FROM SILENCE TO SINGING IN I MARCH IN THE PARADE OF LIBERTY, BUT AS LONG AS I LOVE YOU I'M NOT FREE, 2008, BY SHARON HAYES
[Figure 1. Sharon Hayes, I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Performance between 1st December, 2007 and 12th January, 2008
Source: http://www.shaze.info/# (accessed 8th February, 2012)]
Sigmund Freud concluded his essay on Civilization and its Discontents by positing love as a redemptive force against the powers of violence and destruction.[1] It is with the possibility, or rather the problem inherent within this possibility, in mind, that I consider Sharon Hayes’ I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, 2008 (henceforth referred to as I March). This performance work (commissioned by the New Gallery) saw Hayes take to the streets of New York, megaphone in hand to (repeatedly) recite a love address aimed at her absent lover, received by the present public (See Figure 1).[2] She spoke not only of her love for a nameless “you”, but the hope and hopelessness of political protest, the AIDS crisis and the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars. Hayes, like her predecessors of the “love movement”, Yoko Ono and John Lennon (who performed their ‘Bed-ins for Peace’, 1969 – see Figure 2 – in protest against the Vietnam War) clearly considers peace and love to be in dialectical opposition to war. It is therefore important to think anti-war work such as I March through love as a critical medium. Love is often derided as uncritical due to its personal nature, but ‘the personal is political’.[3] This phrase may bring the work of Mary Kelly to the reader’s mind. It will be productive to think about Kelly’s work in relation to Hayes’s: specifically her Love Songs, 2005, discussed by Rosalyn Deutsche in relation to the increasing phenomenon of “left-melancholia” in politics and the arts today.[4]
‘Today’s left-melancholia adheres to a traditional leftist representation of the political’ – with its adherents libidinally bound to the past, transformation is disallowed.[5] It is inherently ‘masculinst in its rejection of the feminist’s voice associated with Postmodernism’; and ‘has a narcissistic dimension, because the frozen analysis to which it clings once formed the basis of leftist self-love, giving, “its adherents a clear and certain path toward the good, the right the true”’.[6] Deutsche explains that Kelly’s light-box works, for example WLM Demo Remix and Flashing Nipple Remix (see Figure 3), are ‘faithful to the “event”’ of Second Wave Feminism and the amorous event of ‘love that characterized the movement’.[7] The “event” for Badious is ‘revolutionary’, it ‘presents (us with) hitherto unknown possibilities that put an end to consensus’; it ‘compels the subject “to decide a new way of being”’.[8] Deutsche writes, ‘it is Kelly’s refusal to “break with the break”, to go back to pre-feminist ideas of politics and history’; her remixing of time; and openness towards transformation and feminist critique within the work, that place it outside of the retrograde realm of left-melancholy politics, and in a far more progressive realm of making.[9] All of these things encapsulate a mode of being faithful to the event. We can read Hayes’s work in the same way: as faithful to events of love; as melancholic, not “left-melancholic”.
‘My dear lover, I’m taking to the streets to speak to you because there doesn’t seem to be any other way to get through’, begins Hayes. Her address calls out to her absent lover but no reply is ever received. Re-working the position she occupies – the “waiting lover”, conventionally gendered female and theorized as such by Roland Barthes – she injects action into it.[10] She makes love critical: protesting against a fate of loneliness and lack of agency. Discontent with traditional relegation, she leaves ‘the spinning wheel’ (the traditional setting of “waiting-for-love-leider”), the domestic, and enters the public sphere.[11] She makes the personal, political and the individual, social, as her work of transformation through love begins.
