In the Soho loft where she has lived and worked for more than five decades, Joan Semmel remains an arresting presence. At 93, the painter’s work continues to grapple with the complexities of the body and the mechanics of the gaze. Near the entrance of her Spring Street studio hangs *Mirrored Screen* (2005), an oil self-portrait that captures a specific, technological moment: the explosive white flash of a point-and-shoot camera reflecting in a mirror.
The piece belongs to a series Semmel began two decades ago in the locker rooms of a Bleecker Street fitness center. Intrigued by the burgeoning narcissism of popular culture, she sought to document fellow artists and dancers in their most unvarnished states. To avoid the stiffness of a posed portrait, Semmel positioned herself behind her subjects, aiming her lens at their reflections. The resulting images, captured on film, often included Semmel herself—naked and holding the camera—an accidental but prescient inclusion that anticipated the self-reflexive visual language of the 21st century.
This intersection of the physical and the mechanical has long defined Semmel’s career. By placing herself within the frame, she transformed the act of observation into one of participation. Today, standing before her older works, the silver-haired artist offers a living dialogue with her younger self. Her practice remains a testament to the endurance of the figurative tradition, even as the tools we use to see ourselves continue to evolve.
With reporting from Hyperallergic.
Source · Hyperallergic
