after the fact - uc berkeley art, technology, and...

Review: Sophie Calle. Paris and DublinAuthor(s): Morgan FalconerSource: The Burlington Magazine, Vol. 146, No. 1213, French Art (Apr., 2004), pp. 275-276Published by: The Burlington Magazine Publications, Ltd.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20073510 .Accessed: 21/03/2011 01:53

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unlessyou have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and youmay use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use.

Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at .http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=bmpl. .

Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printedpage of such transmission.

JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

The Burlington Magazine Publications, Ltd. is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extendaccess to The Burlington Magazine.

http://www.jstor.org

http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=bmpl

http://www.jstor.org/stable/20073510?origin=JSTOR-pdf

http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=bmpl

EXHIBITION REVIEWS

naked boys on a beach when it had been seen earlier that year at the Salon. The

extreme photorealism of A summer's day reflects Stott's ambition to move away

from Whisder's hold over his development and also marks the point when Stott saw

his future as an accepted member of the

Royal Academy's establishment rather than

as a young radical. From then on his work

conformed to prevailing standards of

Aestheticism.

Stott's desire to recreate himself as an

exponent of Aesthetic decorative pattern and imaginary worlds (he embraced classical

and Arthurian subjects) met with disastrous

consequences in terms of his relationship with Whisder. In 1887 the latter's mistress,

Maud Franklin, posed naked for Stott's

allegorical work The birth of Venus (no. 5 5). Whisder knew nothing of this and the

resulting fracas led to the end of Stott and Whisder's association.

The 1890s saw Stott's immersion in

medieval and literary themes in paintings such as Thefairie wood (no.65) and Tristram's

farewell (no.68). More interesting from these

later years, however, are his less-known

studies of the Alps, the landscape of Cum

bria and views of almost featureless coastal

scenery. The Alpine series of pastels pro duced during 1888 were later worked up into oil-paintings, notably The white moun

tain (no. 59; Fig.62) and The Eiger (no.62). These works are remarkable for the eerie,

dream-like atmosphere they evoke and the

near abstract nature of their composition. In his preface to the catalogue, Brown

comments that owing to financial restraints

the show was unable to include The kissing

ring from Durban. This was presumably also

the case with The bathing place and Grand

father's workshop, both from Munich. This was a pity since all three works were pro duced during the moment of Stott's career

in which he was enjoying particular acclaim

and would have significandy boosted the exhibition's examination of the most

important period of his career.

Brown's biography in the catalogue gives a good account of Stott's development,

acknowledging the artist's limitations as

well as the high points of his early success.

In the course of his research Brown was able

to study Stott's notebook covering the first

twelve years of his career, a discovery that

enabled the author to clarify the prove nance and dating of a number of pictures. It

was during these early years in the 1880s

that Stott produced his most interesting and

innovative works.

1 Catalogue: William Stott of Oldham 1857-1900. A

Comet rising to the sun'. By Roger Brown. 128 pp. incl. 84 col. pis. + 52 b. & w. ills. (Paul Holberton,

London, and Gallery Oldham, Oldham, 2003), ?25. ISBN 1-903470-21-8. 2 R.A.M. Stevenson: 'William Stott of Oldham',

The Studio (October 1894), pp.3-15. 3 R.L. Stevenson: 'Forest Notes', Comhill Magazine

(1876), pp.545^5i. 4 Manchester Guardian (9th June 1882).

Sophie Calle Paris and Dublin

by MORGAN FALCONER

in her native france Sophie Calle is an

artistic phenomenon. Her style might be

photo-conceptualist, but her public image is more that of an impulsive movie heroine

in an art-house film romance. Indeed, one

feels sometimes that her role as an artist is

merely a ruse in order for her to put aside

taboos. She ignores rules of privacy, flouts

polite conduct, and walks into the lives of

strangers -

and lets them walk into hers -

with extraordinary alacrity, facilitating

fleeting intimacies of all kinds. For her enormous popular audience, Calle holds

out the hope that the banality, loneliness

and anomie of everyday life can be

redeemed by and enchanted with meaning.

Sophie Calle. M'as-tu vue, which was

recendy on view at the Centre Georges

Pompidou, Paris, and will be shown at the

Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin, from 18th June to 15th August,1 is intended as a retrospective of Calle 's work, and to

that end it is accompanied by a sumptuous

catalogue raisonn? of her work.2 However,

although amply displayed in Paris (where this reviewer saw it), the exhibition is

not comprehensive and seems as much

intended to showcase her major new series

Exquisite pain (1984-2003) and Unfinished (1988-2003) as it is to survey her earlier

work. The debut of Exquisite pain also

seems to have influenced the selection of

the exhibition, which goes on to dwell on similar themes of loss, from blindness to

faulty memory and disappearance. Melan

cholic moods take precedence over Calle's

occasional light-heartedness.

Unfinished is an interesting addition to Calle's uvre. It is the result of a commission

she received from an American bank to

undertake a project of her choosing. To

that end she acquired some CCTV record

ings from the bank's ATM machines. What to do with the images troubled her for some

time and she laid the project aside, not

returning to it until last year, when she

decided to examine the material precisely

64. Detail from Unfinished: cash machine, by Sophie Calle. 2003. Video taken from surveillance camera

footage. (Exh. Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris).

from the perspective of her failure to make

a work. True to its title, the final form of

the series remains undecided, but at the

Pompidou it comprised three parts: stills from the ATM machine of characters in

various moods (Fig.64); some portraits shot

through with holes; and a video in the vein of a documentary charting her difficulties

(this is in fact her first work in that medi

um). Calle has confessed that her problem with the material was that she could not

find a way to insert herself into it; that con

stituted a failure, she said, since this is 'my own style'.

This might be an honest confession of

a significant problem with her work, its

tendency to circle narcissistically around her

personality, but critics have long chastised her for this, and in any case, the problem

goes further than the limited question of

style. Calle's most interesting gambit takes

the well-known notion that the artist's self

should be the material of art and pushes it

further, so that almost any private interac

tion with her might conceivably become

her inspiration. Not only are her family and

her lovers drawn willy-nilly into this game, but she almost advertises that her audience

might become involved as well. Hence,

when a Canadian man wrote to her and

suggested sleeping in her bed while he got over the break-up of an affair, a proposal

which he thought might lend her material, she accepted the offer (although not in its

entirety). The resulting work, Journey to

California (2003), which includes the bed

63. Installation view of Exquisite pain: countdown to unhappiness, by Sophie Calle. 1984?2003.

(Collection JMS, Paris; exh. Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris).

THE BURLINGTON MAGAZINE CXLVI APRIL 2OO4 275

EXHIBITION REVIEWS

itself and some related documents, is typical of the credits and debits of her working strategy. It may raise fascinating questions about the nature of the author's function

(which are tackled by Christine Macel in her catalogue essay), but one is sometimes

aware that her art is simply a busy revolv

ing-door of eccentric personalities crashing in and out of her life.

