Vanitas | Printed Publication

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A Note on Vanitas By Lucy Ives

The driver exited his vehicle to take a selfie with the animals. —Wikipedia, “List of selfie-related injuries and deaths”

I

s all still vanity? Four hundred years ago,

book profiles increases by an estimated 8,000

Dutch and Flemish painters produced

“users” per day, suggesting that our attempts

hyperrealist still lifes of flowers, food, and

to memorialize everyone and everything

luxury goods, seemingly fixing these gauds

may mainly recall the fragility and brevity

beyond time. So-called Vanitas images sym-

of life. Just as the Vanitas—also known as the

bolize the brevity of human life, as well as

pronkstilleven, or luxury still life, for its shiny

the ephemerality and essential emptiness of

and expensive contents—reminded wealthy

earthly pursuits. Paradoxically, the Vanitas im-

patrons of their own earthly impermanence,

age also boastfully advertises the artist’s “abil-

we now negotiate a world of images that con-

ity to give permanence to the ephemeral and

fusingly express our time’s extreme finitude

thereby overcome death,” according to histo-

(global warming, resource wars, economic

rian Sybille Ebert-Schifferer. This tantalizing

stratification) even as they promise escape and

tension between human mortality and human

immortality (life extension, quantum com-

ambition maintains today: High-net-worth

puting, planetary colonization).

individuals spend ever more in hopes of lib-

erating their physical selves from senescence

language, “vanity” flags the transitory nature

and death, while the rest of us obsessively save

of the human body, as well as the essential

our memories to the cloud, convinced that the

bootlessness of corporeal whim. Derived from

digital records that compose us will act as via-

a Latin root meaning “empty, void,” vanity is a

ble substitutes after we are dead. Meanwhile,

paradoxical and sometimes dangerous way of

the online graveyard grows. For example, the

relating to the self: To be vain is to mistake the

number of deceased individuals with Face-

changeable for the permanent, to love an im-

In its earliest appearances in the English


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A Note on Vanitas

age in the place of embodied presence, as the

rian Svetlana Alpers, meanwhile, observes

drowning victim Narcissus did in myth. Vanity

the remarkable “attentiveness” shown to the

is a conceptual error at once semantic and

things of the pronkstilleven, whose aston-

ontological, in which an item belonging to one

ishing realism suggests that they may also be

category (the body) is presented as if it belongs

visual documents of a new and modern style

to another (the numinous). Vanity may be the

of looking, proofs of an emerging empiricism;

category mistake to end all category mistakes,

soon artists might not merely paint nature but

a tragic misapprehension that is, all the same,

influence it.

associated with a non-negligible supply of

pleasure and fun. Indeed, vanity often assists

the Vanitas painting always seems just about

in crucial ways in our identification and inter-

to step into the image, to seize an oyster or

pretation of value, particularly when it comes

disturb a precarious table setting. In Jacques

to those endlessly seductive, sometimes trou-

de Gheyn II’s 1603 Vanitas Still Life, a massive

bling, sometimes anodyne items: art objects

hovering bubble threatens either to burst, ru-

and luxury goods. Though we should perhaps

ining the composition, or to reflect the curved

know better, we hope that new purchases and

image of the artist himself, thereby interrupt-

proximity to beautiful, costly things will bring

ing the illusion of this apparently perfectly im-

us increased vitality.

personal representation. The skill necessary to

convey this opposition—between the ephem-

In this sense, little has changed since

As Barthes and Alpers note, the author of

the 1600s, when opulent still-life paintings

erality of experience and the overwhelming

repurposed the failure to fully recognize our

sensual presence of the physical world—ups

mortality as subject matter. Roland Barthes

the ante: The effort lavished on the delicate,

remarks on the seductive “sheen” of these me-

shining surfaces implies that the painter may

ticulous and costly renderings of tables piled

not believe in his own fleeting nature so much

with wet grapes, split peaches, and shim-

as his vicarious immortality, as guaranteed by

mering oysters, which symbolize pleasures of

the liveliness of the very work he was engaged

fleshly existence; and the occasional leering

in painting. The eternal present of the Vanitas

skull or recently snuffed candle, which sym-

image is animated not merely by the volup-

bolize frailty and death. He reads the precise

tuous objects it contains but by the illusion of

detail of these images as not merely allegori-

an eternally living artist, who forever seems to

cal, but expressive of a drive on the part of the

hover just beyond the frame.

