Beyond the Gilded Frame: Finding Dignity in the Everyday
Think of a painted portrait. What comes to mind? A judge in solemn robes? A CEO in a boardroom? A forgotten monarch staring down from a dusty museum wall?
For centuries, the commissioned portrait has been a symbol of status, a privilege reserved for eminent public figures—business leaders, politicians, academics, and celebrities. They were deemed worthy of being immortalized in oil and canvas.
But this tradition reinforces a quiet, frustrating belief: that portraiture is only for the elite. It leaves me asking one question: where are the portraits of the rest of us?
Of course, cost is a significant factor. Not everyone can afford a commission. But beyond the price tag lies the assumption that a portrait must be earned through status or notable achievements. What about the great hordes of the supposedly “unworthy”? What about the people whose stories aren’t told in headlines, but in quiet, everyday moments?
This is Michael.
When I painted his portrait, he was experiencing homelessness. He and his dog, Floyd, had recently been given a space in a shelter. By society’s measure of “worth,” Michael might have been overlooked. But to me, he was a valued and trusted friend. It was an honour to share that space with him, to listen to his story, and to try and capture a flicker of his spirit on the canvas. His portrait was one of my most treasured, not because of who he was, but because of the connection we shared.
We Are All Extraordinary
I am continually frustrated by the idea that a painted portrait is the exclusive property of the elite or the exceptional. The BBC series “Extraordinary Portraits” says it showcases “portraits of people with incredible personal and powerful stories.” I don’t doubt their stories are powerful, but the implication is that you must be “extraordinary” to deserve to be painted.
What nonsense. We are all worthy of being seen and heard. We all have stories to tell, if only someone would take the time to listen.
The Project: Painting the Overlooked
In a moment of exasperation, I told a friend I was going to start a new series: portraits of ordinary people. I wanted to find individuals who could not afford a commission but who would love and appreciate a painting of themselves or a loved one.
“What a great idea,” my friend said. “You could find some really ‘worthy’ cases, like nurses or doctors.”
With the greatest respect to our key workers, that was the very idea I was pushing against. “No!” I said. “The ‘worthy’ have received enough attention. I want to paint the overlooked. The cashier, the retired grandfather, the student, the street cleaner. I want to paint the ordinary.”
This project is an attempt to democratize portraiture. It’s about shining a light on those who are so often in the background. It’s about taking the time to hear the quiet voices and see the beauty in the untold stories that surround us every single day.