Portraits
Dickinson painted portraits throughout his career, ranging from the self-portrait of 1914 to a portrait of Susanne Moss that he began in 1963 (remarkably, the only carefully delineated feature of either painting is the right eye, recalling Hawthorne's advice to "stop while it is still right, . . . no matter how little . . . is done"). The painted portraits he painted on commission tended not to be well received; even the charming portrait of Esther Sawyer's children was accepted only after he repainted "Sister." As a result, he did not attempt many of them. In 1930 and 1931 Esther arranged for Dickinson to draw portraits of about a dozen persons, all of which seem to have been accepted, but none of which have been reproduced or exhibited, in contrast to the one he did at this time of her daughter as a surprise gift to her. Some of the portraits, such as Barbara Brown, 1926, and one of his fiance, Portrait of Francis Foley, 1927, involved numerous sittings. Others, such as Evangeline, 1942, or Carol Cleworth, 1959, were done in fewer sittings and were left off with parts not fully delineated, but at a point when he believed that they would not improve with further work. Still others, such as Martha, 1942, and Shirley, 1945, were treated as premier coups, done in one sitting.
Among the most interesting of his portraits are those of himself. Dickinson told Carol Gruber in 1957-58 that he had done about 28 self-portraits over the span of his career, of which most had been lost or destroyed. Only eleven self-portraits (including Shiloh) are known to exist at present; Self-Portrait, 1941, Self-Portrait, 1923 (charcoal on paper), and Self-Portrait in Homburg Hat,1947, are known from photographs; a self-portrait (La Grippe), painted in 1916 while ill, burned up in a fire; a self-portrait 20 × 16 inches is known only from a journal entry of 19 September 1943; another is noted in his journal as having been scraped off to reuse the canvas for a painting of a beach house, which he painted out after two days in favor of the architectural fantasy that eventually became Ruin at Daphne. No record exists of the others he mentioned, some of which may have been lost or beginnings that he scraped off, or he may have exaggerated the number. But even the sixteen self-portraits that can be substantiated as having been attempted constitute a body of work comparable with that of artists known for their self-portraits, such as Dürer, Rembrandt, and Van Gogh. Of the documented self-portraits, nine were painted in the period 1940-43.
Dickinson thought that Self-Portrait, 1941 with a French villa in the background, a black stovepipe framing his right shoulder, and a dark cloud engulfing, but not darkening his head, was his best. The cry he lets out recalls the yell of the figure in the green mask in Interior and seems to reflect his emotional condition—less healthy and optimistic than usual—as he later admitted. The financial struggle to subsist, combined with his helpless feeling that the nation was being drawn into a war he strongly opposed contributed to his emotional state. Dickinson's interest in the Civil War certainly suggested the uniform in Self-Portrait in Uniform, 1942. But the entry of the United States into World War II less than one month before the painting was begun was probably its impetus. Ward sees the gaze, which addresses the observer, as a reproach for allowing the nation to slide into a new war, and the uniform a reminder of the terrible toll the Civil War took on the nation. At the same time, the inclusion of the American flag is a declaration that he is a loyal American, and the uniform is a reminder of his own service. His daughter relates that, because he was bearded and was seen drawing and painting on the beach, rumors spread in 1941 that he was a German spy mapping the terrain, an idea that was not yet squelched in 1943, despite an appeal to the American Legion to intervene on his behalf. The absence of a weapon is notable, especially in light of the fact that four days before beginning the painting he listed in his journal his collection of six army rifles of roughly World War I vintage. Ward suggests that, since he served as a telegraph operator in the Navy, the bugle acts as an equivalent means of sending a message, specifically the message of his distress as a loyal American over our being drawn into a new World War.
During the period in which Dickinson painted the greatest number of self-portraits, he also painted a remarkable work, Still Life with Microscope, 1941. Little known or reproduced (even omitted from the thirteen Edwin Dickinson works reproduced on the website of the collection it is part of), it has the uncanny presence of a ghostly self-portrait. As Ward observes, the microscope floats in a dark envelope that in shape and position approximates Dickinson's head as it appears in portraits such as Self-Portrait in Uniform and Self-Portrait in Gray Shirt, 1943, while the darker areas that set off the bottom of the picture sit beneath this shape like a supporting torso, turned toward the right. The microscope, purchased at the same time he read Microbe Hunters, serves as the figure's symbolic eyes, and its orientation reinforces the perceived rotation of the figure's head and shoulders. The darkness in which the microscope hovers also relates to the dark pool in which Dickinson's head sits in the Self-Portrait with French villa, also of 1941 and the darkness of his Self-Portrait head of 1914.
Dickinson's Self-Portrait of 1949 differs from his others in being a profile portrait, achieved by the use of two mirrors. It was painted to give to the National Academy of Design as a condition of his admission to associate membership, and its character reflects that purpose. Ward suggests that Dickinson presents himself as an academician, the profile view indicative of the timeless essence of the man, with a perspective diagram behind him demonstrating command of the rules of pictorial space construction, and his arm raised in the creation of the picture in which he appears (uniquely among his self-portraits). But small patches of paint destabilize depicted surfaces as if to suggest that the perceived world is in continuous flux as the mind structures shifting perceptions. Self-Portrait, 1950, is a remnant of a half-length, nude self-portrait that once included a vase he cut out and gave to the National Academy of Design when they granted him full membership. The frontal head, dramatically lit, partially obscured by a shingle, with mouth open as if speaking, beard windswept, furrowed brow, and with a body seemingly confined, appears overpowered by circumstances beyond his control. No events in his life can be related with certainty to the expressive effect of this picture, but a notation in his journal links a life-threatening fall of his aged father to concerns about his own changing condition. These concerns were realized in 1953, when Dickinson spent most of the summer in the hospital, where he was operated on for an abscess followed by a bout with undulant fever. His wife was operated on in January 1954, and three weeks later and three days before the anniversary of his brother's death, he began his last Self-Portrait. As in the portrait of 1950, his arms appear confined, but in place of the flashing eye and teeth in the earlier work these openings are shown as dark holes, and a heavy ledge appears to bear down on his head. The image is of a heroic figure suffering anguish and defeat.
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