The Faces of Power, From the Portraitist in Chief – Open and charming, closed and opaque

The New York Times found space to print: The Faces of Power, From the Portraitist in Chief. Marquel, TPVs Times Presidential art correspondent,  found time to add “whose portraits are, according to the Times, open and charming, closed and opaque.”

Here was a real story about the Times, not about its subject matter. How could a critic judge George W both “open and charming,” AND “closed and opaque?” Wouldn’t it have to be one or the other? He’s open and closed. That just doesn’t work. This is a hedging critic and Marquel didn’t like it one bit. Marquel can’t get away with such bullshit, how do these Times writers do it? Even charming and opaque seems a bit impossible. How can you be both opaque and charming? Maybe a stained glass window but otherwise…even W would agree with me.

So I went to the Times, where fortunately they didn’t recognize me, and sat down with this tongue-tied critic.

“So what is this,?” I asked, pointing at a devilish portrait of Vladimir Putin, “opaque or charming?”

“Well,” he answered, “I’d say its a little of both.”

“How can that be?” I wondered, “Putin is brutal and he looks brutal in this picture. Now tell me the charming part.”

“It’s charming that Bush painted it.” He said.

“But you were talking about the paintings not Bush. Nothing charming about the painting is there? Anything open or closed?” I asked.

“Not really,” he admitted. “The dog pictures are kind of cute.”

“And there’s a lot of them,” I said, “but you didn’t mention them nor the virtual pantheon of pictures of Jay Leno. Opaque or charming?”

“The dog pictures would be charming if done by a thirteen year old.” He asserted.

“Think that might be the case?” I asked.

“”Forgery?” He asked.

“No, not at all.” I answered.

He giggled and said, “I get it. Yeah there are signs. The lollipop trees….”

“So let’s look at this portrait of his father,” I suggested, “Open or closed? Charming or opaque?”

“You’re right. This one is pretty one dimensional.” He admitted.

“Aren’t they all?” I asked.

“Yes I guess so. They look like snapshots from a kid’s Kodak.” He admitted.

“That’s because they are. He does everything from a photo.” I reminded him.

“Well plenty of truly great artists do that.” He said. “David Hockney does and wrote an entire book showing how Vermeer might have used a kind of pre photographic mechanism to get his exquisite effects.”

“But you have to admit, especially after mentioning Vermeer,” I said, “that there is no nuance here, no contrast, no open and shut nor opaque and charming. This man isn’t capable of contrasting thoughts or emotions. It makes you wonder if he was lying about those WMDs or whether he really believed.”

“I think you’re right there. He doesn’t seem to be capable of lying and telling another story at the same time. He’s sort of a one note composer.” He finally admitted. “Look at the one of his mother. What one word does it suggest?”

I studied it. “Fat. Nothing more”

“My reaction exactly!” He exclaimed.

“So then why,” I asked, “did you write that he was open and closed, charming and opaque?”

“It’s the story. Without that, it’s just an idiotic set of scribbling. But this is a former president!” He protested.

“My God, man!” I exclaimed, “for the story?”

“For the story,” he insisted.

I lost my temper. “But this is all backwards. You write the news, I’m the satirist. I write the story! Get it?” He nodded. I repeated for emphasis, “you’re the reporter. You write the news and facts. I’m the satirist. I write the story.”

“But,” he said jealously, “that means you get all the laughs.”

“Not this time,” I noted.

I started to leave but noticed he was involved with one sketch towards the bottom of the Bush pile. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Take a look” he responded.

It was a dark, impossibly introspective picture. “Who is it?” I asked.

“You don’t recognize it?” He asked. I shook my head. “It’s you. Look, it says so on the back.” I stared at it for a long time.

“It’s rather charming,” I said, “but opaque nevertheless. And it has a rather open feel, but closed at the same time.”

He nodded. And yet didn’t.

***

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The Faces of Power, From the Portraitist in Chief –