Song to the Siren

Rainbows, Carolee Schneemann, and August's Angel-of-the-Month

03.02.2019 — Hudson Valley, NY

It had rained all afternoon. Walking around Fire Island with Leigha I tried to photograph a number of things that didn’t turn out: a perfect rainbow arching from the middle of the Atlantic into the trees beyond the Pines; a reproduction, just larger than a Barbie doll, of Rodin’s The Age of Bronze, painted white and nestled into a flowerbed; and a cast-iron poodle, —white with black paws, eyelashes and ears —the base of an outdoor lantern. The rainbow was obviously too fine for my instant camera, but also too present, and too beautiful, not to try. By contrast, the objects’ whitewashed surfaces reflected back so much light, that their tiny details disappeared and they became blown out silhouettes.

Somehow these reminded me of pictures I took a few years ago, on the 2nd of March 2019. It had just snowed. Carolee Schneemann was on her death bed. I drove Ann McCoy up to see her for the last time. They’d been friends since the early 1970s and talked on the phone every day. We found Carolee asleep with a beloved cat on her chest. Ann brushed and braided her hair—one of the tenderest things I ever saw. I made strong coffee with maple syrup, the way she liked. When I sat the cup beside her Carolee said, “every friend contributes their special thing.” At one point she began having trouble forming words, producing a sequence of disconnected sounds. She stopped, looked astonished, and after some time stated, “This not having language… is not for me.”

Carolee told me to look around her house again before I left. Up in her studio there were large printouts of Syrian men in mass graves taken from the news. I couldn’t imagine how she could work with these images—make anything of them. But Carolee was fearless.

We said goodbye and I took Ann to the train station. Driving east alone, I listened to Tim Buckley’s “Song to the Siren” on repeat—with its lapping chorus:

Hear me sing:

Swim to me

Swim to me

Let me enfold you

Here I am

Here I am

Waiting to hold you.

I pulled over onto the side of the road, got out of the car, and looked up into the great blank sky. I photographed the light, early evening gently curving into night. I was thinking of an image that could stand in for everything that wasn’t pictured, might hold the weight of what couldn’t be seen. Carolee Schneemann died four days later,  at home surrounded by her friends, on 6 March 2019.

That past few days have been a dream, my favorite part of my favorite season. I’ve spent it reading, writing and swimming, and preparing a number of big projects for the fall I’m looking forward to sharing soon. Until then, here is August’s Angel-of-the-Month:

07.04.23 — Fire Island Pines, NY