When I draw my caricature self-portrait, I always do a huge

The words of Rolf Harris, spoken with an air of simplicity yet steeped in deeper meaning, declare: “When I draw my caricature self-portrait, I always do a huge smile.” Though they describe the act of sketching an exaggerated image, they touch upon something older than art itself—the way human beings choose to represent their essence, and the power of a smile to shape how we are remembered by others and by ourselves.

To draw a caricature is not to reproduce reality faithfully, but to magnify a truth about the self, often through humor or exaggeration. By choosing to render himself with a great, radiant smile, Harris points to the symbolic importance of joy. It is not the features of the nose or the sharpness of the chin that endure in memory, but the impression of warmth and light. In this sense, the act of drawing oneself smiling is more than art—it is affirmation, a deliberate shaping of how one wishes the world to see their spirit.

Throughout history, leaders and thinkers have understood the power of expression in self-representation. Consider the busts of Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor and philosopher. His sculptors did not always portray him in the grim sternness of command, but often with a calm, reflective gentleness in the eyes and mouth, so that future generations might see not only a ruler but a sage. Likewise, when Harris chose to draw his smiling caricature, he was creating not a likeness of bone and flesh, but a lasting symbol of joy and approachability.

The smile itself is one of humanity’s oldest emblems of strength and kindness. A smile can disarm anger, soften fear, and create bonds where words cannot. Even when exaggerated in caricature, it communicates warmth, openness, and vitality. The ancients often told tales of kings and warriors whose laughter in the face of battle inspired their followers more than any speech. To “always do a huge smile” is to embrace this legacy—to let one’s defining mark be joy rather than sorrow, generosity rather than bitterness.

Yet the quote also contains a reminder about intention. The self-portrait—whether drawn in ink or lived through action—is something each person creates daily. We are, each of us, artists of our own image, and the choice of whether to present bitterness, anger, or joy lies with us. To choose to smile, even when circumstances tempt otherwise, is to claim agency over how one’s life is remembered. This is not deceit, but defiance—the will to let light be the legacy rather than shadow.

The lesson, then, is clear: create your own self-portrait with care. In your interactions, in your deeds, and in your words, let the smile be present. Do not leave behind an image of despair, but one of courage, humor, and warmth. Even in moments when joy is scarce, to choose a smile is to give hope both to yourself and to those around you.

Therefore, let us act with wisdom. When life presses heavily, when your own portrait seems dark, remember the power of shaping yourself as you wish to be remembered. Choose joy, choose kindness, choose the huge smile—not as denial of struggle, but as triumph over it. For in the end, the truest caricature of a soul is not the line of the jaw, but the light it leaves behind.

Carry forward this teaching: “When I draw my caricature self-portrait, I always do a huge smile.” Let it remind you that in the story of your life, you hold the brush. May your portrait be remembered for its radiance, its joy, and its power to inspire smiles long after your hand has set it down.