Central to I March seems to me the problem of remembering (loving on) and forgetting. Resistance to forget kills the subject psychically, as we see in Hayes’s speech, ‘You have lit a fire within me my love, and I am being burned up’.[12] Barthes wrote that ‘the lover who doesn’t forget sometimes dies of excess, exhaustions, and tension of memory’.[13] Hayes speech enacts a kind of psychical dying on her part through remembering, through melancholia. According to Freud, all mental illness should be considered on a spectrum from normal to pathological: at the latter end of the melancholia-spectrum the illness is experienced as ‘a profoundly painful dejection, (causing) cessation of interest in the outside world…inhibition of all activity, and a lowering of self-regarding feelings to a degree that finds utterance in self-reproaches and self-revilings’.[14] In a case of melancholia, according to Freud, upon losing the love object, the free libido withdrawns into the ego.[15]
There it serve(s) to establish an identification of the ego with the abandoned object: the melancholy person’s ego thus becomes impoverished…Narcissistic identification with the object (then) becomes a substitute for the erotic-cathexis, the result of which, is, that in spite of the conflict with the loved person (or people), the love-relation need not be given up.[16]
The melancholy person ‘import(s) opposed feelings of love and hate into the relationship or reinforce(s) an already existing ambivalence’.[17] According to Freud, they are then prone to giving loudly proclaimed attacks on themselves, which are, in fact, attacks on their lost loved object.[18] Instincts of self-preservation (common to all) try to detach the libido from the object, but they are almost wholly diminished by this relentless love for the object, this other.[19] The melancholic patient’s love, by ‘taking flight into the ego, escapes extinction’.[20] I would like to suggest that Hayes’s work is melancholic, in that she refuses to give up on the lost love object, but it is not the violent, pathological type of melancholia we read here, but closer to what we might call “heart-break”. Hayes neither attacks her lover, nor herself (verbally) in this piece. It is through Hayes’s will to remember her lover, to keep her alive in her mind, that she (psychically) kills herself.[21] Barthes wrote that ‘the staging of language postpones the other’s death’.[22] We might elaborate on this idea here: Hayes’s language of remembrance memorializes her love and her lover, keeping the dead alive. Her melancholia is a revolutionary, loving kind of melancholia: a refusal to hurt the other, an affirmation of love for the other, so loving it kills itself in fact. (Henceforth, in referring to “melancholia” or the “melancholy person”, I shall be referring to this kind of revolutionary, loving kind of melancholia that I read in Hayes’s work.)
I perceive there to be a shared psychical feature in the warring-subject’s lack of regard for self-preservation (which ‘functions on the collective level in this instance to protect the common love object’ according to Franco Fornari); and the melancholy person’s self-sacrifice in order to keep loving the object.[23] But whereas the soldier loses regard for self-preservation in “battle” to kill someone else (whom he/she has projected his/her badness on to) to protect his/her love object; melancholy Hayes refuses to kill anyone but herself through the very act of loving. In this way she enacts Fornari’s dictate to ‘personally reappropriate the destructive intent’ which the nation state currently has sole rights to, releasing the individual citizen from guilt.[24] Though Hayes’s address is void of self-reviling as such, there are moments in it where we perceive her feeling of inescapable complicity and guilt as part of this nation (the U.S.A.) who commit violence against others, or at least recognizes that her lover feels this way about her: ‘And you looked at me like I was the one who tricked you’.[25] She also uses the word ‘we’ in the line ‘you said this country was arrogant, and we were manipulative’.[26] It also seems as though her lover’s feeling of personal guilt (‘tak(ing) it personally’) was the reason she left, or died psychically too.[27] Hayes’s awareness (even if coupled with denial in order to ‘not give up’) of her complicity, however, enables her to enter a depressive position in her work where the possibility of coexistence and love is possible.[28] Fornari writes ‘the enemy to fight is no longer in the external world but within each of us’.[29] I want to suggest that Hayes fights this enemy within herself through love for the other – the killing kind of love. And through this resists forgetting, which is killing.
