More Wonderful Portraits of Writers

On 1/6/11, I wrote about the wonderful portraits (mostly paintings and sculptures) of writers that I saw at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC during my recent visit there. Yesterday I went to the impressive and moving “Henri Cartier-Bresson: The Modern Century” exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; this photographer/artist documented much of the century, especially from the 1920s to the 1970s, and there were amazing photographs from all over the world in this exhibit. Again, I especially looked for pictures of writers, and although there were only a few, I found them fascinating. Simone de Beauvoir’s photo reminded me of how her breakthrough feminist book, “The Second Sex,” affected many women, including me, so strongly, and meant so much to us. Colette’s photo reminded me of how in her fiction she showed us in a different, less academic way what freedom for women could mean. Albert Camus’ portrait made me remember reading his work in college and being stunned, impressed, and depressed by his stark vision. Jean-Paul Sartre was important in my education as well; I remember studying existentialism in both philosophy and literature classes; one of my best college term papers was a comparison of aspects of existentialism and Buddhism. Ezra Pound’s battered face showed both the brilliance and the sorrows of his controversial, sad life. Truman Capote looked so young, smooth-faced, carefree, and yet knowing in Cartier-Bresson’s photograph; I thought of “In Cold Blood” and what an impression it made on so many of us, showing the ambiguity and “grey” that there is in almost everyone’s stories, whether they be victims or criminals. Andre Malraux, that prime example of a particularly French combination of government leader and literary writer, who was as well a dashing traveler and adventurer, and whose “Man’s Fate” and other novels I read, mostly also in college, showed dramatically in his photo. And William Faulkner, whose work I read, studied, and treasured for so many years, until somehow I couldn’t read him any more...what a face! Something about seeing Cartier-Bresson’s brilliantly portrayed faces of these authors whose work I had read quite extensively, often when I was far younger than I am now, was compelling and dramatic. It made me appreciate these authors even more than ever, and also evoked a kind of sad remembrance of how long it had been since they were alive and writing and well-known.