In 1990-1991 I was living in Boston, working at the first-ever branch of Urban Outfitters, trying to develop a painting portfolio for graduate school. I lived in Somerville, so I walked through the Harvard campus twice every day. And every day, I marched thru the Busch-Reisinger museum to stand in front of this self-portrait by Max Beckmann, the German Expressionist ex-pat who fled Nazi Germany to live in the US.What a combination of dignity and self-loathing--to put yourself in a such a harsh light and such an elegant tux. Every day he stared me down. And the brushwork--so simple. Not an ounce of unnecessary detail (here is where I could really use a lesson).
I miss my daily visits with Max, but he shows up in my work from time to time. He's like an unsettled spirit hanging around, trying to finish something. I don't seem to be much help.
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