While Hayes’s work as we have argued, is melancholic, it is not an example of left-melancholy, in that she incorporates the past in it in order to move forward, not backwards. She quotes sections from past gay liberation protests in her address (‘Act up; fight back!’) as well as lines from Oscar Wilde’s De Profundis, a letter he wrote to his gay lover in 1897 (‘I need to speak to you, my love, of your life and of mine; of our past and our future; of sweet things that have turned to bitterness; and of bitter things that still could be turned to joy’).[30] These words clearly still have a hopeful and revolutionary mission attached to them; the potential to transform. We can therefore read Hayes’s work as faithful to, but not stuck on, the events of 1980s AIDS crisis, gay liberation and Vietnam anti-War protests. We can also read I March as displaying fidelity to the amorous encounter of her personal love affair and the amorous event of the libidinal binding of protestors (the collective) through their joint cause, illustrated in the lines of her address:
Don’t you remember the last time we were on this street together: striding arm in arm in that pack of people, hundreds and hundreds of thousands of them? Swaying their bodies, stamping their feet, shouting movement-talk, and whispering little nothings that could hardly be heard in the ear they were spoken to – so loud was that crowd.[31]
‘The survivors of recent political events often disrupt the closure of a particular history’ wrote Marita Sturken.[32] I read Hayes’s attitude of ‘not forgetting’ (Badiou), her faithfulness to all of the above mentioned events, as a refusal to assign these debates and their survivors to history – a refusal to close it off/kill it off psychically.[33] The events Hayes is faithful to are ‘revolutionary’; they ‘compel the subject “to decide a new way of being”.[34] In this way her work is in fact antithetical to the paralysed left-melancholic mode. Rather than dragging the present back to the past in the defunct way of the left-melancholic, Hayes plays with time in her address through the aforementioned strategy of appropriating historical phrases; and in her words, ‘For you it’s history, but for me this scene occurred not yesterday, but today….the past, the present, the future, are one’. [35] She brings the past into the present (as it exists in the mind, according to Freud) to say “let us not forget or disavow, but remember and change”.[36] Let us ‘Act up; fight Back!’.[37]
From an intimate address Hayes’s speech comes to address the public as “you” through a variety of uses of language, displaying the unclear distinction between “I” and “you” in the english language and, implicitly, in the relational sphere which language reflects. Hayes’s first line ‘My dear lover, I’m taking to the streets to speak to you because there doesn’t seem to be any other way to get through’ embodies in it the shifting terms, “you” and “lover”, which come to represent not only an individual Hayes is in love with, but the collective she addresses from this street corner.[38] This line clearly states that speaking like this is a way of ‘get(ting) though to you’.[39] The individual does not reply, however, and the documentation of the event shows no individual encounter (only what looks like a hooded, lost soul who turns away from Hayes, see Figure 1). The public are the only people Hayes’s address ‘get(s) through’ to: we understand that it is directed at them, at us, her listening lover(s), as much as it is to this unnamed, individual lover, as, in this line, she perceives her address as having reached its intended recipients.
Of course, in being heard and ignored, Hayes recites her love address, in accordance with Barthes’s view that ‘the lover’s discourse is (in general) today, of an extreme solitude’.[40] Barthes wrote of the lover’s feeling of necessary concealment, represented by the ‘figure’ of ‘dark glasses’, a metaphor for the way the lover’s language conceals their suffering in a relationship in which they love more than they are loved.[41] The truth is: love is barely socially acceptable, and love for a stranger is certainly not. We can think of Fornari’s writing again here in considering the taboo nature of loving others outside of one’s own designated social group: Hayes crosses all these lines to declare “I love you” to a public of strangers, who are compelled to appropriate the absent lover’s ears.[42] Hayes’s performance costume or mask, or lack of, in fact, becomes important in this context. Indeed in I March Hayes looks as if she is merely one of the crowd, who happens to have something to say. She was not “performing”, at least not any more than anyone in the street performs their identity and their gender.[43] J.C. Flugel’s writing on the mask (which can equally be applied to costume) seems important here:
When we wear a mask, we cease, to some extent, to be ourselves; we conceal from others both our identity and the natural expression of our emotions and in consequence, we do not feel the same responsibility as when our faces are uncovered: for it appears to us that, owing to our unrecognisability and the alteration of our personality (persona = mask), what we may do in our masked state cannot be brought up as evidence against us when we resume our normal unmasked lives.[44]
In saying things which ‘should not be said’ – such as, ‘I love you’, to a group of strangers – behind no mask which would allow her to relinquish responsibility for her words, Hayes represents the ‘polluting person’ here.[45] ‘A polluting person is always in the wrong. He(/she) has…simply crossed over some line which should not have been crossed and this displacement unleashes danger for someone.’[46] Voicing opposition to the war as well declaring her status as lesbian, or in love with “everyone” (the crowd) in fact, she is defined as an outsider here. In performing without a mask, claiming responsibility for her loving feelings (for once, voiced and not suppressed) we can see Hayes as, again, enacting Fornari’s mandate to reappropriate our destructive intent and our guilt for it – to take it back from the state who monopolize and institutionalize it currently.[47] The public, apathetically relinquishing their personal responsibility for war, on the whole, are sanctioned by the military not to feel guilt for the violence conducted on their behalf: they feel clean, and like feeling clean.[48] Hayes’s attack on herself, killing herself (via love) to attack the enemy within, following Fornari; as well as voicing opposition to institutionally sanctioned war in general, is therefore, threatening. It is something they do not wish to recognize.
