Doris Salcedo and Tracey Emin

My year so far has been completely consumed by my studies, leaving me with absolutely no time or brain space to write any creative work of my own. But I've really loved the art history course I took this past semester, which focused on the art of monuments and memory. It changed the way I see art and interpret the meaning of physical items in the world. I would say I am a rather materialistic person, in the way that I place a lot of meaning on the physical items that I bring into my life, so looking at object and materiality in the artistic sphere has been really interesting. I wanted to share an essay I wrote, looking at two of my favourite sculptural art works at the moment.

Doris Salcedo, Atrabiliarios, 1993. Wall installation with plywood, shoes, cow bladder and surgical thread. 

Tracey Emin, My Bed, 1998. Box frame, mattress, linens, pillows, and various objects. 

The spectrum of trauma is one that is continuously explored by artists in various capacities and mediums, due to the different meanings that trauma can have for everyone. Doris Salcedo explored the political trauma that occurred in Colombia, her home country, with her work Atrabilarios (1993), creating a strange almost-memorial to strangers who went missing leaving behind no bodily traces, apart from their shoes. Tracey Emin explored the pain of experiencing an emotional breakdown with her work My Bed (1998), a less serious, but perhaps more relatable form of trauma for most museum audiences. My intent with this essay is not to compare these two rather unequal examples of traumatic experience, but rather to explore the impact objects have on personal and public memory, and how trauma is so easily contained within them. Both Atrabilaros and My Bed are discomforting and almost vulgar. It is the use of household, familiar objects that I believe has this effect. 

 

Atrabilarios consists of, as Doris Salcedo said herself, “the most despicable materials you can think of; something we all feel repelled by. Cow bladders… and old shoes.” She travelled throughout rural Colombia and collected shoes from families whose loved ones disappeared because of Colombian political violence. They would disappear without a trace. Salcedo encased the shoes in niches in the wall, and then covered them with cow bladder and stitched it all up with surgical thread. It is unclear what aspect of the work is more unsettling: the fact that the shoes belonged to real women who disappeared under awful circumstances, or the presence of cow bladder and its resemblance to human skin. The haziness of the material creates a particular atmosphere of confusion and unclear memories, perhaps an allusion to the fact that the victims of the violence are strangers to both Salcedo and the public. This also reflects the attitude the Colombian government had towards the victims – they were not significant people to them. The presence of the cow bladder also makes the shoes literally untouchable, but it is such a repulsive material that you can’t help but keep your distance from them. The loss of a shoe also represents a certain loss of autonomy and control; our shoes protect us from injury, dirtiness, weather, and, with wear, they begin to hold a personalized imprint of our bodies. Not to mention the fact that they literally support us. This loss of shoe “evoke[s] the vulnerability of women in public spaces,” and creates a horrifying image of a violent struggle between victim and antagonist. When exhibited in the way Salcedo has created, the shoes function as an object of memory in regard to the absence of body that accompanies them. 

 

This use of personal object dictates the response the viewer has to this artwork when seeing it in a museum. The shoes become a relic, but they also “[remember] victims lost to violence but without functioning as monuments or commemorations; rather, they emphasize the difficulty of memory under specific historical circumstances.” I would imagine that families of the victims would be unable to view their own shoes in the same way again, after viewing the exhibition. Laura Moreno reviews this concept rather perfectly: 

“It addresses the aftermath of violence and raises the question of how one goes about living after an experience that irrevocably transforms the meaning of the ordinary after which everything or anything – a simple chair, a kitchen table, a shoe – has been affected and becomes reminiscent of unbearable violence and loss.” 

