I have been thinking about this'self-portrait' apparent contradiction and
then suddenly remembered Flaubert's comments about Emma, "Madame Bovary.
c'est moi" and then I begin to understand your thesis . You are suggesting
that in painting the woman Gaugin is finding in her something inside
himself. Certainly he left the metropolitan life of Paris for a tropical
paradise and that place inspired much of his work. But really it is the life
enhancing experience of a paradise ,a culture free from the unpleasant
values of 'civilisation' that he sought and found.
Sorry to have been so blunt in my reasoning, but for your poem to make its
point doesn't it require a knowledge of the painting and the Flaubert
remark. Is that asking too much of a general audience??Regards Arthur
----- Original Message -----
From: "arthur seeley" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Saturday, March 08, 2003 7:41 AM
Subject: Re: New sub: Self-Portrait
Hi, Mike. I assume this is the painting "Woman with a Fan". I remembered it
from your description, which says a lot about your descriptive abilities.
Couldn't remember Gaugin in the painting however. So I looked for and found
the painting on the net and still can't see Gaugin. The point being that it
is not a self-portrait, is it?
It is a beautiful painting and the white fan impacts wonderfully . You
caught the elements of the pose in your poem. Other readers remarks about
unnecessary wordiness at the beginning appear valid to me and worth
considering. Thanks for reminding me of the painting it was well worth the
hunt. Regards Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Mike Horwood" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, March 07, 2003 12:49 PM
Subject: New sub: Self-Portrait
Self-Portrait
(Girl with a fan, 1902)
Gauguin painted several self-portraits
but the least known depicts
a Maori girl with a fan of feathers
balanced on her thigh.
She sits on a French carved wood chair
awkwardly, as if sitting were a balancing trick,
leaning her body to the left,
supporting her weight on her left arm,
gazing beyond an off-stage fire that lights her face
and the copper in her hair;
a Maori girl with a classical beauty
and a white Tahitian skirt, wound and tucked.
Only the support of her left hand
prevents her sliding off the canvas,
a departure that may have its appeal
to judge by the look of melancholy
on her finely balanced features.
Gauguin knew what she was seeing
for he had seen it himself.
The gap between us and the girl,
between her and Arcadia,
between Polynesia and France
is in the eye of a girl whose portrait enacts
Flaubertīs comment about his heroine.
Mike
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