This refusal to recognize – the silence of Hayes’s lover(s) – is an incredibly important part of I March. Writing on melancholia, Julia Kristeva sees the subject’s silence, above all, as indicative of a depressed state induced by loss.[49] She writes of ‘learned helplessness’, a strategy animals employ as a ‘defence reaction to dead-end situations and unavoidable shocks’: ‘when all escape routes are blocked animals, as well as men, learn to withdraw rather than flee or fight’.[50] Withdrawing from a situation when s/he sees no way out, the subject ‘becomes silent and dies’ as s/he no longer finds meaning in anything.[51] The public, the city, in a state of absolute silence, in I March, seem, according to Kristeva’s logic, unable to recognize meaning in Hayes’s words of love towards them, and therefore even more melancholy than Hayes herself (who stills speaks). Kristeva writes, ‘We are a family of stone, petrified in a mass that affords no access…Every day we try to kill ourselves, to kill…We not only don’t speak with one another, we don’t look at one another’.[52] Fornari’s view that ‘all human vicissitudes of love, in particular, are based on the bodily intimacy between mother and child’, seems to provide a means to elaborate on the reason for why ‘we don’t speak to one another’ or ‘look at one another’.[53] The melancholia of the city streets might be put down to a number of factors, but is overdetermined by the loss of our mother through which we must all go in order to reach the symbolic realm and become mothers and father ourselves; and the subsequent loss of lovers (with whom our ‘love was based on our bodily intimacy with our mother’): in short, repeated heart-break.[54] The success of the contemporary popular singer, Adele’s, song, Someone Like You, is testimony to this idea. Concerned with losing the loved object one does not want to give up it speaks of the subject’s wish to replace the loved object with someone like them (who will, of course, never live up to the “original”, which might be thought of as the mother); the song follows the subject, who, years after her loss, is still melancholy over it. The commercial success of this song alone is testimony to people’s identification with the melancholy it speaks of: each person having inevitably suffered the traumatic, wounding loss of a loved other, after the original loss of their mother, psychically dying through loving on, as they continue on their errant quest for (someone like) “you”.[55]
Kristeva’s writing on the film, Hiroshima Mon Amour, 1959, directed by Alain Resnais, written by Marguerite Duras, is useful for thinking about Hayes’s continued declaration of love, her melancholia, towards her silent lover(s). In this film we watch the French, (nameless) female protagonist falling in love with a Japanese man (also nameless) whist visiting Japan; but it is a tainted love, haunted by her refusal to forget and simultaneous horror at forgetting her German lover who was shot dead in Nevers, France, during the Second World War. Kristeva writes of the protagonist ‘having become like a dead woman’: “having died of love in Nevers” when her German lover died.[56] Holding his dead body in her arms in the film, the female protagonist says ‘…I couldn’t manage to find the slightest difference between that dead body and mine…between that body and mine I could only find similarities…’[57] This sameness of feeling is key. It is this symbiotic death of speaker, a psychic death in which she kills herself through loving the object who does not answer back; and the death of the receiver, the silent lover(s) (killed psychically through their heart-break and disbelief in meaning) that holds Sharon Hayes to her megaphone. (‘What holds me to this megaphone is you’.[58]) This recognized sameness (that is love) compels Hayes to speak and continually libidinally re-bind against the flow of opposition, refusing forgetting. Barthes wrote of the melancholy lover’s hope: one can only be abandoned if one believes himself or herself to still be loved, in the first place.[59] Hayes must believe her lover(s) still love her (are ultimately the same as her) as if she did not she would not speak. This may point to the fact that the public, silent in this work, are suffering because they do not believe themselves loved, that they can find no meaning in her love address and therefore are not compelled to speech.
