Hanging the finished picture on my wall felt like a victory
I was flattered and slightly terrified when Philippa suggested I sit for her. seeing myself in other people’s photographs, looking tense and shiny, is hard enough. On bad days I avoid mirrors.
But I’m fascinated by female portraiture. I love the way famous images of women, from John singer sargent’s Madame X ( who scandalised Victorian society with her bare shoulders) to Tamara de Lempicka’s glamorous aristocrats, tell stories about women, who met the artist’s gaze with courage and defiance.
so when Philippa told me she needed a sitter for a show she was entering, I thought I might never have this chance again. she suggested I might have ‘a Bloomsbury look’. ‘you mean tall and stuck-up?’ I joked. we agreed a date and then I started panicking. But I was won over by Philippa’s candid emails.
‘Think about clothing, but don’t worry about it,’ she advised. ‘Make sure you’re warm enough to sit for an hour and feel relaxed, because that shows. I am not afraid of painting patterns and I like colour. Pearls are good if you are in a pearly mood. If you have any striking cushions, a pretty teacup and saucer, or a tottering pile of books on a table next to you — it might really suit you. If it doesn’t work I’ll say so.’
On the day itself, Philippa made things painless. she poured us a glass of port (for nerves), then posed me on a chair in my sitting room. First she did a pencil sketch. ‘It gives the sitter time to get used to being looked at and thought about,’ she explained.
Then she started taking photos, some worryingly close-up. Just at that moment my cat spooky leapt into my lap. ‘serendipity,’ said Philippa, clicking away. she took a furry stole from the door and arranged it around my shoulders.
she was finished in 30 minutes. ‘The real painting goes on in the studio,’ she explained.
Three weeks later I went to see my portrait. I was very nervous: what if I hated the way I looked? when she removed the dust cloth, I was in shock. straight away I homed in on the usual insecurities — flat hair, high forehead; Oh God, was it ungracious to want stronger eyebrows? But at the same time, the colours and textures were zinging out at me. I loved the way she captured my crazy vintage wallpaper. and the look of trust in my cat’s eyes.
‘Let’s just sit with it for a while,’ Philippa advised. and she was right. after a bit of deep breathing and a glass or two of wine, I was calming down. slowly I was starting to like it.
‘a portrait is not a person and should not try to be,’ she told me kindly. ‘sometimes the picture dictates things you don’t expect.
‘ I spent ages painting the intricate patterns of the wallpaper behind you because it seemed to underpin your exoticism.’
when I showed photos of the portrait to friends, they insisted I buy it. (Poor Philippa, I paid her in instalments of £100 a month). For the show, she titled the picture ‘Madonna and cat’, writing in the caption. ‘Like all
my sitters, Liz is a strong person. Weakness is impossible to paint. Perhaps because of that confidence she was able to let me make decisions about pose and composition.
‘She claims she was nervous, but it came over as a sort of imperial defiance that I tried to capture.’
Nine months later, when I finally got to take the picture home and hung it against my crazy wallpaper, it felt like a victory. I don’t look beautiful, but I look purposeful.
I love Bronte novels about plain governesses, who demand the right to a rich interior life, and refuse to accept the fate laid down for them. and I think Philippa has captured that. Every day I walk past my portrait. This woman, who I both am, and am not, has taken up residence in my house. and heart. She’ll be with me for ever.