Calle's quixotic personality may redeem

the banality of everyday life, but it has a habit of dominating the work to the extent

that it can be difficult to find a hold on the events she is addressing. This is manifest

in at least three different ways. The first is evident in her project Sleepers (1979), which involves various acquaintances sleeping in

her bed at unusual times: the revelatory

possibilities of interrupting daily habit are obscured by its seeming merely 'Calle

esque'. The second manifestation comes

down to simple incredulity: how can so

many strange (but similar) things happen to her? For instance, the anecdotal texts that

accompany the objects in her installation Bedroom of 2003 (which utilise some mate

rial from her series Autobiographies; 1988 2003) include a tale of her father arranging for her to see a doctor about halitosis only to discover he had instead arranged for

her to see a psychoanalyst. Thirdly, Calle's

work can seem glutted with feeling. The

latter, however, is perhaps what most

sharply divides her critics and admirers.

Equally she might be seen as an excellent

judge of modern emotions and everyday

beauty: Exquisite pain, for example, contains

both. The first part of this two-part series,

Countdown to unhappiness, follows ninety

days that lead up to the end of a romance,

using photographs and text to recall the

passing of time. Calle happened to spend that period in China, so the pictures recall

her visit, not the break-up, but the accom

panying texts and date stamps over-write

them with their growing tension (Fig.63). As often in Calle's work, the quality of the

photographs is excellent, but the images themselves do not point to the unfolding trauma and, without this before us, we

merely have to imagine the pain that they

engender for her in hindsight. The second

part of this series is constructed in a similar

fashion with texts and photographs which

explore the process of remembering and

trying to forget awful moments of pain, with Calle's recollections of the final col

lapse contrasted against different examples of shattering experiences offered by others.

Beauty redeems pain in Calle's work, and

M'as-tu vue evokes this in a number of ways. Her touching series The blind (1986) juxta poses portraits of blind men and women

alongside pictures of the things they imag ine to be most beautiful. The similar series

Colour blind (1991) extends this idea into visual art, contrasting the words of blind

people describing the things they 'see' with definitions of the monochrome painting by various artists. But Calle herself also seems

to be a force that brings redemption. In one

of the final pieces in the show, A woman vanishes (2003), she evokes the life of one of the gallery invigilators at the Pompidou

who disappeared after a fire at her flat, part

ly by showing images taken from damaged photographs that narrowly escaped destruc

tion. One might be uncomfortable once

again about this typically Calle-esque intru

sion into the unfortunate woman's life, but

apparendy the woman adored Calle's art, so

it is probably about the finest tribute there could be.

1 After its Dublin showing, the exhibition will be

seen at the Kulturveranstaltung des Bundes, Berlin (ioth September to 13 th December) and the

Ludwig Forum, Aachen (28th January to 24th

April 2005). 2

Catalogue: Sophie Calle. M'as-tu vue. Edited by Christine Macel, with contributions by Yve-Alain

Bois and Olivier Rolin. 443 pp. incl. 500 col. pis.

(Prestel, London, 2003), ?50. ISBN 3-7913-3035-7.

Oudry Fontainebleau and Versailles

by COLIN B. BAILEY, The Frick Collection, New York

the splendid r?cent exhibition Animaux

d'Oudry: collection des ducs de Mecklenbourg Schwerin,1 joindy mounted by the Mus?e national des ch?teaux de Versailles and

the Mus?e national du ch?teau de Fontainebleau (closed 8th February), was the most significant project devoted to the

artist since Hal Opperman and Pierre

Rosenberg's monographic exhibition of

1982. Logistically inconvenient, visiting this

bifurcated exhibition nevertheless afforded

all the pleasures of a p?lerinage cyn?g?tique. At

Versailles, paintings and drawings of exotic

animals from the royal menagerie, acquired

by Duke Christian Ludwig II in 1750, were

65. Indian blackbuck, by Jean-Baptiste Oudry. 1739. 162 by 129 cm. (Staatliches Museum, Schwerin; exh. Mus?e national des ch?teaux de Versailles).

displayed in the appartement de Madame

de Maintenon. The major part of the exhi

bition, however, was shown in the recendy restored appartement Louis XV of the

Pavillon Gros at Fontainebleau. Thanks to

the complicated refurbishments of the Restoration and July Monarchy, it is this

residence which today houses the most

important group of paintings by Oudry in France

? ironically, for Oudry executed

not a single work for Fontainebleau during his Ufetime.

If, as Vincent Droguet notes in the cata

logue, Oudry's presence at Fontainebleau

represents 'une rencontre posthume', it com

prises masterpieces from the three decades

of his maturity. Thus, in addition to the

group of fourteen paintings and thirteen

drawings on loan from the Staatliches

Museum, Schwerin ?

all of cynegetic sub

jects, and representative of the duke's com

missions and purchases over a period of

more than twenty years ?

the exhibition

included the portraits of Louis XV's hunt

ing dogs painted between 1725 and 1728 as overdoors for Compi?gne; six bois de cerf bizarre, commissioned by the king between

1741 and 1752 (for locations still unknown); and, most spectacularly, in the Grands

Appartements the rarely seen cartoons for

Les Chasses royales de Louis XV ? a series

of Gobelins tapestries commissioned in

1733 for Compi?gne, of which only two sets were woven, and which monopolised

Oudry and his studio for more than a

decade.

At Versailles, the section devoted to

Oudry's ill-fated commission from Fran?ois

Gigot de la Peyronie ?

Louis XV's ener

getic and philanthropie premier chirurgien, who seems to have forgotten to pay the

artist for any of his work ?

assembled eight of the menagerie series (with related draw

ings, watercolours and sketches), painted

'd'apr?s nature et par ordre de Sa Majest?' between 1739 and 1745. Meticulously

observed, these iconic portrayals of wild

cats and exotic birds also engaged Oudry as

a portraitist (his earliest calling). Mood,

character and expression are skilfully com

municated, from the quiet grace and digni

ty of the Indian blackbuck (cat. no.66; Fig.65) to the patent stupidity of the Barbary sheep.

Animals assume familiar gender identities:

the Leopardess is shown, in Oudry's words,

'dans une attitude tranquille', whereas her

ferocious mate adopts a stance calculated

to inspire terror in the spectator.2 In that

regard, it is curious to note that the

menagerie series elicited no response from

critics of the Salon. Befitting a recendy

appointed Professor of the Academy, who

had the right to position the model for students in the Ufe class, Oudry brings a narrative dimension to his depiction of natural curiosities. The dramatis personae in

Demoiselle de Numidie, toucan and tufted crane

(no.75) present themselves as strutting deities awaiting the judgment of an

ornithological Paris.

