What does it mean to truly see someone? This question, as old as art itself, lies at the heart of The Met’s latest exhibition, The Face of Modern Life. But don’t be fooled by the title—this isn’t your grandmother’s portrait gallery. Curator Stephanie D’Alessandro has crafted something far more provocative, a show that challenges us to rethink what a portrait even is.
Beyond the Brushstrokes: When Memory Becomes Art
One thing that immediately stands out is the exhibition’s refusal to play by traditional rules. Take Max Beckmann’s The Beginning or Wifredo Lam’s Ídolo. These aren’t mere likenesses; they’re portals. Beckmann’s triptych isn’t just a childhood memory—it’s a reconstruction of identity, a reminder that the past is something we build, not just recall. Lam’s Ídolo, with its dripping, transitional forms, feels alive, as if the goddess Oyá is materializing before our eyes. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Lam’s Santería influences blur the lines between human, animal, and divine. It’s not a portrait of a person; it’s a portrait of becoming.
Personally, I think this is where the exhibition shines brightest: in its insistence that portraits aren’t static. They’re conversations between artist and subject, memory and myth, past and present. Picasso’s iconic portrait of Gertrude Stein is a perfect example. Did you know he reportedly stopped painting her because he could no longer ‘see’ her? Months later, he recreated her face from memory. What this really suggests is that a portrait isn’t about accuracy—it’s about essence. Stein herself seemed to understand this, as her poem If I Told Him plays with the idea of resemblance until it dissolves into abstraction.
The Unseen in the Seen: Portraits as Proxies
A detail that I find especially interesting is how the exhibition pairs visual art with poetry. Francis Picabia’s Elegance, a surreal, almost grotesque portrait of a woman, sits alongside Wallace Stevens’ Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. Both works refuse to give us a clear answer. Picabia’s woman is a puzzle, her parasol a symbol of… what? Stevens’ blackbird is equally elusive, appearing and disappearing like a thought. What many people don’t realize is that these pairings aren’t just decorative—they’re D’Alessandro’s way of saying that portraits are always partial, always subjective.
This raises a deeper question: Can a portrait ever be complete? From my perspective, the answer is no. Even Paul Klee’s May Picture and Kandinsky’s Improvisation 27—works that seem abstract at first glance—are portraits of experiences, emotions, maybe even dreams. D’Alessandro calls them “direct aesthetic experiences,” but I’d go further. They’re proof that the human urge to connect isn’t just about faces; it’s about feelings.
The Timelessness of Connection
If you take a step back and think about it, the exhibition’s true subject isn’t portraiture—it’s humanity’s relentless drive to understand one another. D’Alessandro notes that even our modern obsessions with technology—phones, virtual reality—are just new ways of grappling with the same old problem: how to bridge the gap between the inside and the outside. In EM Forster’s words, “Only connect.”
But here’s where I diverge slightly from the curator’s take. While she sees this as a “reconnecting with the past,” I see it as something more urgent. In an age of selfies and filters, we’re drowning in images but starving for meaning. The Face of Modern Life isn’t just a history lesson; it’s a call to arms. It reminds us that portraits—whether painted, written, or even abstract—are acts of resistance against superficiality.
Final Thoughts: The Portrait as a Mirror
What this exhibition ultimately suggests is that every portrait is a mirror. Not one that reflects our physical selves, but one that reveals how we see and are seen. Picasso’s Stein, Lam’s Oyá, even Picabia’s bizarre woman—they’re all asking us to look deeper. In my opinion, that’s the real magic of portraiture: it’s not about capturing a likeness; it’s about capturing a truth.
So, the next time you stand in front of a portrait, don’t just look. See. Because what you’ll find isn’t just the subject—it’s yourself.
