The Problem with Mona
I have never seen the Mona Lisa. Never physically laid my eyes upon her as she resides in Paris, the opposite side of the planet from me. She is probably someone I will never have the pleasure to see in my lifetime, a missed opportunity for sure.
However, though I have never laid eyes on her ‘in the flesh’, I know her intimately with that enigmatic smile, those eyes that have met mine countless of times, her style of dress, and posture as she sits in that almost ephemeral landscape permanently imbedded within my imagination. Familiar, not only from within my studies of art history, but also in ordinary mundane life as I have encountered her presence in many books, seen her tiny pose on postage stamps, adorned on coffee mugs, tea towels, fridge magnets, jigsaw puzzles, or as large as life on a billboard, or a looming colossus adorned on a side of a building. I have seen her satirised in popular culture and referenced, even mocked by well known creatives who appropriate her image for their own artistic notoriety. Not bad for a 500 year old artwork just 77 x 53cm (30” x 21”) in size…diminutively small for a world recognised masterpiece.
There lies my issue in hand.
I have heard it said that she is a bit of a disappointment ‘in the flesh’ so to speak. Smaller than expected. Seemed briefly during the limited viewing time through the crowds gathered to take that obligatory snapshot that will never have the quality of that postcard obtainable in the gallery store. ‘I lined up and waited three hours for…this?’. ‘I expected more’. ‘Not impressed’. ‘A waste of time’. A plethora of disingenuous comments that misses the obvious…at least the obvious for me.
The Mona Lisa exists only as a copy, a simulacrum to most but a privileged few. She has (for over a century) been reproduced ad nauseam on any surface that can be purchased, promoted, pushed onto the general population to such an extent, now resides in the collective conscience of a society that has never made that pilgrimage to Paris to be disappointed by reality, not embraced by the spectacle.
This is the attraction of the Mona Lisa for me. From shitty offset lithography within dusty old books to modern ‘high res’ scans, she exists for me not only as an object of high art, but an image of mythical proportions where the original (the disappointing one in France) need not exist except for those who are waiting hours to fleetingly see her, to be in her presence for a precious couple of minutes. For me, she is free from the gallery walls and dwells deep in the communal psyche of western art.
So, what’s my point?
In this long winded way I am trying to give you an insight into my own art practice. I deal in simulacra. I photograph dolls, toys, and action figures made from benign plastic which I position, pose, then photograph in a way to simulate life…living, breathing evidence of humanity. Some of these dolls/figures have likenesses of actual human beings, people from history, etc. Others are characters from popular culture - movies and television, that are played by actors whose likeness is imbued and forever linked to the character they play. Other figures are just generic characters that look real but doesn’t represent any human, living or dead. These lay figures I try to breathe life into, to exist within a liminal space of my creation. Is my work simulacra? I believe so. Though, as like Frankenstein, the creatures (my art) I create are not pretty, not human, not real.
Like Mona Lisa discussed above, the human subjects, my sitters, need not exist as they are superfluous to my needs. I guess this is part of being on the autism spectrum…the want to depict humanity without the anxiety of problematic relationships with people, without fear of being judged, even mocked for my artistic vision. I use the simulacrum of humanity copied as tools of expression without the need to expose myself to the perils of human contact. Cowardly, perhaps. However, it is a process that allows me to function not only as an artist, but a human being.
Mona Lisa
Leonardo da Vinci, Mona Lisa, c. 1503–1506, perhaps continuing until c. 1517. The Louvre, Paris, France.