artist to imprint one’s mark “upon the inert by

shaping and manipulating it.” The art histo-

with mere selfishness or indicate a more

What is vanity now, and does it equate


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A Note on Vanitas

complex balance of rational belief and carnal

being strained, even as wealth is distributed

experience? Cryogenics labs offer to reani-

with an unevenness that rivals the early nine-

mate us into a future of improved technolo-

teenth century—a statistic that becomes more

gy. Luxury spas promise the approximation

disturbing the longer one ponders it.

of youth. Google’s (a.k.a. Alphabet’s) Calico

biotechnology arm will leverage the power of

deny death are embodied in the material

nature to extend life. These endeavors—often

things with which we surround ourselves.

described in terms of service, even obligation,

The drive to collect, categorize, and archive

The ways in which we recognize and

to the entire life-loving species—are buttressed is one response to the uncertainty of mortalby antiaging researchers who seem driven

ity, and today’s ever-expanding capacities for

to prove that the more privileged among us

digital storage encourage the endless memorialization of oneself

Vanity is a conceptual error at once semantic and ontological, in which an item belonging to one category (the body) is presented as if it belongs to another (the numinous)

and loved ones. The permanence or impermanence of such traces, which depend on the viability of servers and compatibility of files, software, and hardware, is debatable; indeed, the update could be the double-edged

are in fact no longer absolutely mortal. At

sword upon which our digital identities fall.

the same time, we must reckon with the fact

Yet perhaps posterity is of lesser consequence

that, for the foreseeable future, we’ll all age

to us than it once was. We are able to docu-

and eventually pass away, particularly since

ment our lives with unprecedented speed and

senescence and death are not just emotionally

medial diversity and produce endless streams

but monetarily involved processes. The popu-

of selfies and video testimonies for the “here”

lations of many countries are disproportion-

and “now.” If most of our content is addressed

ately aged and aging, which poses challenges

exclusively to the immediate present, perhaps

to the configuration of cities and economies

we have begun to dispense with the notion

(as well as questions about representation and

of posterity at the very moment at which we

inclusion); collective resources are already

are, at least in theory, able to save everything.


A Note on Vanitas

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In this case, it is not merely our conception of

deadly force deployed by the American police

mortality that has been destabilized, but also

to the consolations of the recovery of one Los

our sense of time, in that we have begun to fa-

vvAngeles artist’s cenotaph-like home, from

vor ephemerality and inhabit the present—on

the antideath architecture of Arakawa and

Snapchat and beyond—in new ways.

Gins to multiple contemporary interpreta-

This issue of Triple Canopy features

tions of the Vanitas image tradition, from the

artists, writers, and critics who are thinking

much-heralded “end of death” to the pursuit

and working in the midst of these paradoxes.

of impossible—or nearly impossible—forms of

They reflect on a wide range of topics, from

beauty. The futility of human striving meets

the unstable glamour of K-pop to the collec-

the plenitude of digital memory, and acts of

tive process of aging in naturally occurring

self-representation contrast with attempts

retirement communities (NORCs), from the

to comprehend the situation of the human


A Note on Vanitas

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Page 5: Barthel Bruyn the Elder, 1524,oil on panel, 61 Ă— 51 cm left: Painting by Andriessen, Hendrick (1607-1655) ca. 1650 Oil on canvas

species, prompting us to ask: Does death still define life as the “vanity of all vanities,� as Ecclesiastes has it, if death is also a highly remunerative field of scientific research and product development? How will solutions to the perceived problem of mortality be shared out, fairly or otherwise? What framing device will replace the all-comprehending selfie stick?


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Picture Logic By Angela Ferraiolo

Okay the pictures that’s what people want to know what

happened how did we let Jimmy ruin them as if there was some action we should have taken some kind of warning or intervention look questions like that are hostile also misdirected.

