Self-portrait 1916

Curator: Looking at this expressive charcoal drawing, there’s such an immediate sense of...interiority, I think. It feels very raw, vulnerable even. Editor: It’s striking, isn’t it? What you're responding to is the 1916 Self-portrait by Aleksandr Deyneka. It's a charcoal and graphite piece on paper, revealing the artist during a transformative period in his life, and in Russia's. Curator: The stark contrast, almost theatrical lighting... It’s halved right down the face, plunging one side into near-complete darkness. Is this intended as some larger, symbolic device? Editor: Undoubtedly. In 1916, Deyneka would have been serving in the army, his nation deeply enmeshed in the First World War. Russia, on the precipice of revolution. This heavy chiaroscuro hints at the political and societal polarities tearing at his world—perhaps the light and dark residing within himself as well, reflecting doubt and fear of war's future. Curator: It also visually echoes those allegorical representations of Janus, doesn't it, the two-faced god who looks to the past and the future? Editor: Intriguing! Deyneka’s future was, of course, as an important Soviet artist and his style dramatically transformed. You wonder what he would think of the enduring power of this early, searching self-representation? I imagine he carried both aspects, perhaps one he openly embraced, the other remained shadowed in some recess of the psyche. Curator: A very potent image. Its emotive energy almost belies the simplicity of the materials; charcoal and graphite made monumentally expressive. Thank you, that contrast you outlined provided even further avenues to view it. Editor: And your perspective drew out unexpected dimensions, reminding us that these images persist in shaping narratives that continue to evolve in meaning through their ongoing exchange. It leaves you pondering what personal "Self-portraits" we mask, both privately and publicly, when confronting monumental moments in time.