Art: Artists as they see themselves

In an age of digital razzle-dazzle, an exhibition of painted and drawn portraits might not sound like a thrilling night out. A self-portrait show, images of artists staring into mirrors, sounds even less promising.

"Narcissus in the Studio" not only demolishes those negative stereotypes but turns out to be a fascinating, multidimensional excursion into the mysterious realm of visual creativity.

Far more than a collection of likenesses, it's also a reflection on the essence of the artist's calling and the way that the studio environment establishes his or her identity and confirms a sense of purpose.

Installed in the Hamilton building at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, "Narcissus" (in Greek myth, the youth who fell in love with his own reflection) is the brainchild of Robert Cozzolino, the museum's curator of modern art.

Drawing on the academy's extensive collection of portraits, supplemented by a number of loans, Cozzolino has created a delightful mix of old and new, likeness and allegory, narrative and contemplation that helps one appreciate how portraits can delve beneath the surface.

The show comprises nearly 130 works, mostly paintings and works on paper but also some sculptures. All the subjects are artists, depicted either in self-portraits or by other artists.

Cozzolino has defined the concept of portrait generously, which means that many works could easily escape detection as examinations of the artistic persona. Others contain hidden layers of meaning that require extended textual analysis.

For instance, one of the largest and most intriguing paintings in the show, by Gregory Gillespie, is both a self-portrait and a portrait of Gillespie's friend and fellow artist William Beckman. More about this further on.

Because the exhibition is rooted in the museum's collection, one expects to see a lot of familiar faces, such as Charles Willson Peale's The Artist in His Museum of 1822 and Florine Stettheimer's Picnic at Bedford Hills, a collective portrait in which the artist subordinates herself within the group.

One is surprised, then, to discover that, within the rich context that Cozzolino has created, these old favorites seem fresh. One intuitively looks at them not as straightforward likenesses but as keys to understanding how artists think about their identity and how they respond to their surroundings.

The show contains plenty of conventional portraits, especially from the 19th and early 20th centuries. But there also are other types of self-examination, such as allegorical self-portraits that immerse the artists in historical or imagined settings and symbolic portraits in which they are represented by objects.

A number of works either depict artists in the studio, the essence of self-perception as a creative intelligence, or depict the studio itself, as the center of the artist's universe. There are images, such as Stettheimer's Picnic, of artists with family and friends; of artists contemplating mortality; and of artists celebrating their achievements, such as William Sidney Mount's The Painter's Triumph.

Philadelphian Sarah McEneaney's painting Recent History addresses the mortality theme by ironically quoting Peale's achievement picture. Instead of museum exhibits behind the artist, we see X-rays and body scans that refer to a cancer diagnosis.

From the examples that Cozzolino has pulled together, we see that artists make self-portraits for reasons other than the obvious one, convenience. An artist too poor to afford models can always just look in a mirror.

The most unusual example of this must be a self-portrait by Hans Weingaertner, who painted himself sitting in a chair placed on a horizontal mirror. The image suggests a funhouse distortion.

A number of pictures demonstrate that a conventional mirror self-portrait needn't be matter-of-fact; it can be mesmerizing, or unsettling.

George Tooker painted himself holding a nautilus shell; the penetrating gaze of his luminous blue eyes is so intense as to be hypnotic. The viewer becomes locked in a psychological embrace.

A masterly self-portrait is more revealing than a quick glance in a mirror, however. Executed over time, it expresses emotional nuances and attitudes that tap into self-image.

One of the most striking examples of this is Diane Edison's nude self-portrait in pastels. Edison is African American, physically imposing and confrontational. One wonders, is this how she is or how she wants to be perceived?

Equally striking is the contrast between how artists portray themselves and how they appear to a fellow painter. Barkley L. Hendricks painted James Sherman Brantley as cool, self-possessed, and confident. Brantley's vision of himself, in the same year, 1968, is less assertive, perhaps even diffident.

Contrasts of all kinds give "Narcissus" its energy. One is constantly shifting gears between past and present, formal realism and allegory, actual and suggested presence. The process forces a realization that self-portraiture is more than mimicry or narcissism, it's a process of exploration, both for the artist and his or her audience.

Ultimately that journey of discovery brings us into the studio, which for the artist is more than just a place to work. It's a nurturing environment that inevitably becomes an extension of the artist's personality.

Joe Fig drives this point home eloquently with a sculpture that from a distance resembles a model house.

Close up, we see that it's a two-car garage that has been converted into a studio. Peering through the skylights, we see a meticulously detailed interior in miniature in which the artist and his milieu merge seamlessly.

This brings us back to Gillespie's portrait of Beckman, also set in a studio full of ephemera. How is this also a self-portrait? Because the studio is Gillespie's, not Beckman's, and even Beckman's body (but not his head) is Gillespie's, not his own. (We learn this from the label.)

Portraitist and subject have become a composite, sharing each other's attributes. Close friends, Gillespie and Beckman also were critics of each other's art. Here Gillespie gets the upper hand by wrapping his friend in his own aesthetic cocoon. We're seeing them both simultaneously, as through a prism.

"Narcissus" is a lively and stimulating exhibition that offers many such intellectual and perceptual challenges. It proves time and again that a portrait can be more than a face and that a face can be more than a facade, that it can be a portal to an interior world that would otherwise remain beyond scrutiny.

Perhaps because "Narcissus" delivers so much more than one expects, it might turn out to be the most rewarding exhibition of this museum season. It shouldn't be missed.

"Narcissus in the Studio" continues in the Hamilton building of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, Broad and Cherry Streets, through Jan. 2. Hours are 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesdays through Saturdays and 11 to 5 Sundays. Admission to special exhibitions (includes permanent collection) is $15 general, and $12 for visitors 60 and older, students with ID, and visitors 13 through 18. Information: 215-972-7600 or www.pafa.org.

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