Jimmy believed in a concept called picture logic which

means the way a picture makes sense how it unfolds across the image plane for example a picture of a lady it has a top and a bottom the lady has her head at the top of the frame and her feet at the bottom that’s what’s right that’s how the image of the lady makes sense and the people who look at that picture Top: K-pop star, Krystal Jung for GQ magazine photoshoot

use that they use position orientation composition all the


Picture Logic

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fundamentals to connect with the lady and to transfer memory emotion and experience from themselves to that picture and then back to themselves again.

For instance the lake series let’s say you’re no longer able

to understand the decision-making process or the aesthetic frame through which these photographs were created you’re no longer able to associate that type of blue with the sky water women children let’s say it’s twenty years later and that blue sky strikes you as false sentimental somewhat untrustworthy you don’t respond to that blue anymore it’s just pigment a color and because of that the image refuses to organize won’t make sense.

I’ve seen Jimmy slide across a picture I’ve seen him

mentally choose some object in the foreground and let that object block his descent into the frame stop any kind of motion inward so that he moves toward flatness surface anti-image wone day I’m sitting in the kitchen not even thinking about photography when Jimmy comes in through the doorway and says I’ve got a job for you he did he had a complete description of what I was supposed to do get a truck just drop everything just like that drive to the city go to some warehouse in Queens announce myself at the desk he says which is all set they’ll be expecting me go to the client room get his pictures which Jimmy describes as consisting of a couple hundred boxes of stuff put those boxes on the truck drive the truck back Upstate back up there to him at the house and that’s it I’m done.

By pictures he meant everything the whole catalogue

all the frames he’d shot from January of ’67 to December of ’72 which is like asking for every picture from let’s say the year Star Trek first aired to the year A Clockwork Orange was released a lot of pictures literally thousands and thousands of photographs boxes and boxes of stuff.

Keep in mind Jimmy wasn’t shooting then he hadn’t made

a picture for five or six years unusual you know photographers they don’t normally stop like that they’re more stubborn anyway he had left the city for good he and the collective


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Picture Logic

or what was left of the collective none of them doing much of anything but hanging around getting older rationalizing hiding out in the woods.

I said Jimmy it’s a lot to do a lot of material a lot of driving

why don’t we get some movers to do this professionally but of course that was the last thing he wanted no strangers he said you me Ed and the rest of us that’s enough we can do this ourselves.

We rented a truck one of those eight wheelers but I agreed

with Carolyn I didn’t think any of us could drive it so we put our foot down made Jimmy hire a driver.

Other than that a straightforward move get in the truck

drive down to the city go over to the warehouse collect the boxes put the boxes on the truck drive everything back Upstate take the boxes off the truck put the boxes in the house. It was February no heat in the warehouse because of the artwork it was freezing.

I’m sure we raised eyebrows when we showed up at

that place which of course looked like a museum only with everything in boxes or wrapped in paper or nailed into a crate of some sort no heat no moisture no dirt a degree of organization that is unfathomable I think their managers were horrified I mean let’s face it whoever they were expecting or were used to trusting with outgoing inventory it wasn’t people like us.

I guess there had been some back and forth over the

phone but when we got there I didn’t feel any tension or resistance it wasn’t confrontational they were courteous we were courteous like this was a chore we needed to accomplish.

There was a kind resignation which maybe felt like

obstinacy concrete floors uniforms overhead lights attendants in white coats as if they were scientists or technicians listening without any kind of reaction ignoring questions looking away

Right page: Top: Bunch of old cameras Middle: Bunch of Analog films Bottom: Bunch of mirrorless cameras.


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Picture Logic

never allowing themselves to be rushed or questioned or irritated that kind of opaque methodical caution requiring multiple levels of permission to touch something or be near something and at the same time a bit exaggerated self-important demonstrative showing their ability to label identify categorize they could retrieve whatever was needed in minutes the monstrous the trivial the picturesque all they needed was a date and number.

I was glad to get out of there a few days to

load the boxes then a little driving then back into the woods. Jimmy had never paved the driveway and with all the ice and snow that winter we couldn’t get the truck up the second hill so we stopped about a thousand feet before the front door. He was waiting for us as soon as we got close he came out of the house walked up to the truck and started taking boxes up the driveway.

