The Preservation of Memories
‘Photography has the unappealing reputation of being the most realistic, therefore facile, of the mimetic arts’ (Sontag, 1977: 51).
The Ballad of Sexual Dependency was dedicated to Goldin’s sister Barbara who committed suicide at the age of eighteen in 1965. This tragedy ignited Goldins interest to photograph the people around her preserving their memory, not staged and professional portraits but photographs documenting their lives intimately but also mundanely with a naturalism that can only convey the truth. It is reasonable to suggest that the photography of Goldin has become a cathartic vehicle for the manifestation of her own grief and her lifelong experience with bereavement, not only in the case of her sister’s death but also the passing of many close friends from AIDS throughout the 1980’s.
Guido Costa describes this awakening of Goldin’s desire to document the truth as ‘a voracious appetite for the truth, no matter what, and her disregard for the fact that what is true can also be uncomfortable, tiresome, compromising. She was engaged in a struggle against everything and everyone, but especially against the lies and materialism of that era, which she perceived as the darkness within America’s soul, the nightmare that lay behind the dream’.
Within the imagery of The Ballad of Sexual Dependency we are introduced to many significant characters from Goldin’s life between 1979-1986, encompassing friends and muses, lovers and an abuser. Some of these individuals were further documented by Goldin after the publication of The Ballad of Sexual Dependency; these images influenced further collections of photographs, introspective explorations of certain friends as in The Cookie Portfolio; a collection of photographs gathered by Goldin of her friend and muse, the actress Cookie Mueller from 1976 to Mueller’s death from AIDS 1989.
Invoking the theories of Susan Sontag in her essay ‘Melancholy Objects’, one can consider the cathartic process Goldin employs of photographing the people she loves, as Sontag suggests
‘Photography is an inventory of mortality. A touch of the finger now suffices to invest a moment with posthumous irony. Photographs show people being so irrefutably there and at a specific age in their lives; group together people and things which a moment later have already disbanded, changed and continued along the course of their independent destinies’ (Sontag, 1977: 70).
The Cookie Portfolio illustrates a visceral and intimate documentation of Goldin’s friendship with Mueller, in the hedonistic New York of the late 1970’s and early 1980’s to photographs of Cookie in the last months of her life attending the funeral of her husband Vittorio Scarpati in 1989 before Mueller's death which Goldin also documented.
Goldin captures and preserves her memories of Cookie encapsulating both moments of intense happiness and sadness, there is no difference for Goldin between weddings and funerals, and they are life events worthy of documentation. As Sontag would further argue
‘Photography has always been fascinated by social heights and lower depths’ (Sontag, 1977: 55).
I was told many years ago, there are no rules to grief and this fact I accepted. It is not until I lost someone so significant that the truth of this statement resonated deeply. As the turbulent journey of bereavement began as the stages of grief consumed me individually and collectively. Even now I sometimes sit, tremulous with tears. Emotional polarities differentiate these moments from peaceful, reflective grief to bitter, angry, frustrated grief but each experience occurs with his photograph held in his hand. I do not despise either of my reactions, the emotion expressed informs me my love is still there, his love is still there and death does not divide that. A comforting yet intimate viscerality emerges from the photo and I become absorbed in this memory, the hue of his skin, the fine yarn of his violet cashmere sweater, his hands in his pockets, concentrating on the painting before him. It is not only the memory that emerges from the photograph, it is also the memory ingrained in my mind. I remember where I stood as I took that photo, behind him, observing his interest, his gaze captivated by Ben Johnson’s Liverpool Cityscape, in the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, on a snowy New Year’s Eve in 2009. Three years later, the violet cashmere sweater is folded delicately in my drawer, the photograph as always fixed by my bedside, a bottle of the cologne he wore nestled behind it.
‘We all tell stories which are versions of history – memorized, encapsulated, repeatable, and safe. Real memory, which these pictures trigger, is an invocation of the colour, smell, sound, and physical presence, the density of life. Memory allows an endless flow of connections. Stories can be rewritten, memory can’t. If each picture is a story, then the accumulation of these pictures comes closer to the experience of memory, a story without an end’ (Goldin, 1986: 6).
Costa, G., 2001. Nan Goldin, London: Phaidon Press.
Goldin, N., 2006. 20 Years: Aids and Photography. [Online] The Digital Journalist. Available at: http://digitaljournalist.org/issue0106/voices_goldin.htm [Accessed 21 January 2012].
Goldin, N., 1986. The Ballad of Sexual Dependency, New York: Aperture.
Sontag, S., 1977. On Photography, London: Penguin Books.
The effectiveness of photography’s statement of loss depends on its steadily enlarging the familiar iconography of mystery, mortality and transience (Sontag, 1977: 67).
Photography is an inventory of mortality. A touch of the finger now suffices to invest a moment with posthumous irony. Photographs show people being so irrefutably there and at a specific age in their lives; group together people and things which a moment later have already disbanded, changed and continued along the course of their independent destinies (Sontag, 1977: 70).
Photographs state the innocence, the vulnerability of lives heading toward their own destruction, and this link between photography and death haunts all photographs of people (Sontag, 1997: 70).
As the fascination that photographs exercise a reminder of death, it is also an invitation to sentimentality. Photographs turn the past into an object of tender regard, scrambling moral distinctions and disarming historical judgements by the generalized pathos of looking at times past (Sontag, 1977: 71).
Books of photography, pile higher and higher – measuring the lost past, taking the temperature of the present. Photographs furnish instant history, instant sociology, instant participation. But there is something remarkably anodyne about these new forms of packaging reality (Sontag, 1977: 75).
Allen, G., 2003. Roland Bathes: Routledge Critical Thinkers, London: Routledge.
Barthes, R., 1980. Camera Lucida, London:Vintage.
Hallas, R., 2009. Reframing Bodies: AIDS, Bearing Witness, and the Queer Moving Image, Durham: Duke University Press.
Sontag, S., 2003. Regarding the Pain of Others, London: Penguin Books.