I found myself captivated by this portrait of Julia Hasselberg painted by Eva Bonnier. Eva Bonnier was a Swedish artist and this painting is of her lover’s illegitimate daughter who Eva adopted after Julia’s father’s death.
This girl has a look which is very familiar to me. It’s a combination of pain and resilience. There’s reserve, distance, independence and spirit here. The kind of spirit that emerges from suffering to strengthen and protect. I find it both moving and powerful.
You can find this portrait and others by Eva Bonnier along with a really interesting short biography of her on the Giornale Nuovo blog. Thank you for posting this Mr h.
All Eva Bonnier’s portraits which you’ll see in that post share these characteristics for me. These are powerful people, fiercely independent, with that special kind of strength which emerges from suffering. One thing that fascinates me is this description of Eva Bonnier
She is reputed to have been an intelligent, strong-willed and sharp-tongued woman who ‘could neither in private nor as an artist charm or flatter her contemporaries.’
How much does the character of the artist influence their portraits of others? How much do they see a bit of themselves in their subjects and, unconsciously, highlight those qualities in them? What do you think Ester?
Well, when you put it like that (“…highlighting those qualities in them”), all I can say is, wow. That is a lot to chew on, and not just as an artist or painter, but in any action, your thought may be right on the money.
Is that a self-centered attribute coming out? Is that a desire to relate the outside world to what we already understand? Is it trying to control outside forces? Probably thinking long and hard about the reasons “why” will definitely lead to more questions, more and more philosophical paths. I think that no matter what the reasons, your comment here is most definitely a real fact, even if it makes itself more and less apparent in different situations/people. I guess the thought also leaves another major questions hanging, which is this: if we leave such a footprint on our actions, then don’t we also need to have a good understanding of who created that footprint? “Who am I”? That may sound like a teenage type of question, but truly, can anyone answer it? I think that minute by minute we are evolving, growing and changing, so the answers change with us. Perhaps the best way to get a hint of “who I am” may be by looking at the things that I do, like the kind of portrait that I have just painted. How do I react to the piece? Maybe it’s like looking in a mirror, and that is one fractional way of understanding myself.
Lovely Ester! I totally agree. This whole strange and ever present phenomenon of the self is, as you say, always evolving, growing and changing. I know its not the only explanation but I do think the creation of a self is a narrative process. We construct our “selves” (interesting to consider it in the plural too!) through the stories we tell ourselves and others. But I also think that with the Western path of increasing introspection that we are losing more and more. I think every “self” is embedded. Embedded and inextricable within multiple contexts and relationships and a good way to get a sense of “Who am I?” is to do just what you suggest – by looking at the things you do and seeing and hearing the impacts, consequences and imprints of our being on this earth.
To create, to manifest, to change, to make new…….all these actions give us the opportunities to know ourselves better by reflecting on the “footprints” (as you put it) that we leave.
Thought I’d share this with you. Scottish painter Geraldine Girvan:
http://www.chrisbeetles.com/pictures/artists/Girvan_Geraldine/Girvan_Geraldine.htm
Thank you Ester,
how did you come across her? I haven’t seen these paintings before but they really are strikingly characteristic of the Scottish Colourist tradition, aren’t they?
http://makingamark.blogspot.com/2007/07/flowers-in-art-contempory-painters-2.html
she described the work just like you did: in the Scottish Colorist tradition.