Klimt’s Mäda Primavesi

Gustav Klimt’s Mäda Primavesi is my favorite painting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Mäda, a nine-year-old girl with flushed cheeks and an attitude, confronts me with an uncompromising gaze, her hand placed defiantly on her hip. Her other hand is obscured behind her back— I’d like to think she’s secretly flipping me (and Klimt) off. Although young, she appears to be wearing bright blue eyeshadow and coral blush, which harshly contrasts with her pale skin and soft brown hair. Her bluish-lavender bow juts out from the side of her head and her empire-waist, frothy white dress is adorned with vibrant purple, red, and yellow flowers. Two of these seem to have fallen off and have nestled in the folds of her skirt. Despite her gaudy, feminine attire, Mäda stands with her feet firmly planted on the ground, wider than her hips, as if victorious after a standoff with an enemy. She stands before a bright pinkish-purple backdrop covered in small blossoms, while under her feet a carpet of spring green, warm pink, cream, and cobalt shapes seems to ripple and sway. Mäda’s expression, a mix of confidence, intelligence, and innocence, radiates amidst the bright colors and busy textures. Her facial features are precisely defined, unlike the fabric of the dress, the flowers, or the backdrop, but they maintain a palpable softness that clarifies Mäda’s youth. 

Klimt captured a distinct personality in this painting, which, in my opinion, is the marker of a good portrait. I love this painting not only for the vibrant use of color but for the way it feels like Mäda is about to jump through the frame and run behind me, laughing. The strength of her posture and gaze bring structure to an ensemble that would otherwise reek of a parent desperate to dress their child up like a doll. The blue eyeshadow and coral blush that Mäda wears match almost perfectly with the ones in the play makeup palette I had at my Disney princess pink plastic vanity in my childhood bedroom. Although I probably stopped using it by the time I was nine, when that sort of princess pretend play started to lose its luster, it still reminds me of the thrill of being young and pretending that you were really much older. It also reminds me of my First Communion, when I was also nine years old and half-begrudgingly, half-ecstatically wore a fancy white dress for a ritual imposed upon me by my parents. This portrait deftly captures the tension between burgeoning individuality and the trappings of girlhood, in which I can see my younger self, over a century after this painting was completed. I applaud Klimt for treating this nine-year-old girl with intelligence, respect, and tenderness, commemorating her spirit with such skill that I still rush past Monets and van Goghs in the Impressionist wing to return her uncompromising gaze.