Study of a Young Man 

Editor: So here we have what’s called "Study of a Young Man" by John Singer Sargent. It’s an oil painting, although the date isn’t known. To me, there's a vulnerability in his expression, but also a real sharpness. What jumps out at you when you look at this painting? Curator: That’s perceptive! To me, it feels like stumbling upon a private thought, wouldn’t you agree? Sargent's use of light, or the sheer lack of theatrical lighting we often see in portraits of this period… it invites intimacy. See how the brushstrokes are almost aggressively visible, refusing to blend into photorealistic smoothness. The quickness of his application actually conveys, to my mind, a depth of understanding, the way a sketch can sometimes capture more than a fully rendered picture. Almost as if Sargent’s hand knew this young man better than he knew himself. Editor: I see what you mean. It feels less posed than other portraits. The background kind of melts away, which throws the emphasis right back on his face. Curator: Precisely. I find myself wondering about his thoughts… did Sargent choose him, or vice versa? Did they connect on any deeper level, or was the young man merely a fascinating face? You can tell a lot about the model. But then there are the infinite secrets locked deep down. Which leads to an interesting dilemma in portraiture as a whole. Can we ever *truly* capture a person? Perhaps painting is the greatest and most tantalizing failure there is. Editor: Wow, I’d never considered it like that. Now when I look at it, I feel like there is much more I still don't understand than I first anticipated. Curator: Isn’t that the most glorious thing about art, though? The endless unraveling? I guess it means this particular young man, even in still portrait form, is free forever, in a sense, to have the last word.