19th Century Death Bed Portraiture

During the 19th century, a tradition of rendering post-mortem images was revived through the medium of photography (Figure 1).

Fig. 1 Le Blondel, Post Mortem Picture (1850)

The recording of memorial likenesses had traditionally fallen to the field of painting where large numbers appeared in both the United States and Europe. The death-bed portrait, whether a painting or a photograph, was the last chance a family had of keeping the memory of a loved one alive. While this was certainly a common motive for capturing these moments, some of the photographs differ from their painted counterparts in how death was portrayed. For example, when one examines post-mortem paintings, one usually observes a child depicted as alive. Often times, the only clue death has occurred is the presence of symbols whose meanings vary according to the society represented. In Figure 2 and 3 painted by William Sidney Mount’s son, Shepard Alonzo Mount, in 1868 we see two such examples. Both Camille and Nicholas are plump, happy, and alive. Each painting incorporates symbols that tell the viewer the painting is in fact a memorial portrait and not one depicting life. In Figure 2 a pocket watch rests on the ground probably indicating the time of death of young Camille. In Figure 3, we see the inclusion of a painted backdrop depicting weeping willows and a ship floating on calm water. The foreground depicts the child plucking flowers from the potted plant. A rose held downward or the presence of morning glories both indicate a life cut short. A boat floating on calm water symbolizes an easy death, whereas stormy water symbolizes the opposite. The weeping willow is an obvious indicator of the sadness that has transpired

Fig. 2 Shepard Alonzo Mount, Portrait of Camille (1868)
Fig. 3 Shepard Alonzo Mount, Memorial to Nicholas M. S. Catlin (1852)

Early post-mortem photographs share the impulse to show life instead of death by depicting the deceased in a variety of poses. Oftentimes, the body is depicted outside of the coffin (Figures 4, 5, 6 and 7).

Fig. 4 Secure the Shadow Ere the Substance Fade: Premortem photograph of a child Date c.1845

Sometimes, parents of the deceased hold their children in their laps and arms, (Figure 5). Other times bodies are propped in chairs as if they are carrying on a conversation or reading from a book or newspaper (Figure 6). For example in Figure 7 we see a post-mortem photograph of a young woman sitting up with her eyes open, holding a book. For the most part, even though there is the allusion to life through the posing of the individual, the bodies are noticeably dead.

Fig. 5 Mother Holding Dead Child: Child in Coffin Date c.1845-55
Fig. 6
Fig. 7
Fig. 8 Dead Child, 1860

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In later post-mortem images, subjects are depicted in a more formulaic manner. The subject is represented in either a close-up or full-length body shot. Sometimes the camera is positioned directly over the body looking down onto it, as is the case in Figure 8 and in Figure 9

Fig. 9 Southworth and Hawes, Unidentified child, Deceased

but more times than not,  the camera is positioned at the same level as the body, emphasizing the face and its importance as a soon-to-be-cherished memory (Figure 9).

Fig. 10

Symbols like the ones represented in Figure 2 and Figure 3 are noticeably absent, with the exception of flowers that are common fixtures in many of these images. There is much more focus on portraying the dead as resting peacefully. Color is even added to the image to disguise the evidence of death. There were obviously exceptions to this from time to time. For example, photographers oftentimes found themselves arriving to make the death-bed portrait after the body had been prepared, which, as you can imagine, made for stiff, un-lifelike photographs (Figures 7 and 11).

Fig. 11

Bodies that could not be photographed in time were occasionally exhumed for the very purpose of facing the camera. That is what is so disturbing about Figure 12.

Fig. 12

Finger Painting With The iPad

 

David Kassan

 

 

 

Mom, David Kassan

 

 

Fernando Botero’s Abu Ghraib

I came across these paintings the other day by Fernando Botero and remembered being very moved by them when I fist saw them some years ago.  The emotions I experienced when viewing them  ranged from gut wrenching horror to feelings of  pity and shame for both the tortured and those doing the torturing.  I am sure that the article that influenced this set of 50 paintings, Seymour M. Hersh‘s  Torture At Abu Ghraib, has not been forgotten by the International community nor have the actual photographs been put to rest.  How could they?  Such dishonor, such humiliation, such gross violation of human rights and all at the hands of soldiers representing the United States of America, a country that helps people, not hurt them!

