Ada: Beyond Alex Katz’s Gaze

Ada with Mirror, 1969

Oil on linen

Alex Katz

I find art confusing. Pieces that are excessively abstract, with geometric lines and jagged angles, seem to be overly complex. Modern art that is ridiculously simple, like canvases with two splatters of red, are perplexing. When I heard about that one viral piece a few years ago where a banana duct-taped to a wall was sold for $120,000, I nearly gave up trying to appreciate this so-called “artistry” as a whole. Stumbling across Alex Katz’s works one cloudy autumn day however, brought me one step closer to understanding that the meaning beyond the composition itself is what should be acknowledged. His paintings emitted a sense of serenity and the right amount of clarity that left me craving more. The works encouraged me to muse over the true essence and message of what was sketched. “Ada with Mirror” is an example of such. 

Ada, Katz’s wife, has been painted in over 250 of his works yet she remains the most difficult subject to capture for him to this day. This particular painting illustrates a close-up view of Ada’s face centered on the right side of the painting with just a hint of her auburn turtleneck sweater. She holds up a rather large hand mirror to her face positioned in her palm, her thumb gripping the front and the rest of her fingers supporting the back of it. The mirror is circular, lined with a thick beige rim, a similar shade to the background color which is more of a milky brown. Many of the tones used in the painting are of neutral colors – they are easy on the eyes and bring warmth and comfort to the piece, like a thick blanket on a bleak, chilly day. 

Ada’s expression, however, seems to be the core identity of the artwork. Standing in front of the painting and looking straight at her, really looking, I had thought that she looked rather unhappy with herself. Her lips, painted a coral pink, are turned downwards into a slight frown. Ada’s eyes look as if they are staring at something far away, something larger and heavier than merely her reflection. The contours of her face are much harsher than the shadows of her fingers. Nonetheless, there is a romantic stroke of womanly charm in the painting as well. Tucked behind Ada’s left ear is her long, dark brown hair – it is a very distinct gesture, one that makes her look almost girlish. Her eyelashes are long and thick, her fingers slender and dainty. In the article from the New Yorker “Alex Katz’ Life in Art,” Katz admits that Ada is often “bored.” While he busies himself with painting most of the time, Ada spends her days reading and sitting by herself somewhere outdoors. But to me, this doesn’t signify boredom – she sounds withdrawn. Perhaps the emotion on her face in “Ada with Mirror” is loneliness. 

When looking into a mirror, I am often reminded of the vast distance between my inner self and the world around me. My reflection shows not only my external surface, but also the unspoken struggles and silent anxieties that only the face staring back at me in the mirror knows. The hushed moments of solitude when I gaze into a mirror embrace me for who I am, yet sometimes, I am hit with an overwhelming sense of unexplained sadness as well. The mirror becomes a metaphor for an intimate moment of introspection, where both yearning and apathy fight for dominance within my heart.

In the description of the painting, Katz compares his own piece to the various depictions of Venus. The Roman goddess of beauty and love is frequently characterized as jealous, impulsive, and even selfish. She is also often seen with a mirror as both a “celebration of feminine beauty and a critique of vanity”. In “Ada with Mirror,” on the other hand, Ada regards herself with a vacant look that holds neither judgment nor gratification, a regard unseen across Venus’ own face. But this very void of any extremity may hold a certain emotion that is difficult to pinpoint. The time passed throughout the 65 years Katz and Ada have been married is explicit in the way Katz portrays her aging. Ada’s particular appeal remains the same, yet Katz opts for moodier and muted tones as she gets older unlike the brightly saturated ones he used to surround her with many years ago. It makes me wonder if the dimming colors are a direct symbol of how everything, from sensibility to appearance, may begin to fade with age. Her depiction in this piece also hints that the vanity so often illustrated as Venus’ main trait embodies more than superficial self-admiration. 

The mirror I use everyday reflects my most vulnerable self: from the times I feel that nothing is enough, to the short-lived highs of sudden feminine confidence. It is a constant cycle of measuring myself up to the impossible standards specified by Venus herself but then coming home to internalize the societal judgments that circle me when I step outside. A woman’s personal struggle to find acceptance in a world that associates recognition and desire with beauty is one that is difficult to fully understand. Everyone’s insecurities and inadequacies are different. But as Katz’s very muse, Ada holds an intricate balance of strength and grace that sculpts her layered feelings into a unique allure. With this, she may invite all those with similar sentiments to pause and embrace the complex nuances of the female experience.