abstract impressionist nudes

Eyes Are the Windows into Her/Your Soul

by Ash03

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Take a moment — just a moment — and really look at these four images. Each one stares out of the canvas, directly at you. Look at the eyes. What are they saying? What do they convey? What do they stir in you?

Portrait of partially dressed subject with averted eyes, body canted, street clothes, subtle jewelry, traditional bust cropping, oil-painted realism with jagged stone textures, cool grey palette warmed by natural flesh tones
Portrait of nude subject making eye contact, face and body square to the canvas, tight cropping, painted in warm flesh tones set against cool grey fractured stone, naturalistic and raw
Portrait of nude subject making eye contact, face and body angled way from the canvas, body square, very tight cropping, painted in warm flesh tones set against cool grey fractured stone, naturalistic and raw
Portrait of nude subject making eye contact, face and body square to the canvas, tight cropping, oil-painted realism with jagged stone textures, cool grey palette warmed by natural flesh tones
Portrait of partially dressed subject with averted eyes, body canted, street clothes, subtle jewelry, traditional bust cropping, oil-painted realism with jagged stone textures, cool grey palette warmed by natural flesh tones

Here's what I see: friendly, sympathetic eyes, wide open both literally and figuratively. They're eager to understand you. So make up a story. Who is she? Give her a name, give her a history.

This is mine. I picture an old friend — let's call her Mara. She's had her share of good times, but right now things are hard. She's sitting in patient silence, taking it all in, ready to listen.

Okay — your turn. Who is this woman? What is this moment? What is she to you?

And here is the point. The most powerful abstract impressionist art strips away the verisimilitude of a photograph or a film. The familiar anchors are gone. If a piece has power for you, it is only because you have given it a meaning that resonates.

Portrait of nude subject making eye contact, face and body square to the canvas, tight cropping, painted in warm flesh tones set against cool grey fractured stone, naturalistic and raw

These eyes are from another world entirely. Sad eyes. Weary eyes. They don't ask you about yourself; they retreat inward, into her.

This is my story. I picture her as Nick, never Nicky — trying, for the past year, to make a fresh start in a new city. But so much of today just reminds her of the same old yesterdays.

Okay — your turn. Who is this woman? What is this moment? What is she to you?

Portrait of nude subject making eye contact, face and body angled way from the canvas, body square, very tight cropping, painted in warm flesh tones set against cool grey fractured stone, naturalistic and raw

These eyes are sensuous, even arrogant. Not open to you, not needing you — these are judging eyes.

My story: I picture her as Roxy. Right now she's with her crowd, and they're talking the usual nothing. Roxy is bored with all of it — but not quite bored enough to break the mold. She knows tomorrow will be much like today.

Okay — your turn. Who is this woman? What is this moment? What is she to you?

Portrait of nude subject making eye contact, face and body square to the canvas, tight cropping, oil-painted realism with jagged stone textures, cool grey palette warmed by natural flesh tones

This last one is the most unsettling image here, by far. These aren't confrontational eyes. They're unwavering. They don't offer comfort, ask for help, or pass judgment. They are simply, completely indifferent to us, the viewers.

I have no story for this woman. "Inscrutable" isn't much of a name, and it's the best I could manage. Maybe you can do better.

If it's any comfort, better critics than either of us have failed the same test. Manet's Olympia has been meeting viewers' eyes since 1865, and a century and a half of argument hasn't settled what her stare means — defiance, boredom, business, or nothing at all. The scandal of that painting was never the nudity; Paris had seen plenty of nudes. It was the eyes that wouldn't explain themselves. Indifference, it turns out, is the one gaze the viewer can't finish — and the one we can't stop trying to.

As you wander through the many, many images on this site, the next time one stops you cold, I invite you to ask: why this one? Dollars to donuts, it's because you couldn't help but build a story for her.

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