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A review by liralen
The Ballad of Sexual Dependency by Nan Goldin
5.0
'The Ballad of Sexual Dependency is the diary I let people read,' says Goldin in the introduction (6). And it's that intimacy that really makes the book: these are not photographs of strangers but photographs from Goldin's own life. Friends and lovers and roommates. The captions say not Vivienne in a green dress but rather Vivienne in the green dress (21). I love the contrasts: on page 16, Suzanne and Brian on the bench, sitting two feet apart, she looking at him, him looking forward or down. There's a story there. On the next page, Suzanne and Philippe on the bench, but here they're entwined, she half on his lap, arms and legs a tangle. Or: Lynelle on my bed (32), half-dressed, bed in disarray, an implication of intimacy. On the next page, Suzanne on her bed, also half-dressed, looking...lost?
Hotel rooms and beds and the aftermath of abuse. Weddings, bars, nudity. A photo captioned Mexican couple a week before their second divorce (142): his arm around her shoulder, her arm around his waist. Again, there's a story there. There's a fair amount of explicit stuff, but it's all in the context of the broader work—a sort of overall snapshot of, well, intimacy. People in bed who look like they want to be there and people in bed who look like they've checked out.
Individually there are some really interesting photos, but I'm just fascinated by the way they all fit together—and oh man I want to go find the rest of her books of work now.
Also, from the afterword, just because I think it's important: ...photography doesn't preserve memory as effectively as I had thought it would. A lot of the people in the book are dead now, mostly from AIDS. I had thought that I could stave off loss through photographing. I always thought if I photographed anyone or anything enough, I would never lose the person, I would never lose the memory, I would never lose the place. But the pictures show me how much I've lost. (145)
Hotel rooms and beds and the aftermath of abuse. Weddings, bars, nudity. A photo captioned Mexican couple a week before their second divorce (142): his arm around her shoulder, her arm around his waist. Again, there's a story there. There's a fair amount of explicit stuff, but it's all in the context of the broader work—a sort of overall snapshot of, well, intimacy. People in bed who look like they want to be there and people in bed who look like they've checked out.
Individually there are some really interesting photos, but I'm just fascinated by the way they all fit together—and oh man I want to go find the rest of her books of work now.
Also, from the afterword, just because I think it's important: ...photography doesn't preserve memory as effectively as I had thought it would. A lot of the people in the book are dead now, mostly from AIDS. I had thought that I could stave off loss through photographing. I always thought if I photographed anyone or anything enough, I would never lose the person, I would never lose the memory, I would never lose the place. But the pictures show me how much I've lost. (145)