The Wake

Upon entering the Chuck Close exhibit at the Walker Art Center, viewers are confronted with a nearly 8.5 by 7 foot face. A cigarette drools out of a bored mouth as bowling ball eyes stare accusingly. This visage is a self portrait by Close. From across the room I could see his individual facial hairs and the beads of sweat forming on his face. The aptly titled Big Self Portrait is airbrushed to create the flat surface of a photograph. Airbrushing is a technique used most commonly to fix imperfections in magazines or billboards, rather than to create art. “Initially I wanted to make big, aggressive confrontational images. I chose to portray myself as the angry young man,” said Close of Big Self Portrait. The detail given to this piece is remarkable, considering it is not a photograph. Each and every pore and hair follicle is visible on the massive portrait of Close’s face. It is obvious that Close was aiming not for aesthetic beauty, but instead for integrity within his work. This piece is notorious for starting Close’s self-proclaimed rejection of “what art is supposed to look like.” Big Self Portrait, like the vast majority of the work from the first part of his career, focuses on detail and realism. But the latter part of Close’s career holds the real intrigue.

In 1988, Close suffered a near-fatal blood clot in his spinal artery that left him quadriplegic. Slowly, Close began to gain control of his arms and was able to continue working using a special brace. The art he has created since has stayed very true to his focus, but has also taken on a more vibrant tone. Continuing to hone in on detail, Close’s portraits became more like collages than an exact replica of his face. In place of the pores and hair follicles are grid squares that resemble cells. The other difference in his work is that it began appearing in color. Skin tones were not the only colors used to create the face, a method congruent with Close’s rejection of typical art. It seems as though the quadriplegic Close developed an altered view of himself, less confrontational and less desolate.

Also in the later body of Close’s work is a series of daguerreotypes (an old-fashioned photograph on a hard plate) that present a 3-D reflection of Close’s head. They are extremely detailed, similar to the earlier airbrushed work, but in a very different medium. The contrast between the daguerreotypes and the oil-on-canvas paintings of Close’s post-1988 period create a medium that somehow lands exactly at his earlier work. While the oil-on-canvas work seems oddly pixilated and distorted, and the daguerreotypes are eerily accurate, the airbrushed series represents a little of both approaches.

I visited the exhibit twice this summer, first on a stroll through toward other exhibits, and then later on a focused visit. On my initial viewing, I was impressed by the accuracy of the airbrushed series and appreciated the grotesque quality with which Close was willing to portray himself so many times. On the second trip I became fascinated with his medium and the contrasts between different periods of his life. I found myself favoring the later, more colorful work done more for the sake of art and less for the sake of rebellion.