Not a word I guess if you want to be

dramatic you would say that the moment we got back we were already starting to lose them not that I believe Jimmy had at that point decided anything or felt anything but the whole time we were unloading the truck he was off in his own thoughts no questions no conversation just moving boxes expecting the rest of us to figure it out fall into step behind him. Boxes in the living room in the dining room in the back bedrooms on the first floor in the barn anybody who was still at the house was living like that walls of boxes hundreds of them like a fortress.


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Picture Logic

The boxes were everywhere as soon

They were beautiful yes I mean sure for

as we got them inside Jimmy moved into

a few weeks the whole house was beautiful.

the upstairs bedroom that big room above

Beautiful I don’t know after everything that

the kitchen. And right away he put us all to

had been said about them written about them

work we started going through the catalogue

it was different it was maybe not what we had

opening a box lifting the prints out of their

expected finding them again exactly as they

paper liners laying them out on a table or a

had been before. He just looked for a few days

countertop arranging them on some surface a

desk the floor whatever was in the room. Get

looking getting up in the morning going to

everything out of the box lay it on the table.

the photographs eating breakfast with the

Then he would come by and look at what was

photographs sitting with the photographs no

there just stand over the pictures looking.

breaks no walks. He could spend hours he

would stand over a photograph lose all sense

That look I remember it stooping forward

Moving from room to room standing

bent over getting close to the image very close.

of time. Everything’s important that sensibility

They felt big really immense I had seen these

that tended to valorize his compulsion for

pictures for years in books and magazines but

detail not asters by the mailbox but Montauk

to see them for real with my own eyes in real

daisies not planted in pairs but planted in

life just laid out in front of me

groups of three the shape of their leaves

echoed in the green to blue-green gradient

The little girl in the sailor hat holding

her dog up to the camera the one of the kids

in the variegated leaves stamped around

standing in the driveway in front of their dad’s

the borders of the placemats in the dining

garage the two boys jumping on the picnic

room the moiré pattern in the nylon curtains

table in the Little League field the woman in

hanging in the sidelight windows by the front

the blue dress she’s got those pearls on she’s

door somehow repeated in the diamond-

reaching out to her kid happy smiling the kid

ridged latticework of the lace sewn to the edge

euphoric joyful reaching up to her.

of the little girl’s white ankle socks.


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Picture Logic

Looking then looking again positioning

are several approaches the surface of the

then repositioning then looking again. A

paper that’s resin a film of plastic protecting

standard visual exploit juxtaposition writers

the emulsion once it sustains a number of

do it too you don’t see a clear next decision so

small scratches the image beneath becomes

you try re-envisioning what you already have

less visible more exposed on the other hand

moving an image from here to there putting

with water it’s a little tougher since these

this next to that recasting rethinking trying to

papers were meant to be wet processed there

wake yourself up make your ideas new again.

are a couple layers of plastic around the print

Did he know what he was doing I’m not sure

one on each side of the image both intended

there was no method to any of this.

to keep the paper flat during development.

I went in one afternoon and he seemed

I don’t think any of us at that point

to have no idea who I was or what I wanted or

understood what Jimmy was thinking beyond

what day of the week it was. This is precisely

his desire to engage in this endlessly repetitive

my point why does everyone assume the

futile erosion of order taking boxes apart

goal was preservation when there is so much

staring at pictures talking to himself.

evidence to the contrary why does no one

address that particular aspect of this whole

they look exactly the way they’re supposed to

mania. We don’t usually discard we usually

then one day there’s something different. How

default to conservation we know how to do

did he destroy them I would say deliberately

that there are rules for cataloguing rules of

methodically in such a way that there was

preservation guidelines for putting objects

no chance of retrieval how would you erase

into boxes and for removing them maybe

yourself. A rag and a little water this is a wool

that’s mindless a habit learned by rote the

rag so it’s already pretty rough with one hand

result of training.

holding the photograph down on a surface a

counter a tabletop and the other hand holding

Do you mean make something disappear

or literally obliterate an image because there

Pictures are tricky aren’t they for years

the rag you move the rag across the surface


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Picture Logic

Left page: A person taking a picture using a phone


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Picture Logic

Pictures are tricky aren’t they for years they look exactly the way they’re supposed to then one day there’s something different

of the print scraping across the emulsion use

more forced than it needs to be is the bowl

small circles do this over and over.

