
Francesca Woodman, From Space², Providence, Rhode Island, 1975-78. All images via Marian Goodman Gallery.
While the Guggenheim rotunda currently features the ultimate in brash masculinity – the enormous contorted car metal sculptures of the late John Chamberlain – a smaller show of black and white photography, located adjacent to the spiral spectacle, represents a quiet foil. Francesca Woodman’s photos are mysterious, haunting, and elicit an aura of timelessness that makes them difficult to pin down. As much as I appreciate a good Chamberlain sculpture (and I was pleasantly surprised by the range of objects, in terms of both size and material, on display in “Choices“) they can only hold my interest for so long. In contrast, Woodman’s photos are the type that seem to physically suck you into their world, demanding attention, thought, and introspection.
It is difficult to disentangle Woodman’s work from Woodman’s life. The precocious photographer was born into a family of artists and committed suicide in 1981 at age 22. The brevity of her career, much of which was spent as a student at the Rhode Island School of Design, lends an almost cliché aura of melodrama and artistic suffering to her photographs. It is impossible not to wonder how we might perceive her work differently if she were still alive today. The haunted quality of the photographed scenes is perhaps the most mesmerizing aspect of her work. Many photos were staged in an abandoned house, lending an air of decay and heavy neglect to each frame. These are spaces where you could easily imagine ghostly apparitions taking shape. Woodman’s technique only adds to this sense, as the figures are often blurred and slightly transparent, further evoking the impression of a fleeting moment or vision.

From Angel Series, Rome, 1977-78
The Woodman exhibition also represents an interesting comparison with another photography show taking place 40 blocks away at MoMA: the Cindy Sherman retrospective. Both exhibitions feature female artists who primarily use their bodies as the subject of their work. While Sherman uses elaborate costumes, make-up, and props to disguise herself and transform into a variety of characters, Woodman takes the opposite approach – often stripping down and baring herself without even the slightest shred of clothing. For this reason, Woodman’s photographs may come across as more sentimental and less slick, but both artists share in their the ability to transcend personal identity to convey something simultaneously more specific and more universal. Their works emit an enigmatic quality that makes them difficult to fully unravel or grasp in their entirety within the space of a moment. They are deep and complicated and seem to carry with them the weight of what it means to be a woman, with all the nuances, complexities, and histories that entails.

Providence, Rhode Island, 1975-78
Although I object to the space in which the exhibition is featured, a cramped series of galleries located within seeing and hearing distance of the cacophony of the cafe (surely these photographs merit a more quiet, contemplative setting), I reveled in the photographs themselves. Anyone with even a passing interest in photography should visit both the Guggenheim and MoMA to view the works of Woodman and Sherman, and see how these two artists that have pushed the conventional limits of self-portaiture in both challenging and visually compelling ways.






Pablo Picasso, Head of a Sleeping Woman (Study for Nude with Drapery) (1907), The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Image via 









