When you go to the National Portrait Gallery, you meet all these people. People you might have known before. Like Pocahontas. Painted 1616 from an engraving. But there she is. You wanna say "hi" or something, but you feel she has other things to think about.
And then, around the corner, John Singleton Copley, the early American painter who made this portrait of himself. Somehow I imagine him holding a cell phone, stretching out his arm, snapping a photo, and sending it up to Facebook with a note "Decided to move to England...wish me luck." Which, of course, he had for a while. I wonder "Who does his hair?"
And, then, not really a portrait (don't know how it fits into this gallery) but a detail of a painting by Ryder of Jonah, about to be swallowed by the whale. Now he looks scared.... So it's not just all portraits...it's people in all kinds of situations.
And, then, around another corner, new acquisitions. Bill and Melinda. Looking good. No worries about whales here.
Still the best portraits are of our own. Tom, home after a long day at the magistrate's judicial offices, a good-bye luncheon for one of his colleagues, a happy hour for an intern leaving next week, interviews with new intern applicants, telephone calls from clients, an evening visit from Rob McDowell, an old family friend, and, finally, just a moment to sink back into the couch before packing for a flight tomorrow....well, all portraits of people at a time in their lives. And all of them in my life too.
