Memory

The art of memory

• Jack Williamson

Published:November 06, 2018DOI:https://doi.org/10.1016/S1474-4422(18)30430-7

‘I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes”Vladimir Nabokov

In 1950, while writing his autobiographical memoir Speak, Memory, the Russian novelist Vladimir Nabokov encountered a problem. A master of fictions, the great writer turned his pen to the events of his life and began to consider the validity of his, self-confessed, slippery memory. Nabokov's doubts, however, did not concern his capacity for recollection. Instead, he considered the plasticity of memory—the phenomenon of our own brains glazing our real-time impressions with their own unique watermark, altering our perception of the truth of our own experiences. Committed to paper, Nabokov's memories (unlike in his own lifetime) remain fixed in place—unaffected by the processes of memory consolidation and recollection—where they will stay for the rest of time.

In Memory Palace, a major group exhibition to mark the 25th anniversary of the White Cube gallery (London, UK), curators Susan May and Susanna Greeves sought to achieve a similar effect by showcasing artworks on memory by key artists that have been featured in the gallery's past exhibitions. Spanning both London White Cube sites (Bermondsey and Mason's Yard), the exhibition explores this vast subject through the perspectives of over 40 artists, and has been divided into six themes: historical, autobiographical, traces, transcription, collective, and sensory.

The first of these themes, historical, explores the political and sociological events that influence collective memory. Co-curator Greeves describes how “the memories set down in the official record of history [are] in fact the narrative of the prevailing power”. She states that “one of art's important abilities is in recovering the voices—the narratives that may have been erased or forgotten by history”. Immediately as the visitor enters the first room, they are confronted by Strata Poem in Red from Theaster Gates' 2011 In Event of a Race Riot series. Renowned for using discarded everyday materials to highlight themes of historical injustice and social responsibility, the Chicago-born artist's Strata Poem in Red is made up entirely of decommissioned fire hoses—a material which, for many, is synonymous with memories of truncheons and police violence amid the turbulent struggle for civil rights in the USA.

Opposite Gates' installation, in quiet contrast, hang two silk gowns from Colombian artist Doris Salcedo's 2014 Disrememberedseries. This seemingly understated piece might come as a surprise to those more familiar with Salcedo's ambitiously large installation pieces, such as Shibboleth (2007), in which she ripped open the entire length of the Turbine Room floor of the Tate Modern gallery (London) with a deep fissure to convey the fragmented experiences of immigrants displaced in the first world. Inspired by interviews with parents who had lost children to gun violence, Disremembered serves as a tangible memoriam to these lost lives while also commenting on societal expectations that might limit open discussion of traumatic memories. Looking closer, the visitor sees that each gown, hanging ghost-like, is in fact strewn with thousands of tiny needles that would make the garments agonising to wear.

For Berlin-based artist Magnus Plessen, also featured alongside Gates and Salcedo in the historical section, art is a means of exploring the forgotten personal stories of soldiers that have been physically disfigured from their experiences of war. Inspired by Ernst Friedrich's shocking 1924 photograph series of grossly deformed soldiers returning home from duty, Plessen's 1914 paintings use starkly coloured layered cut-outs to dramatically distort body shapes and create a heightened sense of imbalance and confusion. “As many of these men were so disfigured from their original state, the memories of themselves from before the injuries must have felt like they belonged to another person.” The distorted, unrecognisable faces featured in Plessen's paintings almost serve to flip Friedrich's camera on ourselves—making the visitor feel like their own perceptions and past experiences have become permanently disfigured following personal tragedy. In doing so, Plessen's paintings also force the visitor to reflect on the ongoing personal destruction caused by war and the silent battles that ex-military personnel continue to fight while attempting to readjust to civil society.