A young man looks at his newly finished portrait and makes a wish: that the painting would grow old instead of him. The wish comes true. Dorian Gray stays young and beautiful while, hidden in a locked room, his portrait slowly records every cruelty, every lie, every year.
Oscar Wilde first published The Picture of Dorian Gray in a magazine in 1890, then as an expanded book a year later. It caused a scandal. It has fascinated readers ever since, perhaps because we all know what it is to show one face and hide another.
Images have always lied
The moment there was a way to make an image, there was a way to lie with it. Portraits flattered kings. Photographs were retouched almost as soon as photography was invented. Today we have filters and editing apps. New tools, same lies, same believing eyes.
But here's the thing: you can be fooled once. After that, believing is a choice. We keep believing beautiful images because we crave something unattainable, something perfect. And the distortion tells its own story: about the image, the tools, and above all about the viewer who wants to believe.
Dorian's portrait is the opposite of a filter. It refuses to lie. That's what makes it so frightening, and so interesting to think about.
The Dorian Gray question
What would a perfectly honest portrait of you show? Not to punish yourself (Dorian's story is dark enough), but to know yourself a little better. Take a notebook and an evening, and choose three or four of these:
1. What do you show the world that isn't quite true? 2. What do you hide that might actually be beautiful? 3. Which experiences would leave a visible mark on your portrait? Which of those would you be proud of? 4. If your portrait changed with every kind act, what would it look like after this week? 5. What would you want a painter to notice about you that most people miss? 6. Which image of yourself are you tired of maintaining? 7. If your portrait could speak to you, what would it say?
A portrait that changes with you
Some images change meaning as we change. My print Anthropos, whose title is the Greek word for human being, is one of them: a deeply personal piece whose meaning has shifted for me since I made it. Originally a watercolor, each print is revived by hand with fresh brushstrokes, so no two are alike, and each comes with a meditation letter. A small reminder that we, too, are allowed to keep changing.
Remember to take as much time as you need, and meet me at the next one.
Love, Evi