276 APRIL 2OO4 CXLVI THE BURLINGTON MAGAZINE

DislocationsAuthor(s): Christopher Lyon, Sophie Calle, Bruce Nauman, David Hammons, Chris Burden,Louise Bourgeois, Ilya Kabakov, Adrian PiperSource: MoMA, No. 9 (Autumn, 1991), pp. 1-8Published by: The Museum of Modern ArtStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4381164 .Accessed: 21/03/2011 01:55


Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at .http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=moma. .



The Museum of Modern Art is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to MoMA.


http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=moma



http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=moma

D ISL O CATIO N S W hen Dorothy tells Toto in The 'V"VT Wizard of Oz that she doesn't think they are in Kansas anymore, "her combined apprehension and anticipation strikes a sympathetic but similarly ambivalent chord in the majority of listeners," observes Robert Storr, Curator, Department of Painting and Sculpture, in the intro- ductory essay of the catalogue for DISLOCATIONS (through January 7). Oz, he writes, is a "parallel world," commenting on and crystal- liziig aspects of our world, "all the while reassuring us that truly 'there's no place like home."' But what if that parallel world cannot be reconciled with "home"? What if everything is slightly or drastically "off"?

The museum, Storr notes, "is the modern paradigm of such worlds apart. For some, its rooms enclose a higher spiritual region ... [and even] when conceived of in entirely secular or materialist ways, the museum as sanctuary exists in defiance of the flux outside its walls." The Museum of Modern Art, often regarded as such a sanctuary, is a Kunst- museum, a permanent repository of recognized masterworks. But since its founding, the Muse- um has also been a Kunsthalle, a place where new, often troubling, and even iconoclastic art has been shown, and the mixture of these two functions has always been volatile. Exhibitions of art created especially for the Museum, like the installations presented in DISLOCATIONS, occupy an

extreme position. Such works are not only unvalidated by time, but often engage at one level or another with the artistic, social, and political implications of the austere "White Cube" that the Museum definitively represents. They may thus pose questions that, in Storr's words, "abruptly shatter the illusion of depend- able normalcy."

The artists in DISLO- CATIONS-Chris Burden, Louise Bourgeois, Sophie Calle, David Hammons, Ilva Kabakov, Bruce Nauman, and Adrian Piper-address the viewer in a multi- tude of ways. One of these is the invi- tation to reflect on the complex nature of experience in the charged space of the Museum. Piper, for example, has created a literal White Cube, a bright white gallery, with tiered seating, in

the middle of which a black man seen on video monitors denies a litany of racist stereotypes. His literally disquieting presence, permitting us to see what is ordinarily excluded from such a setting, finds a parallel in Ilya Kabakov's installation, The Bridge, which is poles apart in nearly every other sense. Dark, disorderly, obscure, it is presented as a recon- struction of the Tenant's

Club of Moscow Housing Project No. 8. Examples of unofficial art are seen to be propped against the drab

walls in preparation for an official lec- ture on the demerits of such stuff. But something "other" has also disrupted

this space, which has been invaded by tiny white "everymen" whose origin and inten- tion are equally myste- rious, though their swarming presence sug- gests a dimension of existence previously unencountered at Moscow Housing Project No. 8. More importantly, our rela- tion to them, and to the man on the moni-

tors in Piper's piece, becomes a part of the work, full of provocative implications.

These two examples-others could have served as well-may hint at the richness of dialogue among the installations in DISLOCATIONS, and point to the multifaceted interactions of these works with viewers and the Museum setting. The catalogue of the exhibition is to be published in January, with an extensive essay by Robert Storr, full documentation of the recently completed installations, and statements by each of the artists, based on interviews conducted by Storr. From those interviews, we present in this issue of MoMA brief excerpts that complement the more extensive material in the catalogue, together with photographs taken during the exhibition's preparation.

- Christopher Lyon

Photographs, pages 2- I0: C I 991 by Dawoud Bey, pages 4,

7 (above); Scott Frances, pages 3 (above), 5 (left), 7 (below),

8 (above); C 1991 by Peter Moore, pages 3 (below), 5

(right), 6, 8 (below).

Adrian Piper, What It's Like, Wlat It Is, No. 3 (installation view). Photo: Scott Frances.

Ilya Kabakov, The Bridge (installation view). Photo: Scott Frances.

DISLOCATIONS is made possible by generous grants from the Lannan Foundation, the Peter Norton Family Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, Agnes Gund and Daniel Shapiro, Marcia Riklis Hirschfeld, Meryl and Robert Meltzer, The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc., The Contemporary Arts Council of The Museum of Modem Art, The Bohen Foundation, and The Junior Associates of The Museum of Modern Art.

1 ;-enttill)er ai oj -ii pare. a l)iazza. In the mitslle of this composiition there is a gray statue:

of a man wearing at long roat on a bulkyl ody, something very ungainly. The size brings to

mitind a monitiment., although the figjre looks more likeh some to)urist Iosj, that piza. To the

t there hi a briek buildfing witli an areade. otne of those sl1andtil lte (Jurtno strueturest It

1auk.s palper-thin. mmre liket a prop than anything, re^al. Atn(d on thesoth t ide, there is a big

yellow trtunk. Somewhere in the painting. I remember two tiny figur s pjecting lon , dark

^lauoU.w-. It rmlnlli.. ille o.J a tstage -,v; thtere's a sense of sus J' clnde( time, suspended A k

animation. 1 S.>Y halve the feeling thatouyon are nott in realitv, ott nr onI a film set, and :

-omnthz|inlg is wronig. Therer& a terrifie .omipe thlalt somtiething i Ai g tg ahappen. something -

going to) appear itn that pietit.r e. I ea . io will e(veritnala tnlo. 1 n*m. hot nothing

dloe. I ran t t nr if there is a ti sin . here his almost always a train. It s an

abandoned r ity inhtabited by shavhdqwi Prtty zuich his uaiuakstuff. P ,- lologie al things.

dlisti Iruk _,ur% li ''ta I hi, i olo, a little lluuehin 4&u1k a: d tltati all

It's a ( hilly painting breiutise it iimpty. Trheres a lanisalpe. a sei v int Vl'W of somte strange.

lI.inatfs. a n:aX>kf g !'a, minan lmskiiig likr ; ho-tag a itti a sheet t oer htim. a faling of

hi latios. Thrat's al i .an reinemici. It remuumnd e mr of aTV sliow call ed ThI Prisoner." The .

* r niillnt t1n;1ppi,l t; iA d4ot tf n O in {A aw Ax il I I I I i u5 t rellirmlbert i.

