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Neslihan Cattoediciones godot

Neslihan Catto

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For Neslihan Catto, Shakespeare’s line

that “all the world’s a stage” might be

the words she lives by. Ever since she

was a child in Turkey, she has covertly

watched people. Overt staring would

have been inappropriate for a properly

brought up girl in Turkish society. But

she desperately wanted to unravel the

stories that lie behind the facial masks,

to understand what roles these actors

were playing. And after immigrating

to New York City as a teenager, she

pursued this preoccupation on paper.

Her passion became making charcoal

portraits; her subjects almost

exclusively strangers. Family and

friends get short shrift from her talent

because she fears she could manipulate

the drawings to satisfy her penchant

for telling stories. She wants fresh

eyes to reveal the person’s unique

PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST AS A STORYTELLERBy Diane Cochrane

qualities, not preconceived ideas. Still,

staring at strangers wasn’t any more

acceptable in America than in Turkey.

And working from photographs didn’t

provide an answer either; “there isn’t

enough spontaneity for me.” Searching

for an endless supply of models, she

discovered the perfect solution at The

Art Students League, one of New York’s

most respected art schools with an

alumni list that is a veritable Who’s Who

in American Art..

As a young woman, Catto studied at

CUNY and at the League, married and

had two children. Then about twenty

years ago she returned to the art school

just so she could paint and use its

models. The result is a series of maybe

100 extraordinary charcoal drawings,

some of which are now in corporate

and private collections. Others have

been exhibited at universities and

cultural centers in New Jersey and

galleries in New York City.

Catto’s portraits look beyond

appearance; they are interpretive

rather than descriptive. She strives

for psychological expression—either

her subject’s or her own or perhaps

both. The drawings sometimes

concentrate on unpleasant aspects of

the human predicament—fear, anger,

tension—emotions the viewer can

identify with even though recognition

can be appalling. Imagine this writer’s

shock when she first encountered Self-

Portrait, drawn during a particularly

unhappy time of Catto’s life, and saw

the disturbing vision of her own face

reacting to depression.

The characteristic intensity of Catto’s

portraits is heightened by an uneasy

frontality.

Artists from sculptors of the anguished

last days of the Roman Empire down

to expressionistic painters, such as

Egon Schiele and Alice Neel, of our

own angst-ridden era have employed

this device to reveal the man behind

the mask. The frontal stare of Catto’s

models forces total consideration of

every detail and its place within the

composition. Brows are furrowed;

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eyes deeply set; mouths pinched. But

it is the face as a whole with its terrible

tensions that set the viewer on edge.

There are few cast shadows so the

subject seems pinned like a specimen

under an unblinking light.

At the beginning of the session, Catto

walks around the model. “After all, a

person is three-dimensional—I can’t

look at the model from just one angle.

I might see a feature from the side that

will make all the difference. “The way

they blink their eyes, a smirk, a sloping

cheek--something that I will probably

exaggerate later.”

Capturing innate and often awkward

but distinctive gestures found in the

slight contortion of a mouth, or a

curious shy smile gives Catto a sense

of who they are. They unconsciously

assume their most characteristic poses

which proclaim their character and

social standing—what the world has

done to them and their reaction to it.

“As I look I get down a story about

them—I might connect them with

someone else I know with the same

facial characteristics, for example or,

depending on my mood at the time,

my impression might reflect how I feel

about them.” This first impression is

essential to Catto and she sticks with

it. “It’s not a complex analysis—just my

natural instincts kicking in.”

Next comes the process, and for Catto

the process is everything. She sits

flat on the floor in front of the model.

“This gives me a view from the neck

upward.” The musculature in the

upper body and neck can be a dead

give away in determining whether the

model is comfortable, in a bad mood or

whatever. In fact, she is more likely to

focus on these muscles at the beginning

than on the eyes or nose. John for

example, seemed an aggressive and

flamboyant gay dressed in leather hot

pants. His taut neck muscles, however,

told a different story. “He’s rigid like he

just swallowed a tack.”

Most striking about the process is the

urgency with which she approaches

the job of communicating her ideas

of the individual. “I work very fast.

I can’t draw slowly—I would lose

concentration. This way I get lost in

the drawing—I don’t feel my hand—it

is simply an extension of my eye.”

