One of my favorite museums is the Norton Simon, located almost exactly where the annual Rose Parade begins, in Pasadena, California.

The collection is small and selective, and it includes life size outdoor sculptures and works by the major players in art history.

Two paintings are especially enjoyable, hanging as they are on opposite walls, the figures seeming to be in constant eye contact with each other. They're the artist, Rembrandt, in a self-portrait, and his son, Titus.

I've gazed at these works, perhaps a hundred times, but the other day, I saw something new: worry or fear or even paranoia in the elder Rembrandt's eyes.

What did he have to be worried about? While many painters never achieved renown in their day, and had to die before their works could fetch a pretty penny, I believe Rembrandt did enjoy the support of patrons.

Still, it seems, peering into his eyes, that he's preoccupied.

Perhaps, he's thinking, "I shouldn't be taking this time to paint myself, for which there is no market, when I could be painting my patrons, and be paid for it!”

Testing the thesis that self-portraitists are stealing time for themselves, I looked at other artists' self-representations, and saw a similar insecurity.

Apart from the truth or merit in this inference, there i

s something to be said for great art, which commends it to us, over hundreds and even thousands of years.

You can see it again and again, and always find something new in it!

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