Botero responded to Hersh’s article by saying, “I, like everyone else, was shocked by the barbarity, especially because the United States is supposed to be this model of compassion.” He was so upset about the injustices  done in Iraq that he began creating a series of paintings that would forever mark these atrocities  upon the collective consciousness of humanity.  Each are titled Abu Ghraib and numbered 1 -50.  The series is based upon actual testimonies that came out of the prison scandal but are his own interpretations of those events. Botero elected not to forgo his signature style of cartoon like characters, but instead uses the style to highlight the vulnerability of his subjects which are large, muscular, and  exposed.  They are bare and easily hurt.

Unlike the original news photographs, Botero’s prisoners seldom see their abusers nor does the viewer.  These prisoners are beaten, tortured, urinated on, and humiliated from outside the picture frame.  For example, in this painting, two soldiers are in attendance.  The presence of the one on the left side is marked only by the urine that is projected onto the victims whose heads are sacked.  The other soldier pins a prisoner down with his boot.  

In another  painting a naked prisoner is tied to his cell wall as though crucified with women’s underwear left on his head like a hood. 

We also see naked, hooded and bound Iraqis heaped in a pyramid along with paintings of prisoners being attacked by dogs.

When this series first appeared in 2005, Botero had a difficult time finding American galleries who would show the work.  As a result, they were first shown in Europe.  Then, they finally appeared in New York, and later they were shown at the University of California, Berkeley.  Botero refused to sell the work to collectors commenting that he did not want to profit from the pain of others.  He has since donated the collection to Berkeley because he wanted it to remain in America, for American viewers as a “reminder.”

Fernando Botero’s Abu Ghraib.

Painter of Light verses Parody of Light

Thomas Kinkade, “The Painter of Light,” was one of the most popular and most successful artists working in recent times.   At the height of his career, people responded to his work, claiming that it gave them hope and provided them with inspiration.  Over 90 independent galleries across the county specialized in his art. Not only did he produce prints for sale, his work  appeared on Hallmark cards and catalog covers, and he started his own line of furniture, The Kinkade Collection. He even developed whole neighborhoods according to the ideals embodied in his art.

Kinkade’s art is not easily forgotten.  His paintings drip in sappy sweetness and are almost always bathed in heavenly light. The light, he claims, is the light of Jesus.   There is never a hint of sadness or hard times in any of his art works,  only the idealization of Christian America. Devoid of people, but filled with nostalgia, Kinkade tugs on our heartstrings and invites us to take part in a longing for what does not exist in reality but exists in the fantasy realm of possibility.   So, what is wrong with participating in nostalgia?  Nothing.  Not one thing in my opinion.  However, Kinkade does more than ask us to participate.  Take for example these two cottage paintings.

Christmas Cottage
Cottage By The Sea

Not only are they similar in style, color palate , and sentiment, they provide us with a perfect escape from reality. As Joe Carter suggests in his Blog Kinkade’s Cottage Fantasy, “the cottage is a self-contained safe place where the viewer can shut himself in and get away from the harsh realities of creation, particularly away from other people. The Cottage by the Sea offers a place where the viewer can enter the perfect world of Kinkade’s creation—and escape the messy world of Kinkade’s Creator.”

Successful in the eyes of most….yes.   But not so much in the eyes of those  like myself who have dedicated their lives to the arts, to making art  more than pretty pictures that match the sofa in the red room,  to making art which challenges and inspires rather than simply comforts,  to making art more than a commodity with only monetary value and nothing more. Back in 2001, Kinkaid told 60 minutes that consumers would soon  be able to “put a Thomas Kinkade couch beneath your Thomas Kinkade painting. Next to the Thomas Kinkade couch goes the Thomas Kinkade end table. On top of that goes your collection of Thomas Kinkade books, Thomas Kinkade collectibles, Thomas Kinkade throw rugs. You can snuggle your Thomas Kinkade teddy bear.” Hearing this makes me shutter from the tips of my toes to the very ends of my hairs.

But wait, there is hope at last!  An artist by the name of Patricia Hernandez has created an exhibit now showing at Diverseworks Art Space entitled Parody of Light.  The artist offers an unapologetic critique of “The Painter of Light” and   mocks his many questionable business practices. You can view more works by Hernandez at Culture Map and read about the exhibit which promises to be (at least in my mind) gratifying!

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