Hayes’s work has the transformative potential, the redemptive power, even, to counter this very feeling of apathy within her lover(s), however. And her attempt to do this proves again that the work is revolutionized through melancholia, not paralysed through left-melancholia. Hayes speech is ultimately interpellating: one speaks in order to hear a response. Killing herself through loving the silent/dead other, she attempts to bring them back to life (through their response).
I feel like I could talk to you for a very long time; like I could stand here on the streets for hours, and hours; for days, and days; for longer even; in the hope that some mere phrase, some single word, some broken echo of love might reach you, and find it’s way to bounce back to me.[60]
The idea of the echo is crucially important to I March, and is where we will now conclude. Occurring between the silent public in the street, before Hayes’s address, there is what Kristeva calls ‘reduplication’: a failed repetition, a moment in which no double is found which is the moment of death in utter fragmentation, as one cannot pass into another.[61] The subject dies in that they don’t exist in the eyes or ears of the other (as they don’t speak). Hayes, however, speaks in search of an echo of her love, to counter the reduplication which kills her lover(s) in the street. Adapting Lacan’s notion of the mirror-stage to think about it in terms of the voice as imago, we can think of a way in which sound is reflected back between subjects at the birth of subjectivity. In this way we reject all of the phallic connotations of the mirror-stage, and ideas of presence and absence attached to it which do not resonate within I March. The echo, on the other hand, is inherently maternal, one could argue, in that it is ephemeral, and reminds us of childhood. The mother will echo the baby’s sound as it is learning to speak (and vice versa) to the baby’s jubilation, as it hears itself in the other and identifies with it there as an ideal-ego.[62] Reading reductively, I March could be said to be about looking for an ‘echo of your love to bounce back to you’: and the birth (or rebirth) of subjectivity through this echo.[63] It is as if Hayes, when on the street, is in Barthes metaphorical ‘bad concert hall…contain(ing) dead spots where the sound fails to circulate’ when she gets no reply – but there is the hope of it at least.[64] Barthes asks, ‘the perfect interlocutor, the friend, is (s)he not the one who constructs around you the greatest possible resonance?[65] It seems as though Barthes’s conception of love is also illustrated by the echo – as counter to the silent death that is reduplication.
