Savor the mystery of the ages
Elizabeth Peyton, Piotr on Couch (1996).
A few thoughts about the Elizabeth Peyton show at the New Museum, in the order that I had them:
1. Why does everyone look the same in her portraits? Hair comes in tendrils; lashes are nothing but inky; jawbones are dashingly sharp, noses be aquiline…
2. Also, the eyes! Everyone from Frida Kahlo to Jarvis Cocker to Napoleon has a knowing-yet-innocent expression. They look like spookily precocious children.
3. Oh hey!. She paints people the way Romantic poets described them.
4. She doesn’t sign her work.
(via sympathyfortheartgallery) + (via magicmolly)
Yesterday I watched an extremely well-made documentary on Marc Jacobs, which went surprisingly in depth about the designer’s life as an avid art collector. One of the DVD’s extended features was a lengthy interview with Elizabeth Peyton, who, to me, seems kind of like the love child of Sarah Vowell and Sarah Lerfel. She embodies the soft, sad harmlessness of her paintings and seemed so humble. While she comes off as quiet and somewhat reserved, she definitely has the “pop artist mentality” of not thinking she’s somehow above and beyond appreciating fashion, celebrity, frivolity or perceived coolness because of her status as a fine artist.
