I feel I'm anonymous in my work. When I look at the pictures, I
I feel I'm anonymous in my work. When I look at the pictures, I never see myself; they aren't self-portraits. Sometimes I disappear.
In the realm of creation, the artist often walks a path between revelation and concealment. Cindy Sherman speaks to this delicate tension when she declares, “I feel I’m anonymous in my work. When I look at the pictures, I never see myself; they aren’t self-portraits. Sometimes I disappear.” These words reveal a profound meditation on identity, showing that the act of creation can both express and erase the self. To make art is to inhabit many faces, many roles, yet sometimes to leave the true self hidden in shadow.
To be anonymous in one’s work is to surrender the ego, allowing the creation to stand independent of the creator. Sherman’s insight reminds us that the power of art lies not in the artist’s signature alone, but in its ability to evoke, to question, and to reflect the human condition. In disappearing, she grants the work a life of its own, free from personal attachment or the confines of autobiography.
The rejection of the self-portrait is a declaration of humility and exploration. By refusing to impose her own identity upon the images, Sherman transforms each picture into a mirror for the viewer, inviting them to see beyond the individual and into the collective truths of society, emotion, and character. In this way, the disappearance of the artist is not loss, but liberation, allowing the work to speak in voices that are many rather than one.
The origin of this wisdom can be traced to the sages and mystics of antiquity, who understood that the self is both a vessel and a veil. The true seeker often dissolves into the pursuit, whether in meditation, craft, or contemplation, so that the essence of the endeavor may shine without obstruction. Sherman’s reflections are a modern echo of this ancient principle: creation is greater than the creator, and identity may be both present and absent in its most profound expressions.
Thus, let this teaching endure: to disappear in one’s work is not surrender but a form of transcendence. True artistry is a dialogue between the seen and unseen, the known and the hidden. By embracing anonymity, the soul allows its creations to breathe freely, becoming vessels for reflection, understanding, and the eternal mysteries of life that no single self can contain alone.
HTnguyen thi huong thao
This idea of disappearing in her own work makes me think about the tension between identity and creation. Is it possible for someone to be fully present in their work, or does every piece of art require a kind of self-erasure to allow the work to live on its own? Do we lose part of ourselves every time we create, or do we find something new?
PHPhung Hoa
I wonder if Cindy Sherman’s statement is a comment on how the artist and the art can become two separate entities. In today’s world, where self-promotion is almost mandatory, how does an artist maintain their identity while creating works that might not reflect their own personal narrative? Does this anonymous nature give them more freedom, or does it cause a sense of loss?
HHackers
I find it intriguing that Sherman feels detached from her art. Could this sense of disappearance actually be a form of liberation for her? By not seeing herself in the work, does she free herself from the expectations of self-representation? I wonder if the process of detaching from her image helps her to transcend personal boundaries and create more universally relatable art.
NVngoc van
Sherman’s reflection makes me wonder if we all, in some way, disappear in our work. When we create something, do we lose parts of our identity in the process? It seems like a poignant reminder that sometimes, being 'anonymous' in our own creations can lead to new perspectives. How much of our true selves are left behind when we become absorbed in what we do?
NCNam Co
It's fascinating how Cindy Sherman speaks to the concept of anonymity in her work. Do you think artists deliberately lose themselves in their creations, or is it a natural byproduct of their craft? Could this sense of disappearance be a reflection of a deeper internal journey or simply the nature of creating for an audience rather than oneself?