{"id":266385,"date":"2025-04-07T06:18:30","date_gmt":"2025-04-07T06:18:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/culture\/rewrite-this-title-in-arabic-the-problem-with-amy-sheralds-portraits-they-look-bored-stiff\/"},"modified":"2025-04-07T06:18:31","modified_gmt":"2025-04-07T06:18:31","slug":"rewrite-this-title-in-arabic-the-problem-with-amy-sheralds-portraits-they-look-bored-stiff","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/culture\/rewrite-this-title-in-arabic-the-problem-with-amy-sheralds-portraits-they-look-bored-stiff\/","title":{"rendered":"rewrite this title in Arabic The problem with Amy Sherald\u2019s portraits? They look bored stiff"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Summarize this content to 2000 words in 6 paragraphs in Arabic Amy Sherald became famous for painting Michelle Obama, a first among First Ladies. That was also Sherald\u2019s first and so far unrepeated celebrity commission; her true and abiding topic remains, in her bland phrase, \u201ceveryday people\u201d \u2014 lots of them. Just who is an everyday person? (As distinct, presumably from a special-occasion person, or an only-for-company person.) Am I? Are you? I wonder how many of the four dozen personalities who populate Sherald\u2019s current Whitney retrospective American Sublime would describe themselves that way, or accept the condescending adjective in the introductory text: \u201cordinary\u201d.The implication of such language is that by plucking her sitters out of the crowd, Sherald discovers their hidden specialness, or else confers a quality they lack. The Whitney show suggests the opposite, though: her subjects may not start out ordinary, but they are by the time she\u2019s done with them.We learn almost nothing about the individuals whose faces and outfits she renders with a kind of distorting realism. They may be heroic, kind, lunatic, brilliant, pious or cruel, in various idiosyncratic combinations, but the only quality we can be sure they have in common is Blackness.In almost all her paintings, the subject stands in the centre of the frame against a solid ground and faces the viewer head on. Their stares are blank, their expressions serious, their faces smooth as glazed stoneware. The women (and most are women) flaunt bright, colourful prints, and the men wear hats or carry accessories, such as a bouquet of balloons or a fishing rod.Everyone\u2019s skin is grey, as in a black-and-white photo. That technique, meant to divert attention from the sitters\u2019 race, winds up making them homogeneous. Whoever these folks are in the rest of their lives, on canvas they become Amy Sheralds.\u00a0She labels herself an \u201cAmerican realist\u201d, and the museum cites a selective list of white forebears, including Robert Henri, Edward Hopper, Alice Neel and Andrew Wyeth. Curator Rujeko Hockley fleshes out that list with a few Black predecessors, like William H Johnson, Archibald Motley and Laura Wheeler Waring (all featured in the Metropolitan Museum\u2019s recent Harlem Renaissance exhibition). There\u2019s a much more obvious model, though: Barkley L Hendricks, whose name barely comes up.\u00a0\u00a0Like Sherald (except half a century earlier), Hendricks photographed Black men and women whose body language, attitude or clothes caught his eye. Then he elaborated the results in oil, placing the figures against bright, blank backdrops. But where Hendricks\u2019s people possess a crackling cool, Sherald\u2019s tend to look stiff, even bored.It\u2019s the clothes that come to life, draping, undulating, and energising the static bodies they adorn. \u201cGrande Dame Queenie\u201d (2012) lifting a teacup clear of her enormous yellow bow tie; the teen in an Avengers T-shirt and yellow-striped hoodie in \u201cInnocent You, Innocent Me\u201d (2016); the lady in the leopard skin coat in \u201cAs Soft as She Is . . .\u201d (2022) \u2014 a decade\u2019s worth of characters all parade by like paper dolls in swappable outfits.Sherald had an early epiphany. Aged 11, on a school trip to the museum in her hometown of Columbus, Georgia, she saw Bo Bartlett\u2019s \u201cObject Permanence\u201d and was thunderstruck by the image of a Black dad \u2014 one of those \u201ceveryday people,\u201d I suppose \u2014 standing with his white family in front of their small brick house. The fact that a member of her race could inhabit a big canvas was more discombobulating to her than the notion that she could paint one. All these years later, that revelation has yielded a paradox: in spotlighting Black men, women, and the occasional child, she also makes them generic.Sherald\u2019s appeal as a portraitist lies not in her psychological insights, but in the graphic boldness that has landed her works on the covers of The New Yorker, Vanity Fair and Smithsonian magazine. Her celebration of Breonna Taylor, the young woman killed by police in her home in 2020, is a symphony in aqua. The most memorable aspect of her First Lady portrait is the gown, a cascade of white silk ornamented in yellow, red, pink and black geometries. As for the greyscale face, it doesn\u2019t particularly resemble Michelle Obama\u2019s, and certainly doesn\u2019t evoke her mixture of wit, reserve and incandescence.\u00a0You can watch the artist as art director in a video that records the making of \u201cFor Love, and For Country\u201d (2022), a restaging of Alfred Eisenstaedt\u2019s V-J Day photograph of a sailor kissing a woman in Times Square. Sherald ushers two models into her studio, one wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, the other a blue-and-white striped tee. She hands them each a white sailor\u2019s cap, adjusts their poses, and snaps dozens of photos, until she\u2019s found the version she wants to paint from.\u00a0The couple who found themselves joined forever on the pages of Life magazine in 1945 clutched one another with an urgency bordering on violence. Sherald\u2019s models, on the other hand, embrace tenderly, and their kiss feels artful. The self-conscious symbolism is hard to miss, but just in case it needs drumming in, a text panel obliges. The artist, it informs us, \u201creflects on the Black soldiers who returned from the war to a still-segregated society, and advocates for a more nuanced understanding of masculinity\u201d.\u00a0Sherald seems to have started feeling the limitations of her approach. Recently, she\u2019s been producing tableaux big enough to elevate vignettes into dramatic scenes. In \u201cAs American as Apple Pie\u201d (2020), a couple pose in front of a yellow wood-framed house, like a Black \u201cAmerican Gothic\u201d or a remake of \u201cObject Permanence\u201d. The pair come equipped with all the appurtenances of consumer life: white picket fence, two-toned 1970s classic car, immaculately white Converse All Stars for him, a pink Barbie T-shirt and matching high-heeled sandals for her. You could practically annotate the thing with price tags.There\u2019s a deadpan quality to this work that makes it hard to parse. Despite the suggestion of snideness in the title, it\u2019s not obviously a critique of acquisitive pleasures, or a comment on shallow values, or a parable of precarious belonging. Instead, it just looks like a picture of two Americans who have what they want because they were able to buy it. Or, to put it more accurately, it\u2019s a still-life of objects posing with their owners \u2014 a portrait of a lifestyle, rather than the people who adopt it.April 9-August 10, whitney.org<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Summarize this content to 2000 words in 6 paragraphs in Arabic Amy Sherald became famous for painting Michelle Obama, a first among First Ladies. That was also Sherald\u2019s first and so far unrepeated celebrity commission; her true and abiding topic remains, in her bland phrase, \u201ceveryday people\u201d \u2014 lots of them. Just who is an<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":266386,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[65],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-266385","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-culture"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/266385","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=266385"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/266385\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":266387,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/266385\/revisions\/266387"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/266386"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=266385"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=266385"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=266385"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}