Robert Mapplethorpe and Me

It was the Fall of l985. Our Senior Seminar in Photography class had an assignment: Go see this fashion photographer speak at Moore. The exhibition titled Memento Mori: All Art Is A Revolt Against Man's Fate was up in the gallery and in a small auditorium I saw Robert Mapplethorpe for the first time. He was classically tall, dark and very handsome. I was told he was also gay. I had recently become aware of such men, with a super-real beauty, that existed in Philadelphia. I was dating a fellow photography student and I had taken him to see my best friend sing in a well known Mens Choir. Not long after, my date confessed to me that he had cheated on me with a man in the choir, a large bear of a fellow whose wide smile and great humor charmed all about him, including me. So I was confused. I broke up with this guy, of course. I was not in love with him. He was a delicate bird, truly. In mulling it over, I think my date needed the positive attention of many, he was just so emotionally frail. And his artwork was lovely.

So I'm thinking about this group of men. Being a country girl in the Big City, I was taken to a restaurant by my best friend, a straight guy, with a group from the choir. This place was on South Street, where the alternate people go, and in this place were some of the most beautiful men, well-dressed. I was told that many made a good living, many were rich. I began to notice them whenever I was out, a certain group in tailored suits, and what could have been make up, distinctive and apart, as if the mythical Gods had come to play in modern times. Competition. It was the first time in my life that I saw a male as competition. They were more elegantly groomed and dressed then I would ever be. So sitting in that auditorium, I had some baggage. I didn't like fashion, or photography in fashion, and those that knew me understood that I was the Contrarian.

Mapplethorpe sat in an auditorium chair as he was introduced. I watched him, he seemed a bit nervous, turning in his seat. I had my 35mm camera and started taking photographs, mostly of him. I got the feeling he didn't like my doing that. He looked at me several times, his large, elegant, porcelain spider hand stretched toward me across a seat. I took more photos. As I listened to the intro, I began to understand that he was not 'just' a fashion photographer. His work was what I call the 'best' that any artist can do, severely personal. As the images began to roll by, I got an impression of him. The thing I look for in my students, as well as artists I admire, is that willingness to be who you are through your own eyes. It takes great courage, especially when the public comes down on you. I am a great fan of said people. No matter the medium, either, as I think of great writers who ended up in jail for having followed the truth, or had their work banned.

So Mr. Mapplethorpe spoke softly and smiled often. After his S&M photographs were up on the screen, I was a bit disgusted. Later I raised my hand and asked something like this: How can you call that art? I wish I could remember what he said to me. I do remember his gaze which seemed to hold the pain, peril and pleasure from an excavated life. His lips broke a tolerant smile of ten thousand answered questions. It sticks in my mind that he smiled often. I went up later and said hi. My thoughts had already turned to admiration. I didn't have to like the work to understand that this man put it all out there and took the criticism, and yes, the fame as well. I was beginning to compose the paper I had to write for my teacher, who was a New York art critic and spending this one semester in Philadelphia. I will spell out the paper for you in the next post. I seem a bit naive in my paper, but was able to see the work in it's own unique way.

I didn't think much about him until after I graduated in 1986. I worked for an art dealer who bought and sold photographic works around the world, and I got to view and hold and matt and frame many original works and send them off in the mail to museums and collectors. I found out Mapplethorpe was a collector of works himself, and I was influenced by some of those great early masters and it changed my own artwork. In December l988 I saw The Perfect Moment exhibit at ICA in Philadelphia. It was wonderful to see much of his great work in one space. I loved that he loved the beauty he saw in objects and people. The separate room for the S&M work was not so great to me, but I did get that this was his expression and I liked that he did it anyway, that he created what he saw as remarkable, whatever the subject may be. I believe sometime around then I heard he had AIDS.

Then I got a job at ICA in January. I was there a couple of weeks when The Perfect Moment Exhibition was packed up and sent to tour. I believe the first stop was Washington DC, and from there on it's history, what happened. Every day we would hear something that shook us. Nothing less than a revolt against art. I heard the name Jesse Helms. I saw the work of Andres Serrano. Then the Mapplethorpe exhibit traveled on and a curator or director got arrested. Now there was a pall upon the community. I half-expected to have a swat team come into ICA and arrest us. I had a series of what I considered lovely male nudes. Now I wanted to hide them in a closet. So, once again, Robert Mapplethorpe (and Andres Serrano-whose work I love-even as a girl raised Catholic) had a large impact on me, and this time a negative impact on my own artwork. More later...

The Ease of Days

So I went to Paris and kept up with my young niece. She is a fireball of energy, and me, I take things a bit slower, and my mind races with ideas.

My niece thinks that I have ADD. I had to look at why she said that, and the reason is: a memoir that needs re-writing, a screenplay that needs re-writing, a set of short stories (mostly complete), a new novel about a group of survivors, etc. I am currently teaching darkroom photo classes, but also taking a class in Silkscreen, which I have on my list of 'must do' and finally, I am in it. I love it. I am taking images from Robert Mapplethorpe that I took way back in l985, as the negatives are weak and they render well in silkscreen. This all explains why my niece thinks, as when she asks me what I'm doing, all of the above comes out, with updates.

What she doesn't realize is that for the first time in my life, I see that there is a tunnel. Maybe I don't see the tunnel yet and surely not the end of it, but I am aware that it is there. I cared for my mother as she died from Alzheimers and it changed the very essence of what living is for me. So since I sense the tunnel, I am gauging the distance and suddenly, I am in a hurry. Time has a different feel. It's more precious. I have so much to say.

I don't care for the pressure I feel to get it all done. I remember very well the ease of days, the endless, casual lack of time. No artist has a day off, it's all part of the work. I have to make time just to be in time. I envy her time-sense.

Thanks for the support recently, and the feedback to all.