‘In those brief moments when I speak for nothing, it is as if I were dying. For the loved being becomes a leaden figure, a dream creature who does not speak and silence in dreams is death…The gratifying mother shows me the mirror, the image and says to me: “that’s you”. But the silent mother does not tell me what I am: I am no longer established, I drift painfully, without existence.[66]
Equally, we find, if the silent mother or lover(s) (analogous to her as discussed earlier [Fornari]), does not (literally) echo our love, we are ‘not established’, we too, are silent/dead.[67] Hayes opens the door to this kind of exchange through her address: the only way to receive a response, and bring her lover(s) and herself back to life. In losing herself, (psychically killing herself) through loving on, she simultaneously gains the other in her openness towards them, following Judith Butler’s thinking: ‘you (the other is)…what I gain through this disorientation and loss’.[68] This idea of co-affection and exchange leads us, finally, to thinking of the work in terms of Griselda Pollock’s conception of the Matrixial Feminine:
The Matrixial Feminine is the set of psychic stings by which any of us remain open to the other, unable not to share the trauma of the other, for we are not bachelor machines, autistically isolated, but in our originating humanization, in relation to a shared border-space with the m/Other, a capacity for co-affectivity and co-emergence was laid down. [69]
Hayes encapsulates in her speech/love address to her lover(s) the rescuing force of love, which Freud posited all those years ago.[70] ‘At the border-space at the moment of suffering of trauma, (melancholia, an ‘open wound’, can be seen as evidence of trauma) we have the capacity to respond to and share with the unknown other.’[71] Enacting Fornari’s mandate to reappropriate our guilt and the destructive intent of our sovereign state as our own, Hayes‘s work makes a revolutionary move towards peace and understanding: Through the Matrixial, ‘in processing the pain of other’s, we…realize our implication in any other’s pain.’[72] Hayes opens the border-spaces between subjectivities in polluting the street with her loving voice, refusing to give up on the living dead lover(s) who, unable to forget, ‘drift painfully’ through the streets like her. [73] Through her address Hayes attempts to breath life back into them.
I March is a revolutionary work of art. It posits, that through the interpellating voice and the idea of the echo, we can avoid psychical death if we destroy ourselves through the killing kind of love only in so far as the phoenix destroys itself, ‘for it is never said of the phoenix that it dies: only that it is reborn’.[74] We could thus see loving on and psychical impoverishment as merely preparation for rebirth. Barthes writes, ‘the amorous encounter both fulfills and delays knowledge, in a word, restarts it: “in the amorous encounter, I keep rebounding – I am light”’.[75] Hayes’s interpellates the other to echo her call, to be reborn themselves in an amorous encounter. ‘How many times can I say this to you?,’ she asks, and we might add, “before you sing back, silent lover; before we are both reborn through my loving voice”.[76]
[1] Freud in Fornari 1966, 155
[2] Hear a recording of this work at http://www.shaze.info/#
[3] Kelly mixes the personal and the political in her Love Songs, to the point that ‘the boundar[y] between the two could not be pinned down’. Deutsche 2006, 30
[4] ‘“Left-melancholia” was Walter Benjamin’s derogatory term for a mood afflicting leftists who remain more attached to past political ideals – even, according to philosopher, Wendy Brown, to the failure of a political ideal – than to possibilities of political change in the present. Brown says that left melancholia renders political analysis thing-like and frozen, not amenable to transformation.’ Benjamin in Deutsche 2006, 27
[6] Brown in Deutsche 2006, 28
[7] Deutsche 2006, 34; To distinguish fidelity from nostalgic forms of memory, Badiou describes the relationship as one of “not-forgetting.” Badiou in Deutsche 2006, 29
[8] Badious in Deutsche 2006, 29
[12] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[13] Barthes 1978, 14; “I have projected myself into the other with such power that when I am without the other I cannot recover myself, regain myself: I am lost forever”’. Barthes 1978, 49
[21] In Everything Else Has Failed! Don't You Think It's Time for Love?, a work made the year before I March, and similar in form, the lover Hayes speaks to, in a similar way, is female, I will therefore assume that the individual lover spoken of in I March is also female, though there is no steadfast confirmation of this; it also becomes less important as the piece goes on, as the public come to also be represented by this “you”, this lover.
