Egon Schiele made this self-portrait with pencil and watercolor, sometime before his death in 1918. Look at the frantic energy of the lines here; they're raw and immediate, like he's trying to capture something fleeting. It's so process-oriented, you feel like you're watching him figure himself out on the page. The ochre and brown palette gives a feverish intensity to his skin, and the checkered shirt is all angular and distorted, like a cage. His hands are clasped, but they look almost wounded. He's really pushing the boundaries of color to express a deep emotional state. There's a sense of urgency and vulnerability, that makes you feel like you're intruding on a private moment. The way Schiele uses line reminds me of some of the raw expression in the work of Francis Bacon; it’s like they're both grappling with the human condition in a really visceral way. It’s not about beauty; it’s about truth.