From Subject to Self: A Walk Through the National Portrait Gallery

I went to the National Portrait Gallery last week. It was my first time, and I wasn’t expecting it to stir much in me beyond the usual curiosity. But somewhere along the staircases and shadowy rooms, I found myself caught in a quiet realisation that’s stayed with me since: portraits have changed. And not just in style or technique—but in focus.

At the top of the building, you start with the Tudors. Regal. Composed. Lavishly dressed and surrounded by symbols of power—furs, books, swords, coats of arms. These portraits aren’t about personality. They’re about position. Who someone was, in the context of their lineage, their wealth, their political alliances. A kind of visual documentation, yes—but also branding. Legacy in oils.

And what struck me most was how absent the artist often felt in these early works. They were there, of course, in every brushstroke—but invisible. Their role was to serve the image. The sitter dictated the tone. The artist was simply a translator.

Descending Through Time

But as you descend through the floors—through the Georgians, the Victorians, and into the modern age—the energy starts to shift. Gradually at first. A little more expression in a face here, a less formal pose here and there. And then, almost suddenly, we’re in a completely different world.

By the time you reach the contemporary portraits, there’s no mistaking it: these works aren’t just about the sitter anymore. They’re about the artist’s response to the sitter. Or even the artist’s own inner world, reflected through the act of portrait-making.

The colours become bolder. The brushwork becomes more expressive. In some pieces, the likeness becomes loose, suggestive. In others, the subject is fragmented, stylised, even abstracted. The painter is now fully present, and their voice is no longer restrained—it’s part of the work’s identity.

And I couldn’t help but ask myself: when did that shift happen? When did portraiture stop being a tool to record a life and start becoming a tool to explore one’s own?

Where My Work Sits

It got me thinking about my own paintings. I used to draw a lot of eyes—over and over. There was something about that repetition that felt grounding, like quietly studying the world one detail at a time. Those pieces weren’t about specific people. They were more about watching, observing, searching.

Now that I’m painting figures—real faces, real people—I feel like I’ve moved into something more direct, more human. But I’m also aware that my work isn’t purely about the sitter either. I don’t paint as a documentarian. I’m not chasing realism or a perfect likeness. I’m chasing a feeling. A trace of presence. Something shared.

It’s almost like each portrait becomes a negotiation between what I see and what I feel. And somewhere in that in-between space, the painting starts to breathe on its own.

The Evolving Role of the Artist

The more I think about it, the more I feel like that shift—from subject to self—isn’t a loss, but an evolution. It's not that artists today are less respectful of their subjects. In many ways, it’s the opposite. The modern portrait recognises complexity. It allows ambiguity. It gives room for softness, for contradiction, for emotion.

There’s something deeply personal about that. And maybe even brave.

Because letting your own hand and heart show through in a portrait opens you up to being seen, too. You’re no longer just the observer—you become part of the conversation. And that can be vulnerable. But also honest. Intimate, even.

In the Tudor rooms, the artist’s job was to flatter, to impress. Today, the job might be to reveal—not just the subject, but ourselves.

Portraiture as Dialogue

What moved me most at the gallery wasn’t just this historical progression. It was the way portraiture, even now, still feels relevant. Still alive. Even as its purpose has shifted, it continues to ask something of us: to look more closely. To see beyond the surface.

Some portraits are mirrors. Others are windows. And the best ones, I think, are both.

I left the gallery with a renewed sense of what I’m trying to do. I don’t need to choose between painting others and painting myself. Maybe portraiture today is about dissolving that boundary—about using the act of painting as a kind of bridge. A way to meet someone halfway, and invite the viewer in, too.

It’s a subtle kind of connection. But it’s real. And it’s the reason I keep painting.

If you’d like to learn more about my creative process or see my latest work, feel free to reach out or check out the rest of my website.

.M.

Be real.

Make art.