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Lot Essay
FOUR SELF-PORTRAITS BY ROBERT MAPPLETHORPE
‘Mapplethorpe is always transparently himself. The nakedness is always his nakedness’
–Arthur C Danto
‘If I have to change my lifestyle, I don’t want to live’
–Robert Mapplethorpe
Robert Mapplethorpe’s self-portraits are landmark works: not only in the history of photography, but in the history of a genre that has its roots in Dürer and Rembrandt. Within a comparatively short career, spanning just over two decades, he redefined the ways in which we engage with our own image. Coming to prominence in 1970s New York, Mapplethorpe initially worked with Polaroids before gravitating towards the minimal elegance of black and white photography. His self-portraits, which saw him assume a multiplicity of roles, brought a new sense of fluidity to the concept of identity. Defined by their distinctive frontal gaze and quiet classical composure, they were less depictions of himself than powerful declarations of the many faces and personae he was at liberty to embody. In a rapidly changing society, he fearlessly confronted taboos surrounding gender, sexuality and mortality, seeking to instil beauty and dignity into subjects that lay outside accepted social norms. Though cloaked in shifting guises and proverbial masks, each of Mapplethorpe’s self-portraits laid bare a piece of himself, demanding that his audience take their assumptions to task.
The following grouping showcases four of Mapplethorpe’s most iconic images. Adorned with make-up in Self-Portrait (1980) [lot 3], the artist explores a central theme: his own sexuality. Despite the deeply intimate relationship that Mapplethorpe shared with his lover Patti Smith, he was also heavily involved in New York’s gay scene. Working against the backdrop of the sexual revolution in the 1970s, many of his self-portraits sought to deconstruct traditional gender binaries, frequently referencing Marcel Duchamp’s female alter-ego Rrose Sélavy. In another 1980 Self-Portrait [lot 1], Mapplethorpe by contrast presents himself as an archetypal 1950s bad boy, channelling James Dean and Marlon Brando with his coiffed hair, black leather jacket and cigarette dangling from his mouth. Wearing horns in Self-Portrait (1985) [lot 2], he casts himself as the devil: a Dionysian figure, dramatically illuminated from below. Mapplethorpe had been raised in a Catholic environment where homosexuality was not easily accepted, and religious iconography came to haunt his work. The photograph is a platinum print: an expensive and difficult medium, typically reserved for his favourite images, which lends the work a near-painterly quality and soft, ethereal glow.
In 1986, Mapplethorpe was informed of his HIV positive status; he would die three years later, at the age of 42. Created the year before his diagnosis, Self-Portrait (1985) [lot 4] is already infused with a sense of his own transience. Here, Mapplethorpe largely dispenses with disguise: his head is captured in motion, leaving behind a ghostly after-image. With his black shirt fading into the background, Mapplethorpe anticipates his celebrated Self-Portrait of 1988, in which his body seems to disappear into the void, leaving only his disembodied face and premonitory skull-topped cane. ‘If I have to change my lifestyle’, he reportedly claimed, ‘I don’t want to live’ (R. Mapplethorpe, quoted in P. Morrisroe, Mapplethorpe: A Biography, New York 1997, p. 325). With his eyes turned away from the camera lens, as if contemplating a place beyond our vision, the work is a poignant image of a man who consistently brought his audience face to face with the unknown and the unseen.
‘Mapplethorpe is always transparently himself. The nakedness is always his nakedness’
–Arthur C Danto
‘If I have to change my lifestyle, I don’t want to live’
–Robert Mapplethorpe
Robert Mapplethorpe’s self-portraits are landmark works: not only in the history of photography, but in the history of a genre that has its roots in Dürer and Rembrandt. Within a comparatively short career, spanning just over two decades, he redefined the ways in which we engage with our own image. Coming to prominence in 1970s New York, Mapplethorpe initially worked with Polaroids before gravitating towards the minimal elegance of black and white photography. His self-portraits, which saw him assume a multiplicity of roles, brought a new sense of fluidity to the concept of identity. Defined by their distinctive frontal gaze and quiet classical composure, they were less depictions of himself than powerful declarations of the many faces and personae he was at liberty to embody. In a rapidly changing society, he fearlessly confronted taboos surrounding gender, sexuality and mortality, seeking to instil beauty and dignity into subjects that lay outside accepted social norms. Though cloaked in shifting guises and proverbial masks, each of Mapplethorpe’s self-portraits laid bare a piece of himself, demanding that his audience take their assumptions to task.
The following grouping showcases four of Mapplethorpe’s most iconic images. Adorned with make-up in Self-Portrait (1980) [lot 3], the artist explores a central theme: his own sexuality. Despite the deeply intimate relationship that Mapplethorpe shared with his lover Patti Smith, he was also heavily involved in New York’s gay scene. Working against the backdrop of the sexual revolution in the 1970s, many of his self-portraits sought to deconstruct traditional gender binaries, frequently referencing Marcel Duchamp’s female alter-ego Rrose Sélavy. In another 1980 Self-Portrait [lot 1], Mapplethorpe by contrast presents himself as an archetypal 1950s bad boy, channelling James Dean and Marlon Brando with his coiffed hair, black leather jacket and cigarette dangling from his mouth. Wearing horns in Self-Portrait (1985) [lot 2], he casts himself as the devil: a Dionysian figure, dramatically illuminated from below. Mapplethorpe had been raised in a Catholic environment where homosexuality was not easily accepted, and religious iconography came to haunt his work. The photograph is a platinum print: an expensive and difficult medium, typically reserved for his favourite images, which lends the work a near-painterly quality and soft, ethereal glow.
In 1986, Mapplethorpe was informed of his HIV positive status; he would die three years later, at the age of 42. Created the year before his diagnosis, Self-Portrait (1985) [lot 4] is already infused with a sense of his own transience. Here, Mapplethorpe largely dispenses with disguise: his head is captured in motion, leaving behind a ghostly after-image. With his black shirt fading into the background, Mapplethorpe anticipates his celebrated Self-Portrait of 1988, in which his body seems to disappear into the void, leaving only his disembodied face and premonitory skull-topped cane. ‘If I have to change my lifestyle’, he reportedly claimed, ‘I don’t want to live’ (R. Mapplethorpe, quoted in P. Morrisroe, Mapplethorpe: A Biography, New York 1997, p. 325). With his eyes turned away from the camera lens, as if contemplating a place beyond our vision, the work is a poignant image of a man who consistently brought his audience face to face with the unknown and the unseen.