The Ugly Kid

I wasn't a portrait artist per se, but I did one now and again upon request. I think I did them just to prove to myself that I could.When a lady, that I was slightly acquainted with, asked me to paint her eleven year old son, I accepted the commission. I had never met him but I knew Linda doted on him and thought the sun shone out of his eleven year old butt.We set up an appointment for me to meet my subject and take pictures of him from every angle. Because he was in school all day and had many extra curricular activities, it would be difficult for him to sit for me. I would be working mostly from the photos.

They arrived on time and as they walked into my living room I got a visual shock. He was the ugliest kid I had ever seen in my life."Well, here's my Chandler. Just call him Chan. All his friends do," his mother said proudly. Friends? I don't think so. Not only was he an ugly little lump of humanity, he was sullen,in fact angry looking. He did not want to be there.

He slouched and hunched his shoulders. He had a strange kind of rolling gait like a sailor. He rolled over to my couch, threw himself down and slouched and hunched even lower. He said not a word. Linda talked for both of them. She garnered an occaisonal grunt from him. I got my camera ready and studied my subject while his mom twittered on like a hyperactive sparrow. Eleven year old boys the world over are awkward and gangly, all elbows and knees and big feet that try to trip them . Somehow,it's endearing, charming and you can always see the potential beauty of the men they will become.

This fellow had no potential beauty. He had huge ears and one eye was bigger than the other. He had heavy eye brows that grew into each other. The way he hunched over and hung his head I couldn't help thinking of Charles Laughton's classic portrayal of 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'. I had to find something to work with. I started snapping head shots and talking to him to put him at ease. I asked him to sit up a little straighter. He obliged by uncurling just a bit. I got no response until I mentioned hockey, then his eyes slewed sideways at me. I chatted about a couple of the Toronto Maple Leafs players, the only ones I knew about and he started mumbling something.With a little coaxing he became more animated and I got a smile. He had perfect white teeth. Probably had cost his mother an arm and a leg. I thought, very uncharitably, that the money she was spending on the portrait would be better spent getting his ears pinned back. He had very thick, dull looking hair but it was an interesting color,a reddish blond, strawberry blond I think it's called. At that point I ended the session.

I sat looking at two dozen photographs,spread out on the coffee table in front of me,in the room I dared to call my studio.The ugly kid looked worse on film. He would not translate well to canvas. I had to get out of this commission. His mother would hate anything I produced. No matter how I handled it , he would end up looking like a troll.You had to make an attempt to make a portrait true to the person. It had to be accurate unless they specified you could use a little artistic licence. The portrait would be hideous. I felt sorry for the poor kid.

Later that evening as I was running over all the excuses I could use to get out of the commission, I had a sudden, brilliant revelation. In my case, that is a rare occurrence. His mother did not see him as ugly. To her he was beautiful, the heart of her heart. If I made the portrait true to the subject, she would see it as beautiful also. Although, she would likely be the only person in the world to see it that way. I would make a few very subtle improvements and smooth out a line here and there, without compromising the integrity of the piece. I COULD DO THIS!

I set to work the next day and really threw myself into the project. I improved his posture,slightly. I gave him a glowing , healthy complexion. I made his hair thick and glossy and made the most of it's unusual color. I made his eyes appear luminous, sparkling and intelligent. Finally I put a slight smile on that naturally sullen face. I stood back and critiqued the work. The kid was still really ugly but he had taken on an elusive quality. He seemed to be full of vitality and promise. It was the best I could do.

When Linda came to pick up the portrait , I had it set on an easel in a flattering light. I was nervous. She came into the room, stopped short and looked as if she had been gob smacked. I could not tell if she was pleased or horrified.The silence stretched into minutes. I cleared my throat in preparation for an apology or an explanation of my reasoning.

I needn't have worried. She was enchanted with the work. She thought it was a wonderful likeness and so real that she wouldn't be surprised if it spoke to her. She had tears in her eyes and she thanked me so effusively for successfully capturing Chan's soul that I was becoming embarrassed. But I also felt gratified and flushed with success. I sent her on her way, feeling I had really earned my fee.

I sat down with a cup of coffee and pondered the vagaries of mothers and their feelings for their offspring and once again, I was convinced that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.