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| Self-Portrait, 1980 |
I have always wanted to be one of the kids. One of those kids that gave Patti Smith's wonderful "Just Kids" its title. It's a tender longing to have seen the wild years of the late 1960s and 1970s, to spend nights and have conversations with the likes of William Burroughs, Janis Joplin and, naturally, Robert Mapplethorpe. But having been conceived a couple of decades to late, I remain as one of the kids who dress in black, turn off the radio whenever Taylor Swift is playing, and nurture their unrequited love for Mapplethorpe by visiting every exhibition they can.
This month, I had the chance to see his work in the Arts Centre in Aberystwyth/Wales as part of the Tate Artist Rooms tour. And let's be frank, seeing Robert Mapplethorpe's beautiful photographs of his friends and of himself on the wall almost feels like a proper journey through time, and is probably as good as it can get in the year 2015.
I saw some of Mapplethorpe's work curated by Isabelle Huppert at Paris Photo last year, but didn't find it as poignant or impressive as this year's small retrospective in Aberystwyth. Presenting a fairly small number of images (compared to Mapplethorpe's extensive oeuvre), the Tate cleverly managed to assemble a collection that is comprehensive but not overwhelming, and a nice introduction to Mapplethorpe's work in general. The focus is on the (self-)portraits, with only little room given to his still-lifes, which does wonders for the cohesion of the exhibition.
If you made your way through the display the right way round, it would start with Mapplethorpe's early self portraits, which he would use to perfect his photographic technique, then take you on a expedition through the Hotel Chelsea and Andy Warhol's The Factory, encountering Philip Glass, Keith Haring and Iggy Pop, exploring Mapplethorpe's more thematically constructed projects on the way, to finish on the self-portraits taken towards the end of his life, concluding the trip with a haunting close-up of his eyes. Just like "Just Kids" the exhibition traces Robert Mapplethorpe's life with a sentimental note, but the centre stage is taken by vivid, extravagant characters, be it his many alter-egos or the soon-to-be-famous poets, artists, bon vivants that he captured one by one.
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| Marianne Faithfull, 1976 |
They stare back at you, one by one, as you progress through the exhibition. Working a similar trick like Zanele Muholi years later, Mapplethorpes images live of the eye contact made between his subjects and his medium format camera, and consequently, the viewer. The eyes draw you in, image after image, they form the punctum, the first focal point, throwing you into the moment of the pressed shutter, into the situation, turning you into one of the kids, tête-a-tête with Marianne Faithfull. The exhibition's catalogue describes Robert Mapplethorpe's relationship with eyes, somewhat gloomily, in the following way:
"By training his camera on his eyes, and on his eyes only, Mapplethorpe has concentrated on those organs and on that faculty that determined his career. These eyes, sunk into his head and surrounded by lines, are the eyes of a sick man - Mapplethorpe was to die of an AIDS-related illness in a few months' time - but also the eyes of a brave and unflinching man, determined to outstare death."
One exception for me is Mapplethorpe's portraits of Andy Warhol where I always look at Warhol's hands first - at the awkward posture, the long white fingers fidgeting nervously. I love how these images are not controlled to the finest detail, how they encapsulate Warhol's uneasy nature - these photographs show Robert Mapplethorpe's artistry at its finest, his command of the portrait in its truest sense, candidly showing us the person, breaking them open with the camera. My favourite image is of Patti Smith, taken in Mapplethorpe's bare loft apartment. She crouches, naked, ribs showing, holding herself to heating pipes, an earnest stare underneath a nest of dark hair. She looks confident in her vulnerability, not shying away from the camera. It is a simple, but stunningly beautiful composition; the play of shapes and strong lines so beloved (and mastered) by Mapplethorpe stronger than ever.
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| Patti Smith, 1976 |
The real surprise for me at this exhibition was the quality of the prints. Having seen a couple of shows at the Arts Centre and having squinted more than once at badly blown up digital prints in distracting lighting, the original prints acquired by the Tate constitute a lovely change. Some of them dating back to the early 1980s, they are just delightful, as they softly grasp the full potential of black and white medium format film, bringing out every shade in between the darkest black and the brightest white without drowning in either, or, even worse, in a dull grey. The swirling smoke of Robert Mapplethorpe's cigarette is just as marvelous to trace as the faintest outline of Doris Saatchi's shoulders in the gorgeous print of her portrait - let's be honest, we've all seen a version of that image in which she looked strangely decapitated by a sea of black, but not this time!
The plain framing - wooden frames of a certain prominence - enhances the experience by subtly highlighting the element of symmetry, of lines and forms in Mapplethorpe's work; without taking over or fortifying the rigid nature of the square format which feels lofty, but not restricting here.
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| Doris Saatchi, 1983 |
It is by no means a perfect exhibition. The Tate Artist Rooms initiative is aiming to engage new audience with the works of individual artists and consequently, learning and education take priority. Education toolkits are provided on the Arts Centre website and on location, not only providing socio-cultural context and locating Mapplethorpe within a bigger arts history but issuing question and answer sets which are clearly not made for the general public, but explicitly for (young) students. It is presumably owed to this objective that what appears to be a comprehensive retrospective at first is actually missing all of Mapplethorpe's more provocative work, addressing the S&M scene and gay emancipation. Thus it eradicates some of the most pivotal, political work of Mapplethorpe, work which lifts him above being a mere chronicler of his time; and it is also a key element of his own biography missing in a display which claims to be following his life by its set-up.
Ironically, the S&M part is, albeit swiftly, mentioned in the education kit - so when one leaves the exhibition, having loved the beautiful prints and cherished the feeling of being amongst pop culture giants for a good afternoon, one is left with the mental image of a ten year old, stumbling across two curious letters during his arts homework, innocently typing them into Google... just imagine his eyes. Imagine that boy's eyes.
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| Andy Warhol, 1983 |
PS: I actually like Taylor Swift (sometimes), and I don't dress exclusively in black (don't call me Doris). But you get the picture.
All images taken from the Tate/National Galleries of Scotland.
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