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Lot Essay
Cloaked in mystery, Shitbeard (2013) is a masterful example of Michaël Borremans’ approach to figuration. Emerging from the semi-translucent layers of oil paint, a man looks downward, eyes veiled, his bust filling the intimate, jewel-like canvas. Dark pigment forms a mock beard on his face, conjuring the theatrical roleplay of masks and make-up. Sumptuous tonalities and flickering shadows emphasise Borremans’ virtuosic handling of paint, which first brought him critical acclaim in the early 2000s. The striking chiaroscuro seen here is characteristic of the artist. Light glimmers off the figure’s skin and hair, imbuing him with life. Diaphanously rendered, the painting emanates its own internal glow. It has been internationally exhibited throughout the past decade, appearing in museum surveys of the artist’s work held in Brussels, Tel Aviv, Dallas, Málaga and Prague.
In both technique and palette, Borremans’ paintings appear to have been cleaved from another era, and he often uses the past as a lens to consider the present. Works by Francisco Goya, Gustave Courbet, and Édouard Manet regularly inspire the artist, an influence that can be seen in his application of paint. With meticulous brushwork, Borremans produces heady, atmospheric environments whose lighting, staging, and format recall the titans of art history; the present work refers to the theme of martyrdom, a motif often depicted by Renaissance and Baroque Old Masters. Its carnivalesque edge also evokes the masquerades painted by his Belgian forebear James Ensor. Yet unlike his predecessors, Borremans’ figures evince a disquiet that feels wholly contemporary. They serve as a reflection of the world at hand.
Borremans never paints real people but instead draws from a trove of pre-existing images to create his anonymous figures. These protagonists avert their gaze, looking in any direction but at the viewer. Their detachment instils a sense of restlessness and ambiguity into paintings such as the present, and is essential to the artist’s practice. Borremans strives to create images that ‘remain open’, explaining that ‘at first you expect a narrative, because the figures are familiar. But then you see that some parts of the painting don’t match, or don’t make sense. The works don’t come to a conclusion in the way we expect them to’ (M. Borremans quoted in D. Coggins, ‘Michaël Borremans’, Art in America, March 2009, p. 90). His figural paintings are less about a particular individual than the act of portrait-making itself. To Borremans, likeness and representation are never fixed but forever in the process of evolving. The results are enigmatic and curious, both at once overtly fictional and ostensibly true; time seems to fold back upon itself and memory, dream and reality merge into one.
In both technique and palette, Borremans’ paintings appear to have been cleaved from another era, and he often uses the past as a lens to consider the present. Works by Francisco Goya, Gustave Courbet, and Édouard Manet regularly inspire the artist, an influence that can be seen in his application of paint. With meticulous brushwork, Borremans produces heady, atmospheric environments whose lighting, staging, and format recall the titans of art history; the present work refers to the theme of martyrdom, a motif often depicted by Renaissance and Baroque Old Masters. Its carnivalesque edge also evokes the masquerades painted by his Belgian forebear James Ensor. Yet unlike his predecessors, Borremans’ figures evince a disquiet that feels wholly contemporary. They serve as a reflection of the world at hand.
Borremans never paints real people but instead draws from a trove of pre-existing images to create his anonymous figures. These protagonists avert their gaze, looking in any direction but at the viewer. Their detachment instils a sense of restlessness and ambiguity into paintings such as the present, and is essential to the artist’s practice. Borremans strives to create images that ‘remain open’, explaining that ‘at first you expect a narrative, because the figures are familiar. But then you see that some parts of the painting don’t match, or don’t make sense. The works don’t come to a conclusion in the way we expect them to’ (M. Borremans quoted in D. Coggins, ‘Michaël Borremans’, Art in America, March 2009, p. 90). His figural paintings are less about a particular individual than the act of portrait-making itself. To Borremans, likeness and representation are never fixed but forever in the process of evolving. The results are enigmatic and curious, both at once overtly fictional and ostensibly true; time seems to fold back upon itself and memory, dream and reality merge into one.