Rembrandt kept painting himself in different poses and expressions, even dressing himself up in exotic costumes, appearing on occasions as some character in the Testament, one sees in another self-portrait: simple tunic and painter’s cap, holding in his hands brushes and palette, peering at the canvas in front of himself. It is a revealing image: no effort to create a fancy environment, no emphasis on the painter’s high position; just the ‘rough simplicity of the painter’s craft’ but stamped, as one can see, with a ‘monumental grandeur’. Many see this as one of the finest among his numerous studies of himself.

And, finally, the detail of a self-portrait, where he appears as the Apostle Paul, but one where he is subjecting himself to an unpitying scrutiny. Much had happened by the time this painting was made: the year was 1661. His beloved wife was gone, bankruptcy stared him in the face, age had caught up with him. There is tiredness in the eyes and signs of worry on the brow, but what one sees in the image is humanity, deep and genuine humanity, of the man. There is something haunting in that gaze. 

One leaves the subject with reluctance, for so absorbing is the theme. One thing is certain however:  Rembrandt’s self-portraits are no vacuous selfies, no narcissistic celebrations of himself. There is no solipsism here either: the dictionary defines this term in philosophy as the theory that only the self exists, or can be proved to exist. What is here is a search of the self, of an inner person. And that is deeply moving.