What does it mean to truly capture a person’s essence? This question lies at the heart of The Met’s latest exhibition, The Face of Modern Life, and it’s one that has haunted artists for centuries. Personally, I think the genius of this show isn’t just in the art itself, but in how it challenges our assumptions about portraiture. We often think of portraits as simple likenesses—a face, a pose, a moment frozen in time. But what if a portrait could be so much more? What if it could be a memory, a myth, or even an emotion?
Take, for instance, Max Beckmann’s The Beginning or Wifredo Lam’s Ídolo. These aren’t your typical portraits. Beckmann’s triptych dives into the depths of childhood memory, while Lam’s work blends Yoruba spirituality with abstract forms. What makes this particularly fascinating is how these pieces redefine what we consider a portrait. They’re not just about physical resemblance; they’re about capturing something deeper—something intangible.
Curator Stephanie D’Alessandro nails it when she asks, ‘What is it that resembles them? Is it the physical look? Or is it something else?’ This question is the backbone of the exhibition. Picasso’s iconic portrait of Gertrude Stein, for example, isn’t just a depiction of her face; it’s a study of familiarity and memory. Picasso famously said he couldn’t see Stein anymore while painting her, so he recreated her from memory. The result? A portrait that feels more alive than any photograph ever could.
What many people don’t realize is that portraits are often as much about the artist as they are about the subject. Lam’s Ídolo, with its dripping, transitional forms, isn’t just a depiction of the goddess Oyá—it’s a reflection of Lam’s own spiritual and cultural journey. Similarly, Francis Picabia’s Elegance, paired with Wallace Stevens’ poem Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, blurs the line between the visual and the textual, forcing us to question what constitutes a portrait in the first place.
If you take a step back and think about it, the exhibition is really about connection—the human drive to bridge the gap between the inside and the outside. D’Alessandro calls it ‘a kind of record,’ and I couldn’t agree more. Whether it’s Paul Klee’s dreamy May Picture or Kandinsky’s sensory explosion in Improvisation 27, these works aren’t just about what’s on the surface. They’re about the textures of experience, the emotional temperatures that make us who we are.
One thing that immediately stands out is how timeless these questions are. D’Alessandro points out that the struggles we face today—with technology, virtual reality, and the way we present ourselves online—aren’t all that different from the challenges artists faced decades ago. It’s a kind of reconnecting with the past, a reminder that the core of portraiture hasn’t changed. We’re still grappling with how to see and be seen, how to capture the essence of a person in a world that’s constantly evolving.
In my opinion, this exhibition isn’t just a showcase of art; it’s a meditation on humanity. It invites us to look beyond the obvious, to question what we think we know, and to appreciate the complexity of both the subject and the artist. What this really suggests is that portraiture isn’t just about likeness—it’s about understanding, empathy, and the eternal human urge to connect.
So, if you’re in New York, do yourself a favor and visit The Face of Modern Life. It’s not just a collection of portraits; it’s a conversation about what it means to be human. And in a world where we’re constantly bombarded with images, that’s a conversation worth having.
