When I think of a traditional portrait, I imagine the painful stillness of a classic woman posed in a wicker chair with a back so low it’s hidden by the one who sits there. Her hair is tied up in an outdated curled updo with a ribbon of any color—sometimes it’s blue, sometimes it’s red, sometimes it’s a monochromatic white or black. Ringlet curls hang from just above her ear and end in a perfect spiral that never seems to end. Her eyes are soft and have the power to transport you into her own time, centuries into the past in a matter of seconds while you remain completely stationary, feet planted on the museum floor six feet below where she poses. Her corset pushes her breasts so far up her chest they almost touch the point of her chin where angled lines trace up to her ears, sometimes lucky enough to be adorned with a small pearl. An intricate and lifelike illustration of a matching pearl necklace rests on her collar bones and is most likely a lavish indication of her wealth, or that of her husband. The shadows behind each pearl on the strand around her neck make it look like you could reach out and touch—but wait: DON’T TOUCH THE ART! It’s not for you to touch, only to admire from afar.
When I think of a traditional portrait, this is what I see. But in 1832, Thomas Cole had an entirely different vision. When reading the label that hangs beside the portrait, I read Thomas Cole’s career portfolio/biography and was able to dive into his artistic psyche in fewer than 60 words. According to the label that is placed to the right of his picture, Thomas Cole was known for his landscapes rather than for his portraits, for he did not dabble much in the area of human figures. On a trip to Italy, Cole allegedly decided to paint not only his popular landscapes, but also a Roman model. He did so, and from a rather strange and unexpected angle at that. His friends, I learned, were also artists but differed drastically from him in artistic vision. While the work of his peers holds true the belief of a traditional portrait, Thomas Cole took an unanticipated and almost unsettling angle in order to bring his portrait to life.
The Roman model isn’t adorned in a pearl necklace, her ears are bare, and there is little to no evidence that her corset is wound so tightly that her breasts brush the dimple on her chin. Instead, she wears a deep red dress that hangs low enough on her shoulders that the top of her lace slip is just barely visible against her pale skin. The olive green, practically brown color of her corset shows the top two lace holes have not been wound or fastened. The dark chocolate color of her hair pairs exquisitely against the paleness of her complexion and is braided. Yet it is still in the classic updo style wrapped with a red ribbon that sits on top of her head like a child’s Christmas present. Her eyes are almost closed, as she seems to be looking down and to the left. The viewer, as I was, is confused though. I spent several minutes looking in wonderment at what was not a classically gorgeous portrait of a woman looking down at what seems like would be my left shoulder, but rather the backside of her, the black and gold clasp of her red beaded necklace being the focal point of the canvas. The ruffles on the back of her dress match the folds in her neck as it seemed her head would turn to face mine at any moment. Her half-closed eyes indicated the semi-permanent stiff neck she was beginning to endure as she sat there for hours on end while a stranger painted an angle of a woman no man would ever think to.
I stood there and admired the portrait that hung in its frame three feet above my own 5’4” frame. I could feel the stiffness in my own neck starting to build the longer I had my head turned up at a rather awkward angle. Upon initial glance, I found what I was staring at to be quite disturbing. She catches your eye immediately as she hangs amidst a wall full of portraits of the more traditional style—you know, the ones with the eyes of the model staring into your soul which then seem to follow you wherever you walk. While I was initially disturbed by the lack of tradition that I stared at, the more I began to feel captured by it and the more I felt intrigued by what the story behind the painting was. It soon became less about the surprise of it and more about the artist’s intent.
What’s her story, you ask? Your guess is as good as mine, but I have my fantasies. In the thirty seconds it took me to read the description of Thomas Cole’s artistry, I took him for a fine man who respected women—and women who were strangers to him—and rather than spending hours staring at their bosoms to accurately paint every curve of the female sitting in front of him, he went with a much more modest approach: paint the woman’s backside but only from the waist up. As I imagine his friends lined around the front of the Roman model, Cole sat by his lonesome opposite his peers perfecting the creases of her dress that lay across her shoulder blades, the ringlet curls behind her ear, and the bareness of her upper back between where her necklace lays around her neck and where the top of her slip can be seen.
During a time in which women were objectified and unable to contribute much more to society than bearing 13 children in hopes at least one would be a boy to carry on the family name and inherit the land, why would a woman be portrayed from the backside? I couldn’t help but wonder why, even during their seemingly more modest time period, women were still viewed as objects to be desired and attained and still be posed with her back to the portraitist. Even in modern society when women have the liberties to run companies, compete in athletics at the professional level, and pursue a formal education, it is still unexpected for her to be painted from the back. I stood there and questioned why such a peculiar angle was depicted rather than the front of a woman during a time in which a woman was seen more of an object than a human.
While Thomas Cole may have taken the more appropriate and modest approach when painting this popular Roman model, there is a certain degree of promiscuity she displays. With her back to the paintbrush, it almost seems as if she is teasing the artist or hiding herself from him but looking back to see if he is watching her walk away. A stranger in passing that leads to a moment captured for eternity. It has a sense of flirtation and playfulness apparent in a scene that very well could have been a chance encounter.
Displayed on a wall full of the more front-facing portraits, the eyes are immediately drawn to the spine of this nameless Roman model. Her neighbors are men with one arm tucked in their jackets or vests for a reason unknown to me and women classically posed for what we can hope to be an accurate representation of their physical beauty. This Roman model defies the standard of traditional art in regard to portraiture and Thomas Cole turns the art world on its ear (most likely not adorned with his own pearl earring) with his breathtakingly daring portrait of a woman in a dark red dress, a matching bow, and a hidden face.
I invite you to reflect on this portrait with me for a breath or two. Had this painting been done in today’s time, would it still have been as oddly disturbing of an angle? Or would it have been a statement by a modern feminism activist? Thinking in terms of today’s political and societal climate, she could have been making a point: there should be an end to the objectification of women. Or a subtle call to action: to encourage women to turn their backs on what seems to be an old way of thinking. I find myself teetering back and forth between what my answers to these questions are. Regardless, this portrait struck a nerve in me as I stared up at it. I am still unsure as to whether it was the ingenuity of the artist’s vision or the subtle political stance of the model that drew me in to analyze the making of this portrait and how it came to be hanging three feet above me in a room full of other portraits, their eyes all locked on me, gazing in awe at the back of this nameless Roman model.
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