A portrait saga

Spurgeon's College hung pictures of past Principals in the main building. In my time they were positioned along an upper corridor, staring down at you.  All painted in oils, one or two really captured their subjects' expression, all dressed in academic robes often set against an impressive background of packed book-shelves.  When the time came for me to leave, the last thing I thought about was my portrait. Actually nobody thought about it. There was no budget nor encouraging discussion. 

It is a strange thing to think about. Pause to ponder how you would like to be portrayed in oils.  Oddly egoistic isn't it? I guess it tests your level of narcissism.  Of course I have some ego but my commitment to push the issue was low.  Crossing the Atlantic to begin a new teaching job near Chicago, meant energy for pursuing this portrait was pushed off the back-burner, stuck firmly behind the stove. But then my successor resurrected the issue and suggested that the era of oils was over. Why not have a photograph instead?  He said he would have his taken as he began his tenure, capturing more youthful looks!  Being Principal can certainly age you.

To play my part in the US I asked a photographer friend to take my portrait. Kindly he agreed and in his studio he snapped me in academic robe against a plain background.  The smallish photo he presented me seemed to do the trick. A year or two later I saw the outcome hanging at Spurgeon's.  Enlarged to fill a frame, approximately sized to accompany earlier oil portraits, it showed a bland standing figure not unlike a full-size passport photo or bus pass.  Too late to think of insisting on a more distinctive head and shoulders portrait in an impressive setting. Too late. 

Why bring this subject up?  Well, in the tragic closure of Spurgeon's College, every item was put in a catalogue for an auction, including the portraits.  I was given the address to send a closed bid for mine! Can you guess my response?  Yes, inaction. The auction came and went and my portrait along with other unsold items was pushed into a side room ready for the skip. And there the story would have finished, except that one of my later successors returned to collect his portrait from this junk room and saw my picture languishing. He asked whether he could take that one too and permission was easily given. Then he emailed me and said could be bring it when he was driving past my house.  Would you believe it? Door-to-door service of something I assumed was dead and buried. He came last week. I really enjoyed seeing him again and having my bland picture reminding me of its saga.

I've attached this poor photograph - strangely, being on its own it doesn't seem such a disappointment and I do look young and I'm smiling!