of white chrysanthemums slightly distorted

is this perhaps several photographs stripped

It’s not such a tragedy honestly anybody

who looks at pictures or most people who

together is this an instance of a photograph

look at pictures we do it a little carelessly it’s a

that was once highly valued but has more

skill people take for granted you look you see

recently been discredited these small

something you feel you understand but what

aberrations are they apparent to everyone

is it you’re seeing a beautiful lady with a bowl

are you alone aware of them do these flaws

of flowers good you were able to make sense

exist in the world or are they an instance of

of it the picture means something it gives you

some other kind of phenomenon some failing

pleasure if you study it further you might

on the part of the photographer some error

ask why what makes this picture beautiful

against which the mind collides.

is it the lady is it the bowl of flowers is it the

arrangement of the lady with the flowers what

those pictures now they don’t exist anymore

a good question you get closer you look more

if we could ask Jimmy what’d happened he’d

carefully there’s a lady there are some flowers

say something mysterious and annoying such

what are you seeing a beautiful picture a

as a photographer can’t destroy an image once

group of photographic principles a set of

everyone’s seen it.

aesthetic assertions is the lady’s smile slightly

He had no right to do it people loved


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They Would Not Let Themselves Go by Mรณnica de la Torre Top: K-pop star Changmin from TVXQ poses from their full-length album 'TENSE'


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D

aily and often, before the mirror, they

ther, they would have dermatologists treat it

would perform rituals of self-appraisal.

with mild chemical solutions derived from

Their faces were the surfaces upon which they

fruit acids to stronger ones such as retinoic

would paint corrected portraits of themselves.

and trichloroacetic acids that would cause

Suddenly, almost as if by decree, it would

dead skin to slough and, eventually, peel off.

dawn on them that, at some point, they would

become sexually obscene. By the time they

ical and physical agents such as peroxide and

would come to know this they were already

light to achieve an otherwise unlikely radi-

well in the process of becoming so.

ance. They would rid themselves of unwanted

hair growing in their eyebrows, below their

They would become haunted by numbers

They would bleach their teeth with chem-

and take an exacting interest in keeping the

nostrils, their ears, around their upper lips

scorecards of aging. They would exfoliate by

and chins, their armpits and abdomens, their

scrubbing their skin with abrasives to remove

lower pelvises, upper and lower legs, and oc-

its outer layers and feel rejuvenated.

casionally too their feet.

To smooth the texture of facial skin fur-


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They Would Not Let Themselves Go


They Would Not Let Themselves Go

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They Would Not Let Themselves Go

They would often change their hair color

for cosmetic irritants that would temporarily

to a more desirable one by treating it with

swell the lips, making them appear fuller.

chemical compounds including hydrogen

peroxide and ammonia, which by naturally

unequal distribution of subcutaneous fat

lightening the hair would provide a blank can-

throughout their bodies, so they would have

vas for the dye. The hair shaft pores would be

surgeons make small incisions in their hips,

opened to allow for the dye to bond with the

buttocks, and bellies in order to remove large

hair and speed up the chemical reaction.

quantities of adipose tissue (approximately

ten and a half pints) with cannulas or hollow

If they deemed their lips not full enough,

They disliked having a significant and

they would have physicians enlarge them by

tubes and aspirators or suction devices. To

injecting substances ranging from fat harvest-

temporarily remove frown lines and prevent

ed from the patients’ own bodies to bovine

wrinkles from forming they would have clini-

collagen to purified donor tissue taken from

cians inject them extremely low doses of botu-

cadavers to non-animal laboratory solutions.

linum toxin, the most acutely toxic substance

If allergic to foreign bodies, or unwilling to

known then, which would paralyze their facial

undergo surgical procedures, they might opt

muscles for six weeks up to eight months.


They Would Not Let Themselves Go

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Right & top page: K-pop star Gain from Brown Eyed Girls posing for her album concept Truth of Dare.

