Behind the Pose
Or, Insights into a Portrait
Marc Chatov painted this portrait of me, he of last week’s post about my best modeling job. This one was good too—a week-long class at the Quinlan Art Center.
Marc requested me for the job. Wanting to keep Atlanta’s best portrait painter happy, they agreed. The Quinlan even paid my mileage there and back, which I think they came to regret.
But who could regret this portrait? I sure don’t. And I’m proud to own it. More on that below.
The pose was comfortable, even if it’s more complicated than it appears at first glance. It looks like I’m just sitting in an upholstered wing chair, facing the painter. But there’s a bit more to it.
First of all, I’m not sitting straight in the chair, directly facing Marc. I’m turned to the left, a slight twist that makes the pose more interesting. That shift puts the front edge of the chair closer to the viewer, the back, farther away, instead of them being even.
Also, my feet aren’t flat on the floor. My left foot was in the chair with me. See—that’s my left knee beside me, where I rest my elbow. That area’s a little hard to make out because I’m wearing dark jeans. Plus, Marc didn’t detail that area because he didn’t see it as important.
He only had so much time to work on this demonstration painting while also teaching the class—that also painted this pose. Like the talented portrait painter he is, Marc used his time to focus on my face. And my hands! He did a great job with my hands. And it was my job to get my hands exactly back in position after every break.
A few details of this painting tickle me. The big orange hat belonged to my mom, and I took it in—along with others—to use as a prop. I love how it throws my eyes into shadow. The lime-green shawl belonged to Libby Mathews, a painter as talented as Marc—and a long-time student of his.
Funny story: I met Libby in one of Marc’s classes in Atlanta. Years later when our paths crossed miles from the big city, I knew I knew her, but I couldn’t place her. She stared at me across the room, doing the same thing. I made the connection the moment she came up to me.
Libby admitted she didn’t recognize me either, not until her friend said, “Isn’t that the girl in your painting in the bathroom?” Indeed it was. Me. Libby and I have been friends ever since. So wearing her shawl in this portrait is extra special to me.
I’ve forgotten whose idea it was to give me a pad of paper and pen. But it’s a wonderful touch that absolutely makes this portrait of me as a writer. Being portrayed as a writer is what made me want to own this painting before it was even done.
Which leads us to how I came to own it.
During class, I made it clear to Marc that I would like to own his painting. As it happened, he needed a canvas to donate to a fund-raising event the next weekend at the Quinlan. So he donated this painting and told me to go buy it.
One problem—funds. I was a waitress at the time, and I didn’t have a lump of cash. Seeking help, I told my aunt about this painting. A painter herself, my aunt knew how important it was to me to own Marc’s portrait. So she gave me the money to buy it.
This painting hangs in my studio. I see it countless times a day. So, countless times a day, I continue to be grateful for my aunt’s generous gift. I’m gonna give her another big hug when I see her this week.
These behind-the-scenes stories make me love art history. And these stories inspired my debut chapbook of poems, The Higher Call. So if you’d like to read poems about Picasso’s most famous models and my own modeling jobs, click the link below. It’ll be out in print soon. And when we cross paths, I’ll be so happy to sign it for you.
Next week I’ll talk more about how models get back into a pose after a break. There are tricks!
Until then, thanks again for following along on my journey into print.
To order a copy of The Higher Call, click this: The Higher Call
Maybe your best portrait?