some stuff to think about

Okay, so there are a couple of topics I’ve touched on lately that have resulted in lots of emails from readers. One is hearing aids, and the other is the photographing of my mother when she was sick and then dying. I’d like to spend a little more time on both subjects. First up – the photographs.

There is, of course, a very long history of photography of the deceased. In many cultures and traditions, it is commonplace for the departed loved one to be photographed – the picture then displayed at the both the funeral and then on the mantel of the surviving family.

As for the making of pictures during the illness and road to death – well, that’s something that is more delicate.

A photographer named Marshall Clarke made a series of pictures of his grandmother, Marjorie, as she suffered through the latter stages of Alzheimer’s. The Sun Magazine published the work a few months ago, and the editor received this letter from a reader shortly thereafter:

“How sad it is to witness the decline of Marjorie Clarke, as photographed by her grandson Marshall Clarke. But when did she cease to be a person and become an object? I feel that her privacy has been invaded. Nobody should have to end his or her life unknowingly on display.”

-Phylis Collier

Mr. Clarke himself responded:

“The issue of objectifying people is something I struggle with every day as a photographer. There’s a fine line between bring a witness and being an intruder. How close is too close? Privacy should not be treated lightly, and there are many photos I chose not to take, out of respect.

During my visits with my grandmother, I often asked if I could take her photo, but eventually the question had no meaning for her. For years after her death the photographs sat as I debated the importance of privacy versus the need to communicate. Finally I discussed the images with my family, and they gave me their blessing to make them public.

My grandmother’s decline is sad, but it was also part of her life. When we are invited to be a witness to someone else’s life, our fragile connections can be reinforced. For me the images do not diminish my grandmother’s humanity but acknowledge both her struggle and my relationship with her. To communicate honestly is sometimes to communicate the uncomfortable truth. My intent, as witness and grandson, was to reveal what we all share, rather than what separates us.”

-Marshall Clarke

I thank one of my readers, Kathy, for bringing the Clarke photographs to my attention. I thank her, too, for the candid thoughts she shared in an email regarding pictures of illness:

“I saw some photographs in a magazine of women who had undergone mastectomies. I was in shock at first that the photographs had been taken. But then I really studied them, and I saw the dignity on the women's faces, the dignity in their spirits. And I think what had freaked me out was the fear that ‘this could happen to me.’ But after a time of studying the photographs, I felt that I was growing more accustomed to what could happen to the body and that maybe I could endure it if I had to--and that I had these examples of dignity from which I could draw strength.”

-Kathy

Another reader reminded me of the photographs Annie Leibovitz made of her partner, Susan Sontag, and of Leibovitz’ explanation as to why she chose to publish them:

“Leibovitz was by Sontag's bedside when she was receiving treatment for cancer. The hardest photos in the book relate to these times, and before deciding to publish them, Leibovitz consulted a small circle of Sontag's friends. There was controversy within the group, but in the end they supported a decision to publish. Leibovitz wanted to show what illness looks like and what courage looks like, too. ‘Susan loved the good fight. And there's no doubt in my mind - and I do this as if she was standing behind me - that she would be championing this work.’

Leibovitz's great regret is that she wasn't there when Sontag died. By that stage, late 2004, she was shuttling between Sontag's bedside and that of her desperately ill father in Florida…. 'They called me to say she had died. And they kept her there for me. But she was gone.’ Leibovitz told the undertaker, ‘I don't want any make-up on her. I don't want any of that crap.’ She took a photograph of Sontag lying on the gurney, bruises from an IV still vivid on her arms.”

-From a Bookplanet review of
A Photographer's Life: 1990-2005, by Annie Leibovitz

After a lot of thought, I decided to share a few of the pictures I made of my mom on this blog and in my lectures. There were times during the last few days of her life when I chose not to make any photographs. There were moments when I felt certain she knew I was taking pictures, and there were many times I know my father was aware of the fact that I was using my camera. Unlike Leibovitz, I didn’t take any pictures once Mom had passed away.

I did not show the pictures to anyone outside our family until my father had seen them and somehow given me some sort of approval for having made them. The pictures were difficult to make. I wrestled with them after she died. Why had I made them? Who were they for, really? What would I do with them? How would she have felt about them? Today, I feel lucky to have them, and I visit them from time to time to remind myself of what she went through, how brave she was, how I felt about her at that time, how it felt to be around her then, how it might ultimately be when it is my turn to be in her shoes. The final picture was one made a few minutes before she died. It is not of her face, but of her hands – hers and mine. The picture reminds me of the relationship we had. Others have said it evokes a powerful and poignant return for them to the death of one of their loved ones.

I’d like to think the images portray my mother with dignity and grace, which is exactly how I saw her at that time.

Most of the response I have received surrounding the photographs has been really positive. When I showed the work to a select few at the Sante Fe Reviews, tears were shed and appreciation for having experienced them was expressed. I thank those of you who have taken the time to let me know that the pictures move you in some way. After all, as some have pointed out, death is simply a part of life. There can be beauty there.