In some instances their communicative

as metaphors for energy, restless mobility,

skills and ability to express and read emotions

and appetite: as metaphors for a 24/7 state of

might be compromised, given that the relay

wanting. Their faces—immutable, unmarked—

of signals from the face to the amygdala and

masks. Their faces—icons, emblems, flags.

brainstem centers for autonomic arousal were

dampened. Consequently, there was lesser

ments to the toils of those pioneers in medical

interaction between their facial muscle move-

and scientific communities behind the stage-

ments and brains. This, unavoidably, would be

craft of their masterful day-to-day perfor-

deemed inconsequential.

mances. And inevitably they would pass, since

they would not let themselves go.

Some would get lifting mastopexies.

Others would get augmentation mammoplasties from physicians who would implant sterile saline solutions or viscous silicone gel into their breasts. Others would get reduction mammoplasties. Invariably, they would turn alien. They would seek to erect themselves

Their bodies—prosthetic, fungible monu-


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Kari Mette Leu by Per-Oskar Leu


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1

I was in my early twenties when my

pers. When I was younger I probably

aunt handed me a VHS cassette with

could have understood what she was

my mother’s name written on the label.

saying in the video solely by way of

My aunt and mom worked at a school

her signing, since I spent some years

for hearing-impaired children in Oslo,

attending a nursery school for deaf

Norway, and at some point in the 1980s

children. This arrangement—un-

the school introduced video technol-

usual for a hearing kid—came about

ogy as a training aid for sign-language

for practical reasons, as the nursery

teachers. Unbeknownst to my family,

school was connected to my moth-

my mother had sat for a recording

er’s workplace. I picked up sign lan-

session. Many years later, while clean-

guage without effort, but forgot it

ing out a storage room, a coworker

just as easily after I was transferred

who must have known my mom came

to a regular kindergarten.

across the cassette, which was then

presented to my aunt and in turn given

ently in the last scene of the video,

to me.

which must have been taped on a

separate occasion. Her first outfit

The video is a little over nine min-

My mother is dressed differ-

utes long and consists of two scenes

is a yellow-white blouse, while the

of roughly the same duration. In both

second is a blue button-down shirt

sequences my mother is seen from

with a reddish scarf. (Since the im-

the waist up, seated before a curtain,

age quality has deteriorated, I can’t

translating recorded speech into sign

identify the colors exactly.) Between

language. In the first scene she inter-

the two takes there is a short close-

prets several male voices, acting out a

up of her face, lasting only a second,

fairy tale about a bear, a fox, and a man

shot seemingly by accident from an

named Knut. In the second scene she

alternate angle. I find this frame, in

translates a female voice, which nar-

which she is caught off-guard, to be

rates what seems to be the story of a

the most captivating moment in the

girl named Nora, but here the sound is

video. She looks beautiful.

muffled and barely audible. My mother mouths the words, emitting faint whis-

Left: Oslo public transportation pass in plastic sleeve, 1978. Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York.


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Kari Mette Leu

On January 8, 1987, my mother died. I don’t

me and been cultivated, probably even fal-

know when she received the diagnosis of

sified. But my real memory (my real “self”?)

breast cancer, or at what point she knew that

only came into being on that January evening

there was no longer any hope of surviving the

in 1987, which I can still account for in detail.

disease. Although I was, at least toward the

Most vividly, I remember the reactions of

end, aware that she was severely ill, I don’t

the grown-ups around me in the following

think anyone told me straight out that she was

days and weeks, their public displays of grief,

about to die. In any case, I wouldn’t have been

which exposed for the first time a vulnera-

able to fully grasp the concept of death.

bility that is normally hidden from children.

I mourned, but my mourning was of a more

I was six and a half years old (when the

“and a half” feels important) when it hap-

quiet kind. While I do remember the pieces of

pened, and just entering the stage of develop-

music that were played at the funeral, and can

ment when childhood amnesia kicks in and

get tearful when I hear them almost three de-

washes away earlier memories. This would

cades later, I can’t tell for sure if I cried when

explain why my recollection of my mother

we buried her.

is so vague. Bits and pieces have stayed with

I’d need a therapist to assess how suc-

cessful I’ve been at processing the loss and evaluate how the death of my mother has affected my personality. By and large, I think I’ve managed OK, and I quickly bounced back, as kids tend to do. I missed my mom, but as time moved on my longing for specific charTop left: “Alice” plastic doll with moving eye mechanism in cardboard box, circa 1950s. Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York. Top right: Norrøna brand canvas backpack with leather straps and custom flower patch, circa 1960s/’70s. Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York.

