There is something about self-portraits that has always drawn me in. They are more than just depictions of an artist's face; they are a reflection of how they see themselves, how they wish to be seen, or perhaps how they feel in a given moment. In many ways, self-portraits are a visual journal entry, capturing not just appearance but mood, personality, and introspection. As Vincent van Gogh once wrote, "What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?"—self-portraits, in many ways, are an artist’s courageous attempt to understand themselves.
Ramon Casas' Self-Portrait (1908) resonates with me in a way that few other self-portraits do. The lines, the beard, the pipe, the hat—these are all elements I find in my own self-portraits. Not because I am consciously emulating Casas, but because these are the features that define me when I look in the mirror. There is an undeniable familiarity in this piece, as if I am looking at an artistic ancestor, someone who, like me, saw himself best through the quiet act of sketching. The poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, "The only journey is the one within," and that is exactly what I experience through self-portraiture—a journey inward.
Casas' style is loose but intentional, capturing not only his likeness but a sense of character. The sketch-like quality of the piece makes it feel immediate, as though it were drawn in a moment of reflection rather than crafted for display. This resonates deeply with me, as I, too, prefer sketching as my primary form of visual expression. While I do not consider myself much of an artist, sketching allows me to capture something that words sometimes cannot. It is a different kind of self-reflection, one that emerges through lines and shading rather than sentences and paragraphs. As Leonardo da Vinci once said, "Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." My sketches are my poetry, each line a verse that captures something deeply personal.
I find self-portraits enlightening because they reveal something beyond what a mirror or a photograph can show. They are not just about the subject but about the act of seeing, interpreting, and presenting oneself. When I sketch a self-portrait, I am not merely recording my features—I am studying myself, trying to understand what my own hand finds important, what it chooses to emphasize or downplay. It is an exercise in self-examination, just like my journaling, but with a different set of tools. As Frida Kahlo once said, "I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best." Her words capture the intimate act of self-portraiture—an exploration of identity and solitude.
Perhaps that is why Casas' self-portrait speaks to me so strongly. It is not just a picture of a man with a pipe and a hat. It is a moment of reflection, captured and made permanent. And in it, I see not just him, but something of myself as well. His portrait reminds me that self-portraits are not simply about appearance; they are about searching for meaning in the face we present to the world, about understanding ourselves through the act of creation. They are, as John Berger wrote, "A way of seeing."