One of the things that most strikes me about the Rembrandt self portraits – apart from the sheer humanity & his unflinching gaze – is the marked change in technique.
The strands of those wild red youthful curls seem painted individually, seen with acuity, recorded with a steady hand. In old age his brush strokes are broader, more impressionistic.
You could interpret that as an effect of waning acuity of vision & of strength, or the acquisition of the wisdom to know that less is more.
Which Elizabeth Jennings always does so well.
Rembrandt’s Late Self-Portraits
You are confronted with yourself. Each year
The pouches fill, the skin is uglier.
You give it all unflinchingly. You stare
Into yourself, beyond. Your brush’s care
Runs with self-knowledge. Here
Is a humility at one with craft.
There is no arrogance. Pride is apart
From this self-scrutiny. You make light drift
The way you want. Your face is bruised and hurt
But there is still love left.
Love of the art and others. To the last
Experiment went on. You stared beyond
Your age, the times. You also plucked the past
And tempered it. Self-portraits understand,
And old age can divest,
With truthful changes, us of fear of death.
Look, a new anguish. There, the bloated nose,
The sadness and the joy. To paint’s to breathe,
And all the darknesses are dared. You chose
What each must reckon with.