acteristics, like the sound of her voice, was replaced by a more abstract feeling that something, rather than someone was missing. And concurrent with my transformation (I could even say canonization) of her from an individ-

Bottom left: Hand-sewn cotton blouse, circa 1970s/’80s. Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York.

ual into a symbol, I found myself increasingly

Bottom right:Framed black-and-white photograph of the family home of Per-Oskar Leu and Kari Mette Leu at Bekkeveien 11 in Oslo. Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York.

possessions” that she left behind.

attached to the physical objects or “worldly


Kari Mette Leu

25


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Kari Mette Leu

2 I was eight when my dad decided to sell the

absurdly—guarded the traces of my mother

house where I was born. To me, the move was

involved telecommunications. In Norway in

nothing short of expulsion from Paradise.

the 1980s, a state company held a monopo-

If my mother was now a saintly figure, that

ly, meaning that customers didn’t own their

house was her temple. For us to leave was sac-

telephones but leased them as part of a sub-

rilege. Later, I became deeply upset when my

scription plan. Anyone wanting to upgrade

dad announced that he was going to scrap the

to a newer model needed to hand in the old

car, which was peculiar because, as opposed to

phone, as my father did when the rotary

the house, the Soviet-made Lada was only the

system was supplanted by push-button

latest in a succession of family vehicles, and I

technology. It’s hard to tell why the idea of

don’t think my mother had even used it very

losing this object felt especially painful, but

much. I was actually a little embarrassed of the I remember crying my eyes out on the drive car, as the Lada had a bad reputation in those

to the phone store in a mixture of anger and

days. Yet I venerated the Lada and, oblivious

despair, pleading with my dad to change his

to the cost of automobiles, I began fundrais-

mind. Perhaps I pictured her talking and

ing to save it from the junkyard—“begging” is

breathing into the phone for so many hours

probably a more accurate word. I made a pig-

and imagined that her spirit still resided in

gy bank out of a cardboard box and asked for

the plastic box. I can only speculate. But I

donations to “rescue the car” whenever adults

can say with conviction that my mother’s

stopped by our home. Needless to say, I had a

death produced a hoarder. Ever since, I

difficult time rallying support for my cause.

have dreaded (and I really mean dreaded)

the necessity of throwing things away.

The incident when I most fiercely—and


27

Kari Mette Leu

3

Left page: Gresvig brand leather track shoes with steel-spiked soles, circa 1960s. Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York.

The Internet has proved help-

and I’ve always wound up

ful in legitimizing my behav-

regretting it, regardless of

ior. Sites like eBay have shown

the financial outcome. The

that there is a market for

Ibsen quote is true: “Only the

even the most obscure para-

lost is eternally owned.” What

phernalia. The 2016 craze for

I’ve sold is what I most often

Walt Disney VHS tapes from

reminisce about. (Yes, I’m

the so-called Black Diamond

thinking of you, multipur-

edition is an extreme exam-

pose-flashlight-turned-over-

ple: Overnight, 1980s and

for-cash-to-a-classmate-in-

’90s video releases of Disney’s

fourth-grade.)