Its a 'ertical paiautting. at o11undl Six fect bvDfu'. Ltes %,e verY- angular. There 0

h111'diitmetnral vlv,urnts,ea r1olonnadi of llam k bu tIbes {frh miad child playing witl

it hoop, amiul N stati o aO uiuaint iuth hiu hand strtchued &,t Th e | to

title reflects tte uimna. but where is thi enigma s4 it r r -

gamne in tht ntlidstofthis siuriealistic plaine? e a g

itt' itumug. Il s toimtellectual. toii studied. too fllt h. 'f I . ' "

univyinrsity tinxt It a` vetry somnber. geometric. Thu~

-it's never tor than a B. ~jIt slo esn't have insat4d

Ttypic(al de C'hirieo colors, mist rd. gold. browut., andW -u

s~ja8 an abandloned e-ity that vous w ouuld ep-'te

iiiipieecable. It feels like the, air luas been ue

not huing hi tweenk Youu attil the object. Tluere -is an

In French museums, when a painting is temporarily taken down, the label that explains the reason for its absence is called afant6me a ghost. Sophie Calle asked a cross-section of Museum staff members what they recalled of several paintings that had been removed from their usual locations in the galleries. Everyone was requested to complement their oral

description by making simple sketches of what they remembered. From these fragments a composite visual and verbal image of the miss- ing work was arrived at and then laid out on the wall normally reserved for the "real" thing, in its exact dimensions. Giorgio de Chirico's The Enigma of a Day (I9I4) is the painting replaced by the "ghost" above.

A bsence andfleeting presence obsess Sophie Cal. . . ., butfor her they

are mundane, rather than epochal, contin- gencies. Like Piper, she is interested in the point at which awareness of others is recip- rocated, then becomes sef-recognition. Like Kabakov she collects souls, though as often as not they are soon lost once more.

Robert Storr

2

Jean Stein

After the FactAuthor(s): Sophie Ristelhueber, Sophie Calle, Willie Doherty, Charles MerewetherSource: Grand Street, No. 64, Memory (Spring, 1998), pp. 168-179Published by: Jean SteinStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25008315 .Accessed: 21/03/2011 01:47


Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at .http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=jeanstein. .



Jean Stein is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Grand Street.


http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=jeanstein



http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=jeanstein

AFTER THE FACT

Sophie Ristelhueber I Sophie Calle I Willie Doherty

LU r

1.

4 w

1 _ .~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ t 4.*

_F ? _A

< mX9>t ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-=s-7 ~t

p~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&I'

9-A

- 7

; -&

PAGES 169,70,ND71:Sopieistlhuhr,romhitKuait

PAGES 169, 170, AND 171: Sophie Ristelhueber, from Fait, Kuwait, 19g2.

PAG ES 172 AND 173: Sophie CalTe,jrom The Detachment, 199b. PAGE 1 72 (CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT): Lenin Memorial, Soldier (Souiet Cemetery), Lenin (Russian Embassu), Reliefand Child. PAGE 173: StreetSign tWilhelm-Piek-Straf~) S OP H I E CA LLE

_V

t;,

La

I w

0 a

-J

INT. CAR DRIVING ALONG A BORDER ROAD-DUSK

The action is shot through the windscreen of a car which travels along a deserted country road. The vehicle follows a bend

on the road and a concrete road block comes into view. The vehicle drives right up to the obstruction and comes to a halt.

The engine continues to run. The scene is interrupted by a male voice which speaks a short phrase. At this point the scene

ends abruptly and cuts to the opening shot. This sequence is repeated, each time ending with a different phrase.

4~~~~~~~~~K

X m ;

ATTHE END OF THE DAY THERE'S NO

GOING BACK

WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER

THE ONLY WAY IS FORWARD

WE HAVE TO FORGET THE PAST AND

LOOK TO THE FUTURE

WE'RE ENTERING A NEW PHASE

NOTHING CAN LAST FOREVER

LET'S NOT LOSE SIGHT OF THE ROAD AHEAD

THERE'S NO FUTURE IN THE PAST

AT THE END OF THE DAY

IT'S A NEW BEGINNING

LET'S NOT REPEAT THE MISTAKES OF THE PAST

175

. I? . I

. - .

PAGES 174 AND 175:Wi I I ie Dohe rty, At the End ofthe Day, 1994.. PAGE 176:Willie Doherty, Border Road, i994. I . . . ?.. .

I . . I

. ?

. I

.

. I I I -? - ?.. %-,.'_'.l(':l, -_ I ...

Iw- - . I .I. .. ..: . :-.

..? : .. :.I .I -...?.. I.. .1 I I. .I.

?:.? 11 .?.:-? 1.1". ..1..F?.. I... :." ?, '. . .. '..;?_.: ??'. ? I . '..'.'. .. ,: .?... I%- . .. .?::'. ?-'?".-.'-"" ? - .: % %?- ?I. . .... ?.",.i,i,.,-.."-???.??--?:?:?...?,-.-. ?.I---- -1. ?..'-.-.' . - ? - ??... , I-- ?.. ..?:?:-'.?'?.;_ ?.%??'.:w -.1 ?? ? ? ?`?;'?.".. _-'_::? ..' '. ?? ?..-.?'. ? :: % .1.I. . ? 1, '.?_ ?'-'-. : 7?.... - .1 I. -. ilb.I ?::':??j- .":..?%'??:?;'%:?:_-..... . -?; . .... ..:I ?a- '' ':-.1"......'I .- -. .I.. ; ?:_ I .. ::' ?.:.. :'. ?-.' ? - ?".?'; O __ . .''... - , '' .?_?.?.?. .. . ...??;---: I.::? ?: I d - ; 1: I ?-':... ... ., lp ... __? ',,?-?_ ?? ... :'?_' ? I.... ..?.?;.?:?,?,:?..??,.??.??.,.::-???..?:.%:I ? - .. -.Z.?.. ??' ' '' --.. '...:.:."-l- 1.. ?,:,....:?.:, ",'- - -?...G'? .." ... I.... -' "..... ..II '-, %, -J' "? .:.. 1. '??-?-:_ "? .%:?'... ?. I? .''. ?'_ --? ?..':?,,1.111?;?':'?'.",.;. --. ' ""?? "' ,,',,-,--...-"-. _.' ?"'. ?,'_..?!'?. %? -?

__ _? ._. ?" ?.?.? ?,-'-'?"""- .. ?' ,,1_ ?i?;? , I- ?'.??.-,.?--?."?.',;.?'-,?-.,',,,,,,:??,'4.:.?.i?:,?k??, ?. ',?."'? b? lm? ?. __t ,:??'? J. ?'?'- '? ??._??S ", ..-.??-,..,?????,:,-..".-?.??--..?..??." .. ,.,.. ,K, ... , "'..,...-, , ...I? .- -?- ? .--?..' -, -'--?-': ?,-'... 11% -- ,, ;'-.. ?.. - --,!":: , "- .?4? -, '' I.,-,-I'l Ill'??.?? . I .'e . . - %., -u :.: ? - , ??;"Z?? ?", ? .?.' , '?. , ,. . o . .: ? ?. . , ?'???,_??A :' -, -?..

