Do you want to know a secret? Norman Rockwell battled depression his whole life. According to his longtime shrink Erik Erikson, the iconic American painter most famous for his folksylicious portraits of the happy American family- painted his idea of happiness, but did not live it.
Freedom from Want, Norman Rockwell, 1943
From 1916 through the 60’s, Rockwell cranked out 323 cheer-worthy covers for the popular Saturday Evening Post. Much of his fabled brand of domestic bliss set the bar insanely high for our flailing families, and I’ll wager it helped to feed the beast of social pretense, Hollywood escapism and closeted misery that is all-the-rage in home decor today. The need to keep up with the Rockwells chews at the soul of a family. Failure to keep up is admitting inferiority, defeat. Revealing who we really are is scary.
I can see you
In the suburban 1970’s, at faithful department stores across America, Family Portraiture and its platitude of posing trumped Rockwell art as the photographic equivalent of manufactured happiness. Fake wood, grinding smiles and air-brushed teeth.
Flash-forward to the summer of 2012, when I nabbed an original Family Portrait, circa 1976, at a small-town American garage-sale. It captured the classic snow-white clan in all its patented glory, with shimmering blond hair, sky-blue eyes and button noses that dazzled my hairy, schnozzled ethnicity and made me feel a strange longing for something that wasn’t me.
I had big plans to doodle over the mock background; to offer a gilded, wall-papered home for a flawless family and present it to dear, white friends as a wedding gift. What happened is another story.
Family for-sale by Brenda Keesal
Check out the Family on Rebelle Society right here.
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20 Responses to Family For-Sale
Dear Brenda –
Thank you for this. I think it is important for people to be reminded that the Norman Rockwell images of this world as well as the ones we post daily on Facebook are the glossy side of life. I like what you did with the photo. Looks like it was cathartic. I suggest you read “Confessions Of A Pretty Lady” by Sandra Berhard. Judging by your blog, you’d like it very much.
The song I am about to record also explores this seldom talked about slice of life: image vs. reality in relationships. It will be quite revealing of what happens inside relationships that are glossy on the outside and dead on the inside. I cannot wait to unleash it on the world. It will make many people with Norman Rockwellesque relationships squirm. Not a feelgood song to be sure, but boy-oh-boy will it ever be gorgeous. I will be drowning in strings!
Art is meant to challenge!Keep it up!
Suzanne
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Thanks, Suzanne. I love a good challenge. Looking forward to hearing your song.
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I had no idea about Rockwell’s depression. It helps explain the extreme sweetness of his work, which I still love because it’s so Americana.
And holy shit, did you do that gold paint on that portrait? That’s wild. I love it.
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Thanks, Ani. I doodled over the portrait with a gold pen from the dollar store.
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“…he painted his happiness, but did not live it.”
Poor Norman. But great post.
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You made me see Rockwell in such a different light, Brenda. Sad, poignant, meaningful and golden. Thank you sweet girl. xoxoxoxoxo
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Rockwell made it look easy, but sure didn’t have it easy. Neither did his family. This is a cautionary tale.
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I love this. There is no such thing as the All American Family. I don’t think there ever was. I’m not surprised that Norman Rockwell suffered from depression. I would find it strange that an artist didn’t. It makes for better art. Better writing. Maybe not better, but certainly more interesting.
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Thanks, Renee! I wasn’t surprised that Rockwell was depressed either. The resolute cheeriness of his work speaks volumes. I would love to have seen him paint what was really going on.
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Wouldn’t that have been something? I wonder if he did and his family never released it. Can you imagine what was going on inside of his brain? How it would have translated to his brush?
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Indeed. And would it have been helpful to his psyche? The sensitivity that comes with artistry is an art in itself to manage. I’d like to think that if Rockwell felt free to reveal his reality more, it would have been healing and could have taken his talents to greater heights.
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That’s actually really tragic, that Rockwell only painted his happiness. A cautionary lesson for everyone, isn’t it. He captured the essence of the home life people wish they had, rather than the ones everyone had. But it’s sad that it became an unattainable ideal, the epitome of wholesome family values, blah blah blah. Love what you did with the family portrait!
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So good to see you here, Mme Weebles! I’m a fan.
Tragic is the Rockwell word. I wonder about his kids, let alone his three partners. His third wife, I believe, was institutionalized not far from their picture-perfect home. Makes me grateful for the ranting, railing blogosphere. Keep up the great work!
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Aw, thank you so much, that’s very kind of you.
I love hearing the behind-the-scenes stories of famous artists, writers, musicians, etc. They’re usually unhappy, but always interesting. So sorry I haven’t visited you sooner, I will be visiting you regularly from now on!
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I’ll be here with pleasure and a glass of wine or a pot of virtual tea.
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I have alway enjoyed your doodle style – intense (as you are with most things). That picture is great!
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Sorry that was me – how.
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Not sure how totally weird it is when people stumble across older posts, but here I am… stumbling. As a painter (with a wicked Neel meets Balthus meets Clemente portrait of our kids painted by a friend, hanging in my living room), I loved this post. The only artwork we had in my non-Norman Rockwell house growing up were reprints by Norman Rockwell and Labrador Retriever prints from L.L. Bean. There’s an irony there, and if we’re being generous, something beautiful about hope, but also, something sadly in denial. This piece here, both the writing and painting, totally hit it.
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Thanks, Gen, for stumbling on to my blog and your generous words. It’s a pleasure. Would love to see that portrait of your kids.
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Reblogged this on The Fabric.
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