animated films were alchem-

ized from thrift-store refuse

memories as well as things, I

into eBay gold and listed not

was disturbed to hear the nuts

for hundreds but thousands

and bolts of recollection ex-

of dollars. I’ve never had any

plained on a popular-science

Black Diamonds, but I’ve seen

radio show. Apparently, when

an old pair of sneakers sell

retrieving an event from the

for 350 dollars and a vintage

vault of the mind, the brain

skateboard fetch twice that

doesn’t recall so much as re-

amount, which is welcome

imagine, tainting the memory

affirmation that I made the

with a range of ingredients

right decision in holding on

in the process: fragments of

to so much stuff that was at

other occurrences, newly

one point considered worth-

uncovered details, current

less. Ironically, the knowledge

thoughts, figments of the

of these dramatic increases in

imagination. A memory is like

value makes me all the more

a piece of forensic evidence,

reluctant to part with things

contaminated a little bit each

from my, well, let’s say “col-

time it is touched by human

lection.” What if their value

hands. Or a memory is like

continues to escalate? Won’t I

the jar of homemade raspber-

be twice the fool? There have

ry jam that was canned by my

been occasions on which I

mother in 1984, and is now

have sold off inventory in

arguably my most bizarre

order to make an extra buck,

keepsake. Though it probably

Being a keen gatherer of


28

Bottom: Glass jar of raspberry jam, with affixed paper label inscribed “Bringebær [Raspberry] 1984.” Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York. Right page: Silver-plated trophy cup, engraved “Erindring fra Østensjø Skole for god oppførsel, orden og flid [Award from Østensjø Skole for good behavior, orderliness and diligence],” 1961. Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York.

Kari Mette Leu

doesn’t taste good, the jam looks remarkably well-preserved, and as long as the airtight seal is intact I’m sure the berries (harvested in the garden of my childhood home) will stay edible for years to come. If I open the lid, if only for a spoonful, decomposition will speed up, the contents will transform until the jam is utterly unrecognizable.

The same frailty applies to the VHS cas-

sette that came crashing into my life like an unexpected flashback. I’m not talking about the perils the video has endured: How it was left unharmed when burglars vandalized my family’s storage unit; how the DVD copies we made turned out to be blank; how the original cassette disappeared for a few stressful days and snapped inside my VCR after finally being located. No, I’m talking about the gradual, physical erosion that takes place every time the magnetic tape passes through the video player. While hardly discernible from one viewing to the next, the machine is nevertheless, slowly but surely, altering the recording of my mother.


Kari Mette Leu

29

4 It is not surprising that the Internet eventually

the letters will be illegible and, in the end, for

caught up with my mom. Googling her on a

better or worse, the Internet will be my mom’s

whim ten years ago, I was a little astonished

most permanent resting place. Perhaps this

to see her face pop up in a class photo taken

essay is my engraving on her digital monu-

with her pupils. I had a mixed reaction: The

ment. I like to think she’d be OK with that.

new digital world seemed like a sphere where

she, who had passed away long before I got my

shape-shifted and dematerialized in the time

first computer, didn’t belong. Such a response

since I digitized it, although it’s difficult to tell

would be unheard of today. With countless

what percentage of the analog signals went

archival records scanned and made public-

missing in the conversion. It would seem

ly available by companies and institutions

natural to upload the AVI file as a supplement

around the globe, having no online presence

to this essay, but here my guardian instincts

is something of an accomplishment, even for

protest. I’m hesitant to release the only mov-

the long-since departed.

ing images of my mother into the wilderness

of the public domain. But more than that,

When I last visited my mother’s burial

The nine-minute tape has also

site, I noticed that a thin layer of moss grow-

I’ve come to realize that something essential

ing on her grave has begun creeping into the

would be lost if the video were posted online.

carved inscription of her name. Soon enough

Most viewers would find nothing exceptional


30

Top: One English–Norwegian and two French–Norwegian pocket dictionaries published by N. W. Damm & Søn, with homemade felt dust jackets, circa 1961. Photo courtesy of Christie’s, New York.

Kari Mette Leu

about the footage of my mom signing; on the contrary, I fear they’d be indifferent or flat-out bored.

The only part of the recording that

comes remotely close to transmitting the halo that I see is that single, randomly shot image of her face. The smudged, oversaturated colors of the dilapidated VHS tape bring to mind pseudoscientific New Age “aura photography.” It’s a double exposure, so her semitransparent face floats over the curtain backdrop, almost like a ghost. It’s a little out of focus, causing her features to be blurred. Still, she does look beautiful.


Kari Mette Leu

Sources Triple canopy Issue 23: Vanitas Published beginning on September 15, 2016 https://www.canopycanopycanopy.com So the Second Thing I Bought Was a Mirror by Aisha Sasha John Published on July 25, 2017 Kari Mette Leu by Per-Oskar Leu Published on January 8, 2017 Picture Logic by Angela Ferraiolo Published on September 20, 2016 A Note on Vanitas by Lucy Ives Published on September 15, 2016

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