Opinion
In defence of Gina Rinehart, I hate my portrait too
Antoinette Lattouf
Broadcaster, columnist and authorThis is an uncomfortable and unexpected admission: Gina Rinehart and I share a few things. We’re both embroiled in very public legal battles (even sharing a barrister) and we’re both trying to figure out what to do about portraits of us that make us look fugly.
Amid Rinehart’s #portraitgate furore, I found myself strangely empathising with the mining magnate and drawing on her experience for guidance to manage my own conundrum.
Antoinette Lattouf and Gina Rinehart.Credit: Marija Ercegovac
Sadly, I’m no billionaire heiress, but I did have the good fortune of an award-winning artist painting my portrait as his entry for this year’s Archibald Prize. That fortunate feeling quickly dissipated when I saw the finished product – and myself – looking back at me. Surely that forlorn witch-like woman isn’t me? I said “make sure I look cute”, not “sorceress brute”!
Artist Dean Brown uses harsh contrasting tones and very angular strokes in the black-and-white portrait. I’m seated on the floor in a state Gen Z would describe as having a menty b. Brown describes his style as “a little dark”, saying he was “trying to convey a certain pain, frailty and vulnerability” that he observed in me.
That’s great. Very arty. But all I can see is a witch embroiled in an exorcism. What demon-evicting vibes unknowingly emanated from me on the day I sat for the portrait?
Portrait of Antoinette Lattouf by Dean Brown.
“I hope you don’t hate it,” Brown messaged me ahead of the unveiling. I imagine all portrait painters feel the same way when showing their subject the finished product. I resisted the urge to suggest he add Instagram’s “Paris” filter to soften the lines on my face. I pretended to be OK being portrayed as unflatteringly sad and feeble.
The vanity in portraiture lies in the conceit of being selected in the first place, swiftly followed by dismay at the outcome. In some ways, it’s the fine art of narcissism. At first, I chuckled at the double-chinned depiction of Rinehart in the caricature-style portrait. But then I recognised the self-consciousness and difficulty women in the public eye have, women whose appearances are picked apart at the same unforgiving rate as their words and actions.
Being the subject of a portrait is not easy, particularly when it’s a confronting portrayal. History is riddled with examples of prominent people having beefs with their paintings and those holding the paintbrush. In the 19th century, Claude Monet painted his brother Leon, who hated the canvas so much he locked it in an attic, only for it to re-emerge some 150 years later. Winston Churchill thought a portrait of him looked so much like trash that he burned it and threw it in the trash. American novelist Gertrude Stein complained to Pablo Picasso about her portrait: “I do not look like that” she insisted. “You will,” was Picasso’s response, suggesting that portrait painters are also skilled in the art of fortune-telling.
In addition to seeing what subjects can’t see in themselves, art can serve as a window to the future. And therein lies the brilliance of Vincent Namatjira’s portrayal of Rinehart. The country’s richest woman appears goggle-eyed and sour-faced, a temperament that would soon be deployed after using her power and influence in an unsuccessful attempt to remove the portrait from public display. Paradoxically, (an artistic term if ever there was one) Rinehart’s expression reeks of “I would like to speak with the manager of the NGA now!”
What began as an affinity with Rinehart’s struggle started to shift. Resigned to the fact that I’m no sugar mamma funding a sporting code, what other options do I have? I did momentarily consider Churchill’s fury and fire approach and wondered if firebombing the art studio where my portrait currently resides could be a way out, only for my ego to strike again with the realisation that it would likely lead to another unflattering look on me (a prison jumpsuit).
Begrudgingly, I parked my feelings and vanity and thought of the artist. The act of creating a portrait is an emotional one. It goes far beyond capturing a mere likeness; it delves deep, exposing the subject’s character as well as the artist’s. Dean Brown was showing as much of himself as he was of me. The journey of creation must be a maze of critique, fears and doubts.
“My self-criticism is no match for your craft,” I reassured him. “I’m grateful for the energy and creativity you invested in me.”
As I analyse Rinehart’s portrait and mine, I’d like to pretend the whole saga taught me something profound about myself, but it didn’t. Instead, I’m comforted by the words of a very different kind of artist – rapper Jay-Z – who said: “I got 99 problems, but a [double chin] ain’t one”.
Antoinette Lattouf is a broadcaster, columnist and author. She is co-host of The Antoinettes podcast and co-founder of Media Diversity Australia.