Today’s work depicts a man who did not take life in moderation, but in excess: Ernest Hemingway. Writer, drinker, adventurer—a myth long greater than his books.
Behind him flicker the symbols of America:
– Marilyn Monroe – body and promise.
– Benjamin Franklin – the dollar bill, the father of pragmatism.
– Scrooge McDuck – the children’s toy of capitalism.
And above it all looms the slogan: “IN GOODS WE TRUST.”
It is a counter-image to the American credo “In God we trust.” Not God, but goods; not eternity, but consumption; not faith, but commodities.
Hemingway, shouting, stands in the midst of it, with bottle and raised hand. A saint of intoxication, who senses that trust in goods does not bring happiness—yet who was himself part of this game.
You, esteemed Vigée, painted the faces of power and beauty. But here we see instead the face of an entire culture: intoxicated, overloaded, contradictory. And perhaps, in that, more honest than it ever wished to admit.