.. '-?9"?-'-"'4-'-' 1, "*:??;?,".k".,- ??--?I.?"?ii?".?--"-w __ _'i .-.",i ', z?- ?.. ""?'. Q',g.- "'..I. -. ,, ",.""' "". i_ __ .-.-? ..-,-". I.:.; .-,. - - _ ?_,".. -- -i? I- ?'.;? -..$,:,. "P:-".'2M"' 2-?-?'.'?-."??..'..?.- . :?" ..' _? ?" -_? - ,.?kl. . ...,??' ?'?? ...I-_., _?. . ___ .1 -- '?-,'..I. ,? ? -, %, ._'. ,? , - -,,.,....': . "': ,.I?",-".. 1.? . -:."..,."?7,?-1,?.".f,?-.'?IQ- ?? .. '.m.. , .?-,. ,_..?.. -., .,ml .. _ -.?. kF,.r,-, ". - ?.-"" ?'W,?.. - ? :-?.' .?-.? -?'.'I? .,...?,"..I_".:P;,??'?'??jl.?'."-Y,'% ??:?'.!??-. .?'....,%:Ii. ,-1. .1 I. _.. - .?. ??: ??--- "'? .,..,? ..,F'i.w? ?Fi --.?" ,?.--,,-? , ?' ir -?,;? ,:' ., -? :; ,.?-?"'?""-"!? 41-.. ?,".,'..",?,""'.'.."".1

:? '?' :? ... II.- i. , .,?Kz??-?. ?? ., , .? '_ I.",..: --'.I. ?.,;:,4I ?.!,, ?.-? 'N.,,II? ,'. ..?K?'-.'?'? ?11_1-."..I .I .....-V,.I .1.I '. -'N'-?"?? '??'-' -'. . ...11I?: -1..? "_ .::::? --";---' " ....i?l.I?".. ?"-.. 1. ,? ': 1116, ?. . . . .?-,-'?.I?. -- , __ '. -_-,,.., ;.. ?-??_',"' ? ..N ..I;%,1,,.?.I q_?:: ?' -?'. tv ? ,.? I,,'*-?- - __,-I'32,.. "I?'?? '?_ .'..-'I -.I"fI ?,11 '.?,..., -",.- ....4':'. ., - --;: ?'.,"'.. ?r?? ,..'..:::::% :-I?.:., :? '?'II I.' .,_ ..00 .' , . ,'?I., "..?:s-?... "?""'.. '1?.".,::?t.'' :?-"PI .1,.;-?.I, ?'. ,I. :.,.I .? "I" ",.-1.,?..-.,*I?.. '

. -?--'?'-'......' "-o4 lf?. ll? ?' '?.? .?':,?? '. "t.-.???:? ?.V-.%?w 1? I:1 ill.6 ?f. , '

' . . .I .. 0 . ..1..- ...:'. .? ??'!_. 10, - i I I.&*,.?,

_'r ?.. ?"' *".-" .17, ?' ;k-l-, ?'41.I?'_I-1 -I.,.., . ?..!'* t?,? ?i`O??'-i .1, '. .:" I.1:: '?..1: ;'4-'? .6 Z?.wl.. ..?.I :,...I.-7 .? '..", ?? . .4.I.?lf. ,__.:..? Aft - -?""W "'? "O. ..-, .I .?f. - - ?'?.,.?,'......*I..'? ;?'' I .. ...-..?..... ..,..1 i...I.. "-? ?.''.?...%:.1 . ?. ?4 '?',. .*''-- "m_ ".-I I. ?;",.,.t_'i? :'.?,.?,??- -- -I..,-I.. ..11 .. P".I.., 01% %,

." '4 'Afk' -?-- .?%-.9?"..1. .. ..?I ?.- I , . '.?'. ?_ ?: . ??tI.I. ...?.II%.'???....I... ?. 1,.',0 -.#, _.I,.0.. I. ?.1.II .I.?...I ' -7?I?..", ..II.? ?1? ???.IIII.... . .It.0-I .?''11?. ?

p'.?.--?- -A?.,?' I ?.?-.I.,... -.'. I .I..?...I-.I.I..I .,. ''.. _ ?... ..? ...-, - -..1I..1. 't 4v??.?.:?... ...." . -.:;.?. ...".. .. '?MI..1..,I--t - I I -? . ;? ?..? ' ?4,....-1- . .. I---...- '. ,-19 "t "!-!M ,!,"I., is .. . .... :?.. ?. . I. .- 11 ... ... ? ?.. .. I'""I? ,,"::_?'?F?I ;"';:?:';.Illi:? ."O'"'.?-." , '_?.I.,.-."' `?' , t'?. V,. ., .'..:. ?.. ''. ?> w.'_.. ....... I '"':' 'I''.-a .. ..". -"" .1 .. I11 :- kF?: ?. .- .1.I'm . ?.I'.?';` 4,13-11.-... - *tV --% -._.,:.'.. , . lll!?W.??;. ..?.I ;. , . . 7. 1 ....' ??? , ? , .. '-? 1. -I:??A? I I.-. -?...?.?I.... .I :,..: . II? _?.?I., :. ??: ? ?"?I. ., e., ;. .. .., f:1 11- ... ? I.,*\I,4.. '; _:.? ? ''.. i4 -? -:..'.. :' ..1.11:.I.. ..I.' ?':?'? .." ?,I.... 1?I ?I-1 1:..'..,I,.... ' ._1 .1-i.I?.I?I- '.I. .I II ..... 1.I1-1"I ik.'I T _" -'I._?:??I?_ ? 1..I.... .r"" 1. i.j t vt_- 4 I.n'V , ,I i.I...'OL-t-'?'? .141-4, 1:.i%?.....l.": _a???:?.': % ??. I.. "...1. .?-;??. ?l : i %_ .. ?' . 1.I1?1. :1 I..' .. _?:?..... I . ?.. -1 ?.;;li., "'.: -'? . ". .- :? !': ?'4."""? '?C' ?'- ??' -.w?..,-"I I ,..' .'t- -1 ? 1? , ,;V"i" ", r?.. ...I? ., I','.?? ?:' ' .: , ."' " ?..-I .;:::I '_,.- .1 '. ., %'...-. I.. ;I..??.?,... -...?. .. I.?--" ' ..' . -:'V.'i" . -.." ?-:_;?II-I.': ::;I '.1 ,., -,. 'I..I. Ill'Vi?---.. .?.?.?.??.'I '?:V._,j. , ?' ?' --??!-'-"?-A, . "??

'-?k-"; - ,- -'.' .' '.I .,., ...-I I"I". ??fI, 1. ?" ?:. '; -1'"?:4

., .?'.'?' 1? , .', .1. - ?' Z---.'? ?' I/ ?'I1- 11 ?"T,! "?' .i+??i?I-?',,

'/--,-, -+Tj ..;?' ?." 11-W".,4 ?ft fl? ?'; . Z. *:`?'

-1-.+? I/

, ?'..??.. .