Launched headlong into a frenzy of

drawing, she uses an economy of line

to initially map the face. A powerfully

drawn curve from ear to jaw-line might

jump-start the portrait. Or it might be

the arc of an egg-shaped bald head,

as illustrated in Bruce, that loads the

enormous burden of the dome onto a

prominent forehead. As she continues,

her drawing is remarkable for the

efficiency with which it composes and

describes while making every feature

an element of expression.

To accelerate the process, Catto doesn’t

want to think about materials. So she

uses only the most basic: acid free, 50%

rag, no-frills drawing paper and Ocaldo

black and white charcoals. “These

are really like black and white pastels.

They’re not forgiving or erasable—I

use white as my eraser.” It covers the

myriad fingerprints she leaves on the

paper, as well as large mistakes. When

Catto began Robert, she originally

drew him with the full head of hair he

possessed. Then, the image of Robert

as a tyrant took over the creative

process. “You can still see where I put

a block of white to flatten the hair. This

was almost more work than the whole

drawing.” To complete the impression,

she added small strokes of black

charcoal to his forehead to resemble

the curls of a Roman dictator.

White also creates highlights, although

she uses it sparingly. “White gives

feather-like touches to masses of hair,”

like those seen in Daphne. Down-

turned mouths and drooping lips are

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reinforced by rubbing white charcoal

on the white paper.

Charcoal has a negative aspect,

however. “It is so dusty—its’ hard

to keep the paper clean.” After she

completes a drawing, Catto shakes

off the excess powder and sprays the

paper. Then she goes a step further

when the drawings are framed. The

portraits are double-matted with a 1/8”

space between the two mats, allowing

the dust to fall to the bottom instead

onto the outer mat.

On one occasion, the dust produced a

surprising side effect. As Catto settled

into her usual routine of sitting in front

of the model, Daphne immediately

began to complain that she was

getting dusty and demanded that the

artist stop. Her outburst was all Catto

needed to decide on Daphne’s outlook

on life. Anger and distrust worked their

way into a mask of hostility.

Interpreting a model’s personality

doesn’t always come easy. “It’s either

there for me or it’s not. If I start

to struggle, it doesn’t work.” But it

usually does. Her uncanny ability to

see through the cracks in outward

appearance is what makes her work so

compelling. Take Bruce, for example.

Catto immediately sensed that the

man did not want to model, especially

exposed in the nude--that he was

doing it for the money. To compensate,

he tried to exaggerate his manliness.

The macho look expressed itself in

the confrontational stare and the

nipple rings that shouted his ability to

withstand pain. Walking around him,

Catto was struck by the tightness in his

neck and the line beneath the ear, one

of the most sensitive and vulnerable

parts of the head. She twisted his neck

slightly to the left and squashed the

ear, transforming a man affecting a

calculated attitude of nonchalance to a

slightly bewildered one trying to put on

a good front.

Leslie tells a different story. Catto

imagined her as a white-collar criminal

just released from prison. Her nicely

styled hair and carefully plucked

eyebrows suggest respectability as do

the pearl earrings and necklace. But

the tense set of the mouth, the bitter

bulges under the lip and the coarse

and thickened neck reveal a darker

side, while the eyes, not able to meet

the viewer’s glance, reflect fear and

hopelessness.

Mercedes represents the other end of

the psychological spectrum. Dressed in

a beautiful caftan with a colorful head

wrap and fine gold jewelry, Catto found

her strong and proud, a woman at ease

with herself. “She also had a motherly

quality, but you wouldn’t want to fool

around with her.” To emphasize her

regal bearing, Catto tilted her head back

and turned her eyes upward, as though

calmly watching the world and all its

follies.

Catto sometimes wonders if her

interpretations are on target. “I hope

I’m not making them up altogether. I

believe it really is them.” Her fears are

unjustified, according to one of the

instructors, Peter Homitzky, who does

know the models. “Catto nails them,”

he said without hesitation.

In the past, Catto has used other

mediums and subjects. Large colorful

oil still lives hang on the walls of her

loft in Jersey City. Nowadays she still

considers painting, particularly people.

“But a whole figure would distract

me. I would lose concentration. I

also don’t want to think about color

and composition. I have found my

medium.” And when her work satisfies

her, she says, “I bring someone home

with me.”

It’s either there for me or it’s not. If I start to

struggle, it doesn’t work.

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