This is where the role of public memory and the viewer come in. We are asked to question the importance of our everyday lives during which we encounter the very same objects that are being turned into art and memorials. Salcedo ensures that the viewer will never view their own shoes in the same way again. She is speaking to those grieving and helping those of us who have never lost a loved one understand what grief feels like. Objects that are no longer used by the person of whom they belonged to become a constant reminder of what, and who, is now gone. Upon viewing the artwork, we perhaps begin to recall putting on our shoes earlier that morning, and how it is such a mundane, normal activity, but simultaneously an activity that requires a certain level of thought and consideration. We reflect on how the victims have been robbed of ever performing this simple activity ever again. This adds a deeper level to the memory practice that Salcedo is introducing here; we will not only recall the victims when seeing particular objects but also when performing particular activities. This active form of memory recall has been studied for many years: we recall and learn things more effectively when doing an action. Subsequently, the removal of our shoes also becomes a part of this memorial practice, even though it was an action that was stripped from the victims in their last moments. While this memory recall may be painful, it also creates a deeper appreciation for life and our own autonomy. This demonstrates how deep and never-ending the grief process can be, and how important objects are as memory retaining matter. It is through the storytelling of these objects alone that Salcedo manages to explore both the trauma of the victims – the violence that led to their deaths – in addition to the trauma of those who are left behind to deal with and process their grief. 

 

It’s also important to point out the fact that Atrabilarios was created by Salcedo in 1992; the year in which 4100 deaths were recorded in relation to political violence. This was an increase of nine percent to the previous year. The artwork then became a strange kind of mass memorial. As Vera Mackie describes; “by viewing Doris Salcedo’s work in a public art gallery… these traces and memories are necessarily brought out of the realm of private contemplation and into a space of public spectatorship.” I see Atrabilarios as a work that cleverly destigmatizes grief and maintains respect of the victims and of their privacy. Salcedo has created a haunting portrait of mass death and violence which is also an artwork invoking memory and asking the viewer to fill in many of the gaps, all while ensuring it is not a rendering of trauma porn. Even the title of the work requires research on the part of the audience. It is a reference to the Latin root words ‘atra bilis,’ literally meaning black bile. This is a reference to the ancient Hippocrates belief that the body contained and was ruled by four humors, black bile being the one ruled by melancholy. Thus, the title tells us the intent of the work but in an abstract way, just as how the work itself abstractly displays the trauma of memory. The fact that Salcedo created such a myriad of meaning and emotion through repetition of the same objects is proof alone of just how much storytelling capability is contained within our everyday items. 

 

Somewhat comparatively, Tracey Emin’s My Bed also deals with object in the same memory holding and uncomfortable way. It was created in 1998, after Emin herself suffered a total mental breakdown and spent four days in bed. She eventually got up, and when she returned to the bed, she saw it as a work of art documenting this difficult period in her life. She then exhibited it later in the year, and in 1999 it was nominated for the Turner prize, despite receiving masses of backlash and harsh criticism. It is the objects around the bed that tell this story of her mental breakdown. The actual artwork features Emin’s bed, as well as her own personal objects: empty liquor bottles, condoms, contraceptives, cigarettes, underwear, soft toys, stockings, slippers and used tissues. Emin described seeing the bed as “this absolute mess and decay of my life” (Tate), and she addresses how she “thought it was disgusting… but this bed had probably saved my life and kept me safe… but now the bed has become a ghost of my past and all the things on it don’t relate to me anymore.” The work became a pocket of time for Emin herself, but also inevitably appeals to a larger museum audience because of the presence of everyday objects, some of which only exist in the realm of our private lives. It’s confronting in the way it addresses mental illness in a very familiar environment. The bed is where life and death happen. We all own a bed, and some of us will see it as a safe place where we can take recluse, whereas others will see their bed as a jail. My Bed has remained relevant because of this use of everyday household objects. For Emin, the objects have become historical monuments and a representation of her old self, but for an observer the objects retain cultural and recognizable significance. If we remove the time period in which My Bed was exhibited and instead see it in the light of today’s world, it takes on an entirely different meaning. Taking into consideration the fact that we are in the midst of a pandemic, and we have all faced months stuck in our homes, our beds have taken on completely different roles in our lives. Culturally, we are also facing a mental health crisis. If Emin had used more personalized objects, rather than general ones, the work would not have maintained this cultural significance. 