?,-? ,- _?,I ?..4? ..-*'iJ' I "I!. .?_sl.., ., ..' . I -' . ,...".. tq ?-'7...'.?--,- -'. j- ?. -? . . :,. .... I .., .'? ,:-?" I.I?. ?* 1-... -II.-.III ....%- ?;.?,,; 'k,\'f?'I,? ,1111, ?.: ?-??.. .. I.. g. ,'Ifft.,". f".? , , ?t." '?' 5'. .?Ito*,."?.---I,. ?--".-, - I'l .'' I., "-'. -,, p- ..11.; . -, .I ? ._' ,.-?, ?. ?.I.I, '?' ,...I I' '-!,?I:11..,I. ... ,,?.. ?. rr -?:'-?'?,--1.?:?'? -'-? - ?? "-,.-'--";?-? -? '.,c-i.I.. ,?I.: :.? ?'?." ?-?,,7i.; .-?,..? :: _' ?--?..I..::I ..?. %? 1. .- - .'..' l.k?,.4? ",.?.':I .?,. - I...:II.II :?''-'.--7?*'.?,';:: -, -??:! :. t.II111..--??I::'?'? . .I. I ;?' .,? -';'"I ;..'? .. ?.. ....? .. %",f.?? Z ;?.: - !? ?%I -?.:'. . .?.:?'..,?. - ?-,;I.,??

. '. .1.11??...??. ", .,I.. . I-.1.?t-'?-' ,. ? ,.. 1. - ?j; , ,.. __ ._ '-'6?.? .??:'.? - . .., , ,?'..'.%. ....-t?:+ _.":..' ?....... I,!: ,, ?" ? ..?., ?.I.II?"?.?,_?.? ":.?-:!? Z?q..? I ?'#'I? ?.'.tl....1 ...1?.I. ..I... -I.. ?1. _.-..?1. :?- .1 . .-..?.". I-1I.. ?- ?..I.IIliv:' -." ..?:.. ...-..,:%I-?.?...?. .1 '...?. I ?.'Z,. , J;4? _...' . :-1k;,.1. .. I. "..:? ?: ?.: 1, 1: ,. .I?_?'_?". 1.,.oI .. .I... ?I?I.1. ?.II..I1?111?_ I.._....' ?.?..",.:.-,? I...? : -; ...?I.1.-.?'.?,? - el, ,.7- ?_. I..-:_? .1?I:..."..1,?-'. ?':I.I'.. II .II.?; 1?. 11 .f. .. ". .,. 1. ' . ?; ;.I: , -:!:! ?;?., ?'!w Im . I ? ?.' I. ?? I I ?

.I..I... , _I, V rm?,;-,f ?' 1- 't _? ? .I ?..../ -'? . /?. - ?' ..r'??,.-?. ?? I!??il?...II?.1.,'-'. i?"'?I.? I,I..:k ? I I .1 I . I ?W ? . ? I ...." 1. " - . I-, I,,,?. I1?..I''I,_:'?'?<!'_ :.;.I.?I .'?% I;i%;.?, 7? ??'... %:_ ,,., .--1 1?..? .. ?.1 ..?I.,?,4-, ,.A.'- ?' ! -.,A I . t /4.,t': : .-?..?' -r' ?'?:.-.? ?.I.. : ,,, .? .:"..1%4A. 1:e.. ?.-? 4.1 ..'?,III.1 . -ft, .11II-.1, ?? 4,-'.:??';? -,I,.li;1-.: ? .? .it ;l..1 ?Z:;?V? II.. ?:'.'.:I., 1.,I".. ?r I.I"J?',. 1-1:"? _'I:.", , ?' ,?'.,-z-, : ?' ?.. -.I%. ??I ,,?... ':... .,-?,III.,,.?"??:"_?_;.??: I -?? -.i??.',?-'. - _'?I.'. ? II.lll'?. -:'.. ?/. -,.1$. - -"'I.I. .11I. ,?,".".t. .+I.. ?i..Ik?.II'?,"."_?" .1 .,-flI.?-"I.11 11?..:?: ??],.???:??? 4. I?!;::??? '-?'-??,.' ? ,?? ?? ''. : '.I.. . .-'%? -I ':. ? _ %,I .I-", ,:'..Jz??.?" I1, i.?...? .1 '--k --:;??? ??/ ", ?11.m-'I;,-_;' -- - --"........ '?".I.-?..A _. -?II.,? ?. ?? ?-' 'z , "? ?,'..r?:.'. ':?'.-':?.??-:.?.' :.?-.., :,,. F"''. k ..- ?? 1, ."..,I.:':!?:??:??z",:?? '.;?- ...:? I _....' ?? '.? _'..... '. '?'.???_ "?-- 'j ?? ,?'. :..!, ?-,-I- ;-. .?.I?.,ml "--:?: ?. , "? ? / . -'? . ; ? _.-? . I 'I ?. . ., ? .' .1'....-? ...'-I ., ?:11.1 ?'- '?'-.-??. .? .,, .....?...?'I.;?&? :I "..%-I...:_?.::'?.'.....' ,. .,, ,.' , .?.';' rA 1-!.II.?,"'I `, t,?:???1, ,-- ` :.? '.?.:?:::?. .?'.?'??;;,?, -:::,,1.,'."I-1 ..;..,,,,,.,., ...?I, .. , I--?'?"-'--::iV,, ??i ,'? ...1.-1,I?t- -'? ?r.w?-:? '?' ?** "' _1?? ,..?- At-?.II.', ,,??O,., ,,?-. ? ?: .. . .,.4 -? I-? I-.'-.: , :-'.-.?.. ,,:<,..,:I .. .. .. -\:' _???.'??'??'' 11 .. %_. I., -",-..", ... 1-''. .? -%.", ?' '.'. -,,.- ....''.V. r% "II %_.?. . ..,-.... - ?.. I.'.-- %?.. .. ... t:?'-?. '_? " ' '??; i: ?,I:1 'i? ,.. .m2':-.-_-I"? "r, ll?..k?.o?."; 7'..':.'-'??!""-' ::'?y'?' ?'??. "^/,.-I..1.I.I I--?--_.?? ?:?..',' ..;! _. Olk .,.'.', . I I ' "?1. ", , -/?I.... .'.?;.-"?;? .,,'? ?.'`,?.%??.I,?-?+'.' ..?--'' ? w "-I ?' :'7I.." .?. '?"?.?':?'? . I--o' I .::? tu",', ?; I ...'' .,;"?? 1.II,,..?.?i'?.-:Z??'_ :?: ,,, ? ? ???.:"I-- ?,'':'% ? ?.. . ?? -,???.p,?"Lk.'.'.?:. ?? " " ,,,.-. ...-.4

