Our journey? Have we become closer with other people or closer to ourselves? Sometimes we hide from ourselves and others. If only we could come out of hiding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In my journey, I have tried to watch other lives, other careers, other artists. Other portrait painters and those whose portraits have been painted. I have admired Sargent and Velázquez. Zorn and Serov.

 

But where has this taken me? Closer to my time? Closer to a human being in the course of time? Actually, it has taken me back to the beginning. To my childhood. To Tartu upon the Emajõgi River. Home. To a Saturday morning in a backyard. The school year at the Children’s Art School is over and summer workshop is going to start next week. I am on the roof of a shed, watching a shadow move away from me. Someone saws wood. This sound has followed me to the places of quiet contemplation, even in some faraway locations of the world. Whenever I have had a chance to paint and listen to the silence, it is full of sound, surrounding me. No, the silence is surrounding time. The person sawing wood obviously prepares for the next winter. But winter is still far off, a whole summer and autumn to go. I have a magnifying glass in my hand and I wonder how hot the spot of light can become.

 

How should one paint? What should one reach for? Technique? Acumen? A masterly style? Cleverness? A statement? Or, are we really searching for just one thing? The truth about a human being. The sincerity of thinking and speaking. The unhidden difficulty of life. The painted complexity of relationships. The sadness daring to defy the loudest laugh. The joy that cannot disappear because it is always there. The joy that makes a human being a good person. However, a bad person can also be beautiful and fascinating.

A human life has never ceased to amaze me. Never more than at the moments when I am asked to paint someone whois not with us anymore. The whole life of this person is before me, represented by just three photos... six photos. A person who, when living, was captured by a silvery substance and daylight on photo paper. Half of the family has probably never seen this person alive, and today they want me to capture him or her in oil. Today, he or she is ready to “sit” for the portrait. I could refuse, saying that I will not paint the impossible, I will not paint a thing that cannot be captured, a thing of the past. But then, I see with amazing clarity their essence in these few photographs. In youth. The fright of life and what it might bring. Because of this fright, he or she is still not fully present. Yes, of course, the face and the features are there. But I am not speaking of the simple way of conveying someone’s face on canvas. I am speaking about the idea that the person carries. Next, in marriage. A sudden glimpse into this person’s trust in life. The feeling that he or she could be the best. Awkwardly perfect. There is hope. In the workplace, among colleagues. A chosen path without the option of starting over, yet not knowing where it will end. In the home, with a child held in his or her arms. Then in old age. A bit faded, but wise. Dedicated, treasuring life, close to the nearest and the dearest. Old. Happy, at last. For the others, at least.

 

What would have been the best period for painting this portrait? Is it really now? From these few photographs? But when, if not now? The children and grandchildren have had their children painted, and there is still a place on the wall, waiting. How can he or she smile at us between the brush strokes? A president, a prime minister, a patriarch, archbishops, members of parliament, mayors have all stood before me. How has that changed me? I have become bolder. Twenty years ago, I may not have been capable of capturing someone whose job I considered greater than the person. Today, that is not so. Today, I see first a human being who is unique, irreplaceable. I try to see his or her personality, character. Only then do I see the famous face and the skills of the profession. In the faces before me, I have seen cowardice and sycophancy. Arrogance, condescension, worry. Happiness, courage, beauty, love, spontaneity, wisdom. I have tried to understand which of these facets are most integral to the person before me and to what extent they wish them to be revealed on canvas. How much should be revealed to others in the form of this portrait. Does the person that I paint today truly represent these qualities? My journey is about understanding myself. Understanding life. I have learned something from virtually every model. At least for a time. Learned something about the meaning of being human. I have an opportunity to create a so-called life portrait, combining the childhood of a person, his or her dreams, coming to terms with life, love for life, and thoughts about leaving it. Thoughts of leaving something behind.

 

I was once approached by woman who wanted to have a portrait painted of her granddaughter. She felt this portrait would be the most important gift she could leave her children when she departs from this world.

I have seen a boy with cancer, in the last month of his life. His parents asked me to paint his portrait. On the basis of sketches and photographs from the last year, I made a half-figure portrait of him, hurrying along with a school cap on his head and coat unbuttoned. In the background, some white birds.

 

I have seen a girl, speechless and paralyzed as a result of a tick bite. She spent her 18th birthday in the hospital. One of her wishes was to have her portrait, in pencil.

 

A girl, with a burnt face, asked me to paint the face she could have had. The face she did have, under the burn marks.

The portrait of one of our grandmothers, Endla, who is not with us anymore, is on the wall in the home of my wife’s parents. Her head and shoulders. Wearing a silk blouse. A dark green tiled stove forms the background behind her. This painting does not make up for her absence, but it captures her essence and reminds us of who she was. I would not be satisfied with anything less.

It is true that portrait painting is one of the most demanding genres of art. Sometimes it can even be too personal. Perhaps it is good that it is too close to time, life and the person, so that both the artist and the model can leave something behind. Something that is bigger and more permanent than either the artist or the model. Something that can nourish new generations.

Why landscapes and compositions? In order not to lose oneself. A landscape painted without a commission is like a self-portrait. A self-portrait in time and space. And so good for one’s soul and artistry.

This book presents a selection of parallel emotions of the past 44 years. Portraits next to impressions. Abstract pictures next to travel sketches. Commissioned works next to dreams.

 

To break

the existing

construct

the non-existent

Thus you reconcile

the unreconcilable

and create

something

new

 

I would like to thank the following people who helped me with this, my third catalogue: my mother Laine, my wife Helge, my friend Dianne, my first teacher of painting Silvia Jõgever, the art historian Mai Levin, and the translator Krista Kaer. I would also like to express my gratitude to all the people who have commissioned me to paint, because without them, I could not have been a portrait painter, an artist, a different person.

 

Aapo Pukk