Shy Faces

In the exhibition Turning Heads, the KMSKA focuses on ordinary people. Those who, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, put aside their chef’s hat or broom to pose as models. The masters of the time did not make portraits of them, but virtuosic studies and tronies. Not formal self-promotion aimed at eternal fame, but faces painted so lifelike that they seem to breathe under the brushstrokes. And now we make them famous. For these people, it takes some getting used to—they become a little shy.

Eternal fame?

You can put people into categories in different ways. You are a vegetarian or not, speak four languages or just one. And you can be a celebrity or not. Whatever category you place people in, there are always gradations and nuances. And someone who is “world-famous” today may be forgotten again within five years.

The same goes for tronies and portraits. Imagine: you pose for hours in your best outfit. That portrait then hangs in a visible spot at home, so visitors can immediately see how wealthy you are. After all, you can afford to pay a painter, and you do have that fancy clothing. You rarely smile. Self-promotion is serious business. In any case, the painter follows fixed guidelines so that today we can recognize the work as a portrait. You’re a bit “photoshopped”: your wart is gone, and your hair is less gray.

Because you could pose for a portrait, we know you were a celebrity, either minor or major. Centuries ago, that is. But that does not necessarily mean we can still identify who you were today, no matter how hard you tried to remain eternally recognizable.

Lifelike, but unknown?

And then there are studies and tronies. You are a washerwoman, sailor, or farmer in Antwerp, and you are blessed with a striking face. Frans Floris, Peter Paul Rubens, or Anthony van Dyck finds you interesting and a perfect fit for a new painting. Before you know it, you are posing in the studio while the master sketches and paints you from every angle. You might not look in the mirror often, but the result is astonishingly realistic. Every wrinkle is accurate.

Those study heads of yours are just the beginning. The artist transforms you into a king, god, martyred saint, or fool, depending on how your face fits the chosen story. You can become anything. And your face appears everywhere. There you are, as Jesus on the high altar of the corner church, seen by everyone during Sunday mass.

Interest in paintings of “unknown” people is growing, especially in the Northern Netherlands. Rembrandt, Frans Hals, and Johannes Vermeer create finished paintings of you, for the market, not for studio use. The tronie genre is born. You make a funny face, a colorful mix of feathers and fabrics sits atop your head. The painter experiments with light and how it reflects on your forehead or a shiny helmet.

World-Famous

And now we bring all those studies and tronies together under one roof. All those ordinary people with their extraordinary faces, who were once somewhat known to their neighbors, their priest, the painters in their city. We put them on the stage of our exhibition with all the spotlights we have. And there they are, exposed to our smartphones and social media. We spread their hesitant glances, wild expressions, and deep furrows.

But what do they think of it? All that attention is overwhelming. Until the exhibition opens on October 21, we give them a bit of media training. By then, they will be fully ready for the world and a lot less shy. For now, they can still hide behind their hands.