' I... ..I'-...,:1, - I. :." .11' .1.?-I.I.,. 'r ?? ?.? - I.r -1 '.'..II ,ld ..,??I.-,.;.?-?' .11, .??-i ?"I...I.' ?. .. .. -.l.I... . I: ? %?_; "I,. ??I ...-:" _. -... - ... ?.?. -.11.? . .... .. .1 .,.?. ...... ? I.. . ?'-??; .? .? Y?. ..1;II,m ?.4.,?I'11I?' ?? ,:?:,: ,?"':-' ".'. 4. ?? ,....I I. ?,:.1 .- -'... .i.4 ., i ?;'-.I?I.,11 ki, -'?. .e .' ?I I'.;,,i ? .I"'' '? ?.,? ?"':?' ? ?:'I'' ?___"'':?_ F'??:?"_' -'i - ?': , ? ? -,, F. : ?: 1? '-.?:_- .1,-. ?..... -I .,, ?'?? 11 .1 '?.11 ? ?'.:!'.' ',',';.. ?';`%-i?+':?.- P....1 ... ...-??-.. ?IIIII.I?. I. .:.1?, .ZI .I ? I I I I .":._?',?T??""'.?'_':?'?'.: ?..?'-,',,?.--.-;.' f;?.'-.??.. ? -I ...YI

,''I;?.'?$,-. -. ;'? '-v...'?,?'-I, ..1 ... ??-?:.'J.?:-_'.!;..'. ....' .: '.,, I ? .,::,:--", I..III...,. ?__ .; :'? ?' ?:'?;' ::?." ? ? '' ." ??-I..,. i?-lw..-:'? .? .,. I": '!??': ,?.7

..?,... . 1."-?, ? 7' : ?"- - ?' ".' _. .I,-' 91-??.;, _." -.*. ,...'..- ?'?*?'.:?:-.- I.-I':?' ' '?-- ,.,-- _','-,";-?..._ 0.'I..,;,".:. I. ,... _.'.?.i- -, :k?:?'i?? II : ll? % . I.- 1,., I..".- .- . ....'. . . '?' -, - , -' . 1. ? :' - . % : I,- -'j " "i"'.I"??;,:?'. . _' ?_ ?.. ., -, -,-! - ,.. .??4.'.'? 4, i? ! ?' 'Y - _'.?11 .14?., ,. .11 '_',:.?Ill-?N.?- ??' .r. 1??.1.I.I%. ... 4? ?-,.-'.?. .' '... -. , %: ? '.l. ??.?.. .1?'!, 4k. - -, .:;T. -, ." .--..?I?' ?..: -Y"'-1?1. ". "_"... ., -,.X. 1 I?.: II.".?',,'?:; ?A?.. ., ?. --IFIII .w.?' '?'- '?' ? "I W,,," vl . - ll,?:'_' ?'.?"' "e vtI.'. .;.: x"? :. I'll, -i'i; " .f-,.:.'..,.': -11-I _ ,.I ?'?';' '?-'??".",'.'?'.,? ., ? ,': ?..'.t.I?i.!- --- , ,, "" ,- I-I'. -1 ..,-,..-I,'--?? -:?? ?'?-'? ,,-.I'' ", -/ ?,.?, II', ?- -??f?' - ".''II. I,?. '.I,... , -.o7- . IV?I". ".? . I . .. ,.f- ??-.11..I--i;'._U-.-"-!!Y, "?'7F;..".I, ?-...,'?" ?-u?.. ?-.?..:.''.:,,..., .-.,',?-' 1.-. -I. .", li . I. -

-41.- -1. ?' - _?:-. ?' .'.?., .. -'...-W .,-. I.?II? ?:??""I..1 _. I '1;1? . ,.. ... ?' ..?.,? I11....:-',y"-, ??,I4- ?. ?'-.1"....' I,.,,;, '? . .

, "', ?_ ?_._".4:'Wl'?? ..W .-:;- . ..1. - ".- , ?,?. .? - '%_'?Z' ?;. _:.? I.I.. ?_-.I .1i"" .. '.' 11I? ""... I%... : ?:...._.Ir. .'II-, ? .-, I. ? --?,,"- ,,' ":? ..I1..'"...`?' , ,'- :.. I. .'2?? ?iZ.I ?iI7II:.';X .111"..,....I.? ". ....,, 1, . .,' i, ?. : :. ..?Iti.-.1 : "1:.?...4 .%?.....",,-,:: ' ,:-?I_?'.I,--?' ?-??,'- ?'.. ,'...",d ?.' ...?I??..", .1.I-. :?:?.-..,Ii, ?'"II11,I:..: .?'.. t.I. , '? ':,II?- -'-,I:: '..''. ?'.... .II,, .I.'_-??'..'?.Ii??-. '. ;? jj?'-.-..,, .......??? -..'.?;.,:',,.1 ..' , ,,.-,? I-......,,:.. - - ?'.'' .?-.__." ,.?..II --.??.. ,. ... . ,.?? ,.,.... N' ';'],-.-N1,."?.;I '.';?' , 11II,./.?. .?..,,. c_'?'-7?:?i ??! .?I.'?_..?" ,. "-:--' '-""..'i',"?;" - ?:?? ?1, ?? -?,-1-...??V. .?". ... '?, '_?.",,.I.,..;: 11A..ik .I,,1'? '.' I ." :?'--4? "'_ -'"-`- "?- .'4' ?." " -,", ..l."I.-.1--I,-. 1..:??':--I?.- .1 . "" .I?-"W"',: ?'-? 1.I?,??I I? I.-?::' . I17.- ??,:? , 1? /: .??? ??'-',I"`':. ., :'-:?:' .. "-':??'I"'- .. .?,I:.. .I. ". I

%.I?_?I?4? -:- I,-.. K", ?I.;??,1; ,?:.+1? "" ..%..'-I,-. ....III:'....-.??.' "" ? ?.. I.II,i.. ?,_?- .'',;: - ?!'. ?-I?. ..II "?,liv.'?'.., . ????" .I-.-%_? ' ?- .I1.?I ?I'I" ?. _?I..?IIII..;.?. '

I-, .?. .. I-..o;;? %., ?i?? II' .? .,? . .?w ?- ? - ? ? I.' .1 " ,

t.... ?% - ,?' V.?? I'- / I""I"I:", " 1 ?' ?:'%'':'?? '..".'.' -. ,l ,,,;??' ..' I.I,?. ::-I--1 I.? --'??:if-??"??,, ?;"t.

..-.I?'7 ?, ??! "'? .".,?_,- ??-..:.: .?: -?.--_,,,.?.' :.i?.i I:.,I?__.m?_5??_'-.?'? - ,I..If .I,; ? ? _?'. q_`?? "g",-'?.. ?:??'? . ..... ?.'?-'!?'?""-.',. ..-, '?' ? :q :..!..'! ?' .1 . ?I ?... ".., IO;.- _ . ..' .' .-... ;.?' .. I.. t? - -I ? , .: ?, ??. ?:'',Y'....... ?, .1.I:. .%"?:.7 14?I?I.' ??'?:iv?'-'??' "::?;"'- ?_??I.. -!? ?, ??..I... Vc .I?..11.I. .: ??I- ?_..?. .: ?'..? :?_?.Ii, :-.??.??'. . '-. !aI..... ?.I...I?I 1-t....I?.1..I,,'- I-'.' ? I- _11...1? -.-'?'?,,I._. II.1I.. ??" . 1, -- -,.? .I?: 1. 1:: -..... ?? . .