 

When viewing a work like My Bed, do we see ourselves in it, and identify and empathize with the struggle Emin has been through? Or do we judge Emin for her vulnerability and vulgarity, and instead see it as a nosy peek into someone else’s life? The answer to these questions depends entirely on the viewer, and with what background they are viewing the work. The very real plight and struggle of mental health still faces stigma today, so I find it hard to imagine that the majority of museum observers at the time would have been empathizing with her. This question of the role of the viewer has been mused over by critics since the artwork was first exhibited: “How is the artists future work affected by the precise nature of the viewer’s engagement with and response to individual projects or exhibitions?” This question made me wonder if, by exhibiting these private moments of her life, Emin is trying to gain control of her narrative and release the shame of her mental breakdown by placing in the artistic sphere? She is turning the issue of her mental health into a series of material objects, none of which she created herself. The criticism then is not of the fact that she suffered a mental breakdown, rather that she chose to exhibit it. It is a passing on of her trauma, releasing it from the refrains of her mind and confessing the truth of it to the public. Christine Fanthome addresses this public vs. private factor, saying: “once a piece of art is complete, it moves from the private to the public domain, and at that point the relationship is between viewer and artwork rather than viewer and artist.” With the confessional nature of Emin’s work, I disagree with this statement. Emin is offering the work as an extension of herself; as a memorial to who she was at that point in time. Emin is also a relatively public figure, and the knowledge of who she is “is fundamental to the public response she generates, which spans the spectrum from shock and abhorrence to intimacy, resonance and intense shared meaning.” The fact it was nominated for the Turner prize reflects both the cultural and artistic values of society at the time. It was not too long prior that women were sent away, diagnosed with ‘hysteria,’ when experiencing the emotions that Emin is exhibiting. The acceptance of My Bed as a piece of art is reflective of changing attitudes to what is considered art, as well as the acceptance of the very real issue of mental health. 

 

Although I maintain that both works are incomparable because of the heaviness of subject matter, both Atrabilarios and My Bed incorporate objects to convey trauma in similar ways. The objects Salcedo and Emin chose to incorporate – the shoes and the bed – both incorporate daily rituals that are familiar to every viewer. Not every viewer would be able to relate to the grief and death that is portrayed in Atrabilaros, but everyone can relate to the ritualistic notion of putting on and taking off shoes. Similarly, not every viewer could relate to the mental breakdown depicted in My Bed, but everyone has their own relationship with their bed and messes that they have made in times of stress or distress. It is important to note that both artists described their own work as disgusting and unpleasant. The works weren’t supposed to be beautiful, or aesthetically pleasing to look at. They were created to prompt emotion and thinking on part of the viewer. There is some degree of inevitability for both works as well, I think. Neither artist deliberately sought out the objects they chose to use, nor did they have a particular vision they wanted to complete. The objects, and subsequently the stories, somewhat presented themselves to the artist, and were there at the right place at the right time. This lack of thoughtful choice conveys the message of the works to an even deeper level. The victims of the guerilla crimes did not choose that fate for themselves, and Emin did not choose to have a mental breakdown, much less make a piece of art about it. Considering this observation – both works are about people – it is a significant point that both lack the presence of bodies. Much of the story is told by the objects, and the meaning implied by the existence of the work, is the fact that there are not bodies present to finish telling the story. Therefore, they fit the delineation of a monument. Atrabilarios is a monument to the violent deaths of countless Colombian women. My Bed is a personal monument to the death of Emin’s former self.

 

Doris Salcedo’s Atrabilarios and Tracey Emin’s My Bed rely on the collective but also personal memory of their viewers to get their message across through their use of objects. Through these objects they attempt, I think rather successfully, to destigmatize grief and mental health conditions. The massive issues they are addressing adds monumental meaning to these everyday objects and ensures viewers will continue thinking about the artwork even after they have left the gallery setting. This also displays the role of the artist in today’s society: to see art and meaning where no one else does.

I've left my original bibliography out but feel free to get in touch if you want any of my sources. Lol.