[25] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[26] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[27] Hayes recounts ‘I tried to tell you not to take it personally, and ‘no, no, no, don’t give up!’ when their protest is taken no notice of by the US President, when the war is wrought just the same. - Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[30] It is reported that in the Demonstration for Needle Exchange (Adapt), New York City, 1st May, 1988, the protesters chanted ‘ACT UP, FIGHT BACK, FIGHT AIDS. ACT UP, FIGHT BACK, FIGHT AIDS’. See http://www.actupny.org/divatv/synopsis75.html
[31] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[33] Badiou in Deutsche 2006, 29
[35] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[37] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[42] Fornari 1966, 174; ‘The ears are the only orifice that can’t be closed.’ Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[45] Douglas in Butler 1999, 167; Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[46] Douglas in Butler 1999, 167
[53] Fornari 1966, 172; Kristeva 1987, 238
[55] ‘The conflict within the ego, which melancholia substitutes for the struggle over the object must act like a painful wound’. Freud 1917, 258. A wound can be understood as evidence of trauma;
The song is currently nominated for a Grammy Award for the song. In July 2011 it became the first single of the decade to sell a million units in the U.K.. According to a survey by karaoke company, Lucky Voice, this song was the most popular one for Lucky Voice's users in 2011, accounting for fourteen percent of the three million songs sung over the year. According to Billboard magazine, this was the first piano-and-vocal-only ballad to top The Hot 100 since it started the charts in 1958. See http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=21908
[57] Section of script of Hiroshima Mon Amour, Duras and Resnais, in Ibid
[58] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[60] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[62] ‘It is as an Other that the subject identifies and experiences itself first’ – through the mother’s voice the baby recognizes both itself and “not-itself”, but this alienation experience leads the baby to subjectivity, ultimately, as it forces it into entering the Symbolic, according to Lacan. Bailly 2009, 30
[63] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
[66] Wahl and Freud in Barthes 1978, 186
[67] ‘All human vicissitudes of love in particular are based on the bodily intimacy between mother an child’. Fornari 1966, 172; Wahl and Freud in Barthes 1978, 186
[70] Freud in Fornari 1966, 155
[71] Pollock 2007, 196; Freud 1917, 258
[72] Fornari 1966, 183; Pollock 2007, 196
[76] Section of transcript of I March In The Parade Of Liberty, But As Long As I Love You I’m Not Free, Sharon Hayes, 2008
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Butler, J. 2004. Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence (London, New York: Verso, 2004)
Calle, S. 2004. Exquisite Pain, (London: Thames and Hudson, 2004)
Flugel, J., C., 1950. The Psychology of Clothes (London: Vintage, 1950)
Fornari, F. 1966. The Psychoanalysis of War (Garden City, New York: Doubleday/Anchor, 1974)
Freud, S. 1930. Civilization and its Discontents, Translated and edited by Strachey, J. (London and New York: W. W. Norton and Co., 1961)
Freud, Sigmund. 1917. ‘Mourning and Melancholia’, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Vol. 14, Translated and edited by Strachey, J. (London: Vintage, 2001), pp. 240-256
Kristeva, J. 1987. Black Sun: Depression and Melancholia, Trans. Roudiez, L. (Chichester, New York: Columbia University Press, 1989)
Mitchell, J. 2003. Siblings (Cambridge, Malden: Polity Press, 2003)
Pollock, G. 2007. Encounters in the Virtual Feminist Museum: Time, Space, and the Archive (London: Routledge, 2007)
Sturken, M. 1997. Tangled Memories: The Vietnam War, The AIDS Crisis and The Politics of Remembering (London, Berkeley, L.A.: University of California Press, 1997)
Ulmer, G. 2007. ‘The Discourse of the Imaginary’, Exile of the Imaginary: Politics, Aesthetics, Love, Ed. Carson, J. (Vienna: Verlag Der Buchhandlung Walther Konig, 2007) pp. 123-138
Deutsche, R. 2006. ‘Not Forgetting: Mary Kelly’s Love Songs’, Grey Room, Vol. 24, pp. 26-37
http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=21908 (accessed 9th February, 2012)
http://www.actupny.org/divatv/synopsis75.html ( (accessed 8th February, 2012)
Figure 2. Yoko Ono and John Lennon, “Bed-in” for Peace, 1969, a series of two week-long performances staged in Amsterdam and Montreal
Source: vivianwashere.blogspot.com (accessed 9th February, 2012)
Figure 3. Mary Kelly, Flashing Nipple Remix, 2005, #1 3 Black and White Transparencies in Light Boxes, 38 x 48 x 5 inches each, Edition of 3
Source: postmastersart.com (accessed 9th February, 2012)