,. ..I,....... .I. .I-? ,"'. ?-I.I?-....- -'??-, .,......: .1 . ?. ? 41' ? 1..?' ?.. ..11..'?' -?...14'?.??..-;;%'?.':??.. ??.% 1.I,,, ",??' -, -, "'-',-'?II... .7.I .1 ,. ", 1. ?"II.,-`_*i..I.- I.."-.. .:'.IIII:1 . pI ?. -,'._? I,.. -'.? ...... .?17 iI?-:.'. *.. .II_? -, -%,. -1 :.' m"I ,..:....,; % 1? - V "-.+A*. I....,,- ...".?1'1 ..' -, ., 1.. ,.------ rm- ??!'?.""',?'-.Ir'??-'?--., , ?.:' ? ?? .''.'':,?? ". .I.I. ?I....?:,1 ?,: ;? - .,.I11. p".II.,.I:'..... III-,.".?..?'? '?4;' '-? "". ?'. 'I I. .II..? tr' , ???-??I. I'?;t?,? -I., ?. ,I..II. .. ??I.I.., ..II .... .":"..I?? ,;.?' . .'?:?_ ?" W. . ??'...I?.. I?%'410?1. .. ...'r?I ll?? -?'.'I.'"."4I, ?I.,?._. _. '." - "- " -I :? ". ? ?:?..",??? . ?: ?. r ?. _::??- I ..1I?. -_ ?I?-1- -., _.. ?? z?" .;; ? ?......"I .?r.. - I..- -I.?.?.I. --:?'v...J'li.-_ .. ?, '_,.I,-'??- -?,'?'-" _....III.. ...,.I-, "I,,-.I.1. ??_?..:?,l "'. I .'._'."??_.?-.. _' --i?k !: '? . -, _'j I.,.I.. III ?_.I .1?????,'"'.: ?_ ..I... -..a_ ... ?' ?. -%. -?'.._!.. ""?'?' ?' 4,,'. ---"I .......-M--'?.I.1 . ,' ,,, .,,.1........L.'.?I :-.-.. . .I II.,.T". '4."-*?-?v?'?' ?1??,? ??'I?..I.::- 1. -'?I...?''?:?:....II,qII ?,*:.. 1.t..:?"'?? -? .1- .'.?I...-1, V,I f'?.. ??"?.',="-i-.' .?',I.?'.I: .. - -::, ?' ?'_:- ,1V -;`-?I.I-?.?.I.1 ?..-. ?'I;:I?I)FI.? ?:?-'." - .". " ??'?. -? ??,??. I..I. II..:k?;' .,-?..."?

Charles Merewether

After the fact: to represent that which is no longer and that which remains. The work of these artists stands against the pictorial traditions oflandscape photography. It represents a form ofthe anti sublime: it offers nothing heroic, nothing grandiose to which one can appeal. Like an excavation that

exposes the incomplete fragments and traces of what has disappeared or been erased, their photographs expose the memory ofa time ofwar and violent change.

In the photographs of Sophie Ristelhueber, Willie Doherty, and Sophie Calle, the landscape is revealed as a desolate memory, scarred by signs of a traumatic past. Doherty returns again and again to sites of demarcation, borderlands where vision and bodies are brought to a halt. Ristelhueber's photographs show us horizonless wastelands littered with half-buried debris. Calle records the scars left behind in concrete and stone when

monuments and memorials are excised from the public landscape, leaving only the imprint of their presence.

In Sophie Ristelhueber's I992 series of photographs, Fait, the desert that was the theater for the battle of Kuwait has become a burial ground for the detritus ofwar. The half-buried trenches, armaments, and the stuffof everyday life left like abandoned bodies in the sand are a memory of the

landscape's occupation and desertion. The work distances itself from the images in tourist guides, as well as from those ubiquitous television and magazine images constructed for the tourists ofwar that we have become. Ristelhueber addresses each scene by posing the questions: How do we return there without repeating the act of surveillance, the aerial or panoramic point ofview that presages subsequent destruction? Where is a standpoint that

will allow another perspective, a place from which to view the devastation? Ristelhueber captures the still burning desert as one oil rig after another brightens the night sky with its column of fire. There is no

distance in her photographs. They abolish any notion of scale. No horizon line can be found that is

not ruptured.

Sophie Ristelhueber, from Fait, Kuwait, 1992

177

CHARLES MEREWETHER

For Willie Doherty, the border is the limit of vision, the threshold of perception. It is the frontier between night and day, between city and country, between states, between cultures, selfand other, life and death. What we see in the space between the

moment just passed and the moment to come are the

warning signs of potential violence. What we see in a photograph ofa blind corner, a dark thicket, or a road that loses itselfin a blanket of darkness, is disturbed by what we cannot see. The object eludes the eye, exceeds the camera's attempt to capture

within the frame, to make visible the unseen, the

unknown. In Doherty's video work, as well, we are suddenly surrounded by the unfamiliar, the unrecognizable. The viewer stumbles upon the scene, finds himself in the wrong time and place, and discovers himself to be a foreign element someone who does not belong. The observer becomes the one who is being watched, the object of attention, the subject of surveillance. The landscape allows no privilege for the viewer. What seems innocent becomes suspect: an effect of the violence that informs everyday life in Northern Ireland.

Willie Doherty, Wasteyround, 1992

178

AFTER THE FACT

SilRe Cdt)o ete1

Sophie Calle, Relief and Child (detail), from The Detachment, 1994

The photographs in Sophie Calle's series,

The Detachment, document the traces of monuments

and memorials removed from their place.

Accompanying the photographs are the stories,

often contradictory, told by those who remember the

people and events these vanished monuments once

commemorated. Their fitful memories are cobbled

together into a narrative where the statue and its

subjects merge and separate in the recounting-as if

the representation had already replaced that which it

memorialized. We are reminded of how every regime

marks and controls the landscape with

representations of its heroes and leaders. And of

how history is remade and falsified by the erasure of

these figures from public squares, from books, from

archives, and by the rewriting of history in the light

of new leaders and new beliefs. Can history begin

again? Calle's work captures the moment after the

slate is wiped clean, after the fact, before the future.

The work of each of these artists is concerned

with the phantasmic afterlife ofwhat is left behind

by the events that make history. In the memory of

place, the legacy of a time ofwar is its imprint on the

landscape-physical traces which function as an

index of past trauma. Photography is, as Roland

Barthes has suggested, essentially commemorative. Yet we may say that, in describing events that erase

the past in their wake, such images as these exist as

emblems of the uncertain present in which we live.

In recognizing the past, they charge their audience

with being a witness to these events and their

aftermath.

179

after the fact - uc berkeley art, technology, and...

Documents