Jan Mikulka wins prize for self-portraiture

New £20,000 SELF prize coincides with Society of Portrait Painters' annual exhibition.

The Royal Society of Portrait Painters has launched SELF, a new £20,000 prize promoting the practice of self-portraiture. The winning work, announced at noon today, was a bleak, photorealistic piece by Jan Mikulka, a contemporary painter living and working in Prague.

Charlotte Mullins, editor of Art Quarterly and a judge on the prize, says:

This self-portrait draws you to it through its technical proficiency and expressive power. You feel you are standing in front of the artist, watching him concentrate on his likeness - his eyes hooded yet determined, his lips pressed together through concentration.

Founded in 1891, the Society devotes itself exclusively to the art and study of portrait painting: housing a permanent collection, staging an annual exhibition and offering bursary funds to new talent. The SELF grant of £20,000 is awarded with the aim of supporting an emerging artist. Mikulka previously won the Visitor’s Choice Award in the BP Portrait Award in 2011 for this similarly piercing image of his longtime friend, Jakob. 

The prize coincides with today’s opening of the Society’s annual show at the Mall Galleries in London.

Over 200 portraits by 100 artists will be hung, with a number of notable likenesses including Guy Kindler’s painting of writer Ian Rankin, Sam Dalby’s picturing of playwright Alan Bennett and Natalie Holland’s portrait of a reclining Oscar Pistorius. A special ‘self-portrait’ section will be devoted to promoting the art form as vanguard in pushing the boundaries of self-representation.

Self-portraiture, the exhibition notes, draws from a different set of aesthetic queues, loosed from the constraints of commissioned imagery (this constraint often being the need to flatter) and can be considered freer to explore character and authenticity. To a degree this appears true, though self-portraiture, like portraiture, has always been as much a barometer for the dominate aesthetics of a period as a way to freely explore “character”, “form” or “beauty”, stoke by stroke. The best practitioners – I think readily of van Gogh, Gustav Courbet and Frida Kahlo but there are, of course, many more – were veraciously brilliant in their use of self-portrait as a playground for articulating identity, but also equally intriguing in their capacity to grasp, mirror and manipulate the visual language of their time.

Painted portraiture is still a powerful tool for the exertion of personality and, in a photographic age, its popularity is a testament to the enduring appeal of the medium's style, subjectivity and technical fineness.

The Royal Society of Portrait Painters Annual Exhibition runs from 9– 24 May at The Mall Galleries, The Mall, Trafalgar Square, London

(Self-Portrait by Jan Mikulka)


(Alan Bennett, by Sam Dalby)


(Just Oscar by Natalie Holland. Image: Marte Lundby Rekaa) 


(Festus Mogae, by David Cobley RP NEAC)


(Dieu et Mon Droit, by David Cobley RP)

[All images courtesy of Mall Galleries] 

A detail from the winning work by Jan Mikulka. (Courtesy of Mall Galleries)

Charlotte Simmonds is a writer and blogger living in London. She was formerly an editorial assistant at the New Statesman. You can follow her on Twitter @thesmallgalleon.

Show Hide image

Poldark is the latest show to throw in a lazy, irresponsible rape scene

It’s particularly dangerous to present a scene like this as consensual, as the writers insist it is.

So Poldark has become the latest show to throw in a lazy, irresponsible rape scene to spice things up. We’ve sat through them in outrage-courting Game of Thrones, in cosy Sunday night drama Downton Abbey, and even at the opera. Now, they’ve come to BBC period adaptations, too.

This is how the scene plays out (a detailed description of the events leading up to the rape follow):

Poldark (Aidan Tuner) turns up at his friend Elizabeth’s bedroom door in the middle of the night, in a rage. She suggests he come back tomorrow morning. He refuses. She suggests they relocate downstairs. He refuses. She suggests he should not be in her bedroom. He refuses to leave, and shuts the door behind him.

They argue about Elizabeth’s plan to marry an enemy of Poldark’s, a decision that disgusts him. She asks him to leave, again. “I’m sorry you feel like this, but I cannot help it,” she tells him. “Oh, you’ve never been able to help anything, have you?” he says, mockingly, adding, “well, perhaps you can’t help this either,” kissing her forcefully before she pushes him off her.

Poldark threatens her, approaching her again as he insists, “I oppose this marriage, Elizabeth. I’d be glad of your assurance that you will not go through with it.” She says again that she will be married. Poldark kisses her again against her will. She tells him she hates him. “You would not dare,” she pleads, looking at the bed. “I would, and so would you,” he says. He pushes her onto the bed. You can guess the rest.

Of course, this is a rape scene. Some say it isn’t – because Elizabeth shows signs of enjoying the sex, and she’s nice to Poldark the next morning, because she has (or has had) feelings for him. None of these things are relevant. Poldark verbally pressured and physically forced a woman who was refusing to have sex with him. That’s rape.

It’s particularly dangerous to present a scene like this as consensual, as the writers and cast insist it is. Andrew Graham, the son of Poldark novelist Winston Graham, who was a consultant on the BBC's current screen adaptation, said:

“There is no ‘shock rape’ storyline. The only way to judge what my father intended is to read the novels as a whole. Doing so it becomes clear, from earlier scenes as well as from Elizabeth's immediate reactions and later mixed emotions, that what finally happened was consensual sex born of long-term love and longing. It was, as Aidan Turner has put it, ‘unfinished business emotionally’.”

His opinion was supported by Poldark screenwriter Debbie Horsfield as well as Turner – who said the scene “seems consensual”.

This is not how consent works. Consent is not something you can assume based on “earlier scenes”. And it’s certainly not something you can retrospectively achieve based on the “immediate reactions” or “later mixed emotions” of someone you forced to have sex with you. That’s just you attempting to justify the fact that you raped someone.

The idea that Poldark knows Elizabeth so well that he knows what she truly wants (sex with me, the man of her dreams, duh!!) might seem romantic. But no love is so great that it imbues the lover with the ability to read minds. Implying that Poldark knew best peddles the dangerous myth that when women say no, they mean yes. Beliefs like this create rapists. The only way to know what someone wants is to ask them, and to listen to what they say. Elizabeth said no.

Adapting period material can be tricky – not least in its presentation of women, gender dynamics, and sex. The Poldark books are from the Fourties, and set in the eighteenth century. It’s a miserable state of affairs when the understanding of consent presented on primetime television, in 2016, is as dated.

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.