Sally Mann: What Remains

The relationship of Sally Mann to her personal world exhibits an ability to see beauty without judgment. She widens the definition of beauty and intimacy by taking on subject matter outside the normal scope of what is acceptable and worthy. Her investigation and celebration of both the quotidian and the grotesque illustrates that both are natural parts of life- it is only our opinion that renders them inaccessible. The title of the work, “What Remains”, refers to her subjects- both ‘remains’ of the deceased, an exploration of death of the body, as well as those things that ‘remain’ such as the landscape and those people and animals that are with her daily, but perhaps the only thing that truly ‘remains’ are the photographs.

Mann’s process of photography is slow and time-intensive. The viewer realizes that perhaps much of the intimacy that arises in Mann’s photographs stems from the fact that her experience with the subject is more then a ‘snapshot’. Her unflinching presence that accepts the decaying bloated body in the forest, her tick-bitten daughter, or the bones of her dead dog and the hauntingly beautiful - allows the viewer a longer look as well. The photograph illustrates both the moment (a look, a pose) and the deeper essence of the subject. There is a quiet acceptance and whether in pain, a moment of sensuality or impersonal decay- Mann’s subjects are THERE. Because this intimate moment is captured, the viewer gets a chance to forget for a moment to be upset. Her acceptance allows her to frame situations and begin a dialogue between private subjects and the viewer who might otherwise be too frightened to look.

Sally Mann’s description of her early years as a feral child made a deep impression on me. Mann still seeks her space from childhood in her current work- the hollowed out cave in a honeysuckle bush. I believe that Mann’s ability to perceive and capture childhood and nature in such an intimate and direct way through her photography stems from these early experiences.  Edith Cobb in ‘The Ecology of Imagination in Childhood” states that, “…the middle age of childhood-when the natural world is experienced in some highly evocative way, producing in the child a sense of some profound continuity with natural processes and presenting overt evidence of a biological basis of intuition.” (Cobb, 538) It is also interesting to note that,  “In recollections of their own childhood by creative thinkers…it is principally in this middle-age range in their early life that [they] say they return in memory in order to renew the power and impulse to create at its very source, a source which they describe as the experience of emerging not only into the light of consciousness but into a living sense of the dynamic relationship with the outer world. In these memories the child appears to experience both a sense of discontinuity, an awareness of its own unique separateness and identity, and also a continuity, a renewal of relationship with nature as process.” (Cobb 539)

            I hold two images in my mind from childhood that continue to comfort and rejuvenate me, despite the fact that they are no longer physically accessible to me. Because both are spatial I find myself seeking them out- it is the yellow glow of twilight through blinds and standing in the corner of a backyard with trees, a sense of presence and security and the ability to expand. I am very interested in recreating and capturing them through my photography.

On the subject of diligently and intimately documenting the people I know best, are the hundreds of photographs of both my sister and my old boyfriend. Their willingness to be photographed and my ease around them made the capture of their daily living possible. My sister’s beauty is captivating but accessible, and seeing her engage in the mundane with grace made me want to capture ‘how a capable young woman lives’. More of her happiness then her sadness was seen because I chose not to preserve her most miserable times, out of respect. In my eyes it would have been a breach of loyalty, being behind the camera would have distanced me, if only by the width of a camera lens, by miles. I documented my boyfriend for about three years and as our intimacy increased so did the depth and breadth of my photographs of him. Although I was able to probe deeper into both the unusual and the routine as I was living next to him, many terrifying and human moments were excluded merely because the camera did not exist in my mind at the time. I would like to think I encapsulated a small portion of their lives, but realistically the images when seen together speak only a portion of the truth because of the exclusion of the darker side we all experience, but often fail to capture. This is the true beauty of Sally Mann, the depth of the human experience she communicates.

            My other experience with documenting a life in detail was not of a person, but a park in Mexico City. Chapultepec Park was under my loving scrutiny for a semester long ecology project, during which I amassed thousands of photographs of the seemingly mundane and miniature. I was striving to assemble a collection of images that would describe the park in its essence over the change in season from winter to summer. I wanted to express both the sweeping landscapes and a more intimate scale- the objects, plants, and processes that are often left out. Plant litter, gnarled trees, trash, mold and lichen, dead animals, broken concrete- what would appear ugly and unkempt to others was the reality and the lifeblood of the park for me. I began to see the land and its health in a new way that, coupled with my growing understanding of the history and ecology of the place, produced a profound appreciation and a sense of nourishment. I experienced the changes in the land, the color of the river from cloudy with algae growth to crystal clear and devoid of life. The project was successful overall, but I did not spend enough time with each subject to convey their small yet essential life though a photograph.