On Anne Page’s courage
by Andrew Taggart
The woman was beautiful and strong but sad. Doubtless she married badly. Evidence for this can be perceived in her slightly downcast left eye; in her stilted, rigid left hand; in the spine that gives the impression of needing to be held up by strength of will. To one with her aesthetic temperament, life had to have grown, or had to have always been, cold.
It could, of course, be objected that Anne Page was merely an amateur and that the long hours of sitting would have worn on her. She was not used to this, it could be observed. Doubtless, it was tedious business, this appearance of naturalness. In addition, it is not inconceivable that Dennis Miller Bunker could have been a real bore, singular in his occupation, attentive to his subject while inattentive to this woman.
Still, to explain Anne’s exhaustion by appealing solely to the immediate situation is to close off imagining her inner life: her austere widow peak; her playful left ear; her dark eyes that confront us, asking something of us, revealing something of her inner resolve. There is also in her black dress and her pale beauty the conceit of life holding on amid the quiet despair. Like Madame Bovary, like Hedda Gabler, she must have hungered. Like them, she must have demanded, from this life, to be alive to all, to put all in her mouth. At some blank point (“pain has an element of blank,” writes Emily Dickinson), she must have seen that for her erotic vitality there would be no one.
She will never be at home. This she knows. Courage, she whispers, whispers so loud as to be audible. With this word, she draws me back to her eyes, into her hands. I stand with her for minutes; I long to stay with her until I forget all apart from her.
Note
“Portrait of Anne Page” (1887) is on view at Crystal Bridges Museum as part of its permanent collection.
I had to take another look at this portrait this morning because upon waking I was struck by the memory of the back of her neck. There is so much stiffness in the way the painter portrayed her, from her locked jaw, the defeated pose of her hand, the perfect coif of her hair and severe dress. But then I’m drawn to the supple and sensual curve of her neck against the darkness of her hair. It’s the only, to me anyways, space that breathes an air of freedom, as if a light breeze might blow against it, and maybe cause her to stir.
Thanks, Carolyn. There is such a stiffness. It’s quite painful to look at and to feel.
The neck and the ear?
@miskellanous and I had a long Twitter discussion about her ear. I called the ear “playful.” @miskellanous didn’t quite see that. So I tweeted: “I struggled to describe the ear well. It’s a surprise, imperfect, ordinary, but…more. ‘it flees from me.’” And later: “Perhaps that is the allure of the ear: To be ever on the tip of the tongue…”
I’m now also drawn to her neck. To her neck and her ear. To the line leading from her neck to her hear.
What do you think?
Yes it was the mention of the ear that ran me down to the neck. As an artist, the ear, hand and foot are the 3 most difficult things to illustrate. Many fine artists struggle over hands for instance, you see this quite frequently. Of course, I’m not standing in front of this painting, so I can’t really get the sense of texture, the strokes, that artist applied in this portrait of Anne. Did he linger over her ear and then in a great release of the brush let go at the pleasure of her neck? And I can’t help but wonder, what was her regard on Dennis Miller Bunker as you stated above. For some reason, her ear and neck feel exposed and vulnerable as she is sitting sideways, but having to turn her head toward him. She’s concealing all from him, but those two sensual points she cannot, which now has me thinking back to your post on Rohmer’s Le Genou de Claire http://andrewjtaggart.com/2011/10/06/on-the-caress/
Thought of Anne Page when I read this essay by Robert Walser the other day:
http://books.google.com/books?id=YLmcY0bvqMEC&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false
Hmmm…And in case that link is as useless as it looks the essay is: A Note on Van Goghs LArlesienne.
Yup, it goes through just fine. Thank you for this.
“an adventure for the soul…”
Your made recalled to mind two books by Edith Wharton: The House of Mirth, and The Age of Innocence — I think you should read them, if you haven’t already!
Excellent recommendations. Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve sat with dear Edith. Once you mentioned these 2, I looked at my bookshelf and came up empty-handed. On my book list now though. Thank you.
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I’ve been to Crystal Bridges twice now and I always enjoy Anne’s portrait. By the way, you can get a postcard reprint in the gift shop if like me, my camera didn’t do her justice. The painting will stay with you for a long time. Beautiful and alluring! Thank you sweet lady for posing.