Since Polaroid announced in February that it would
stop manufacturing instant film and that supplies would run out next
year, artists like Chuck Close and Lucas Samaras have been passing
through stages of grief. Nothing, they say, can replace the Polaroid —
awkward, dated, a little sleazy, but miraculous nonetheless.
The beloved instant photograph could not have
hoped for a better sendoff than the Whitney's exhibition of Robert
Mapplethorpe's Polaroids. During his 20s, between 1970 and 1975,
Mapplethorpe made more than 1,500 photographs with Polaroid cameras.
This may surprise viewers who are more familiar with his posed and
polished studio photography of the '80s.
"Polaroids: Mapplethorpe" offers some 100 examples drawn largely from
the Robert Mapplethorpe Foundation, including portraits, still lifes,
erotica and works that fall into more than one of these categories. All
the themes of Mapplethorpe's mature work — the body as a site of pain
and pleasure, the ideals of classical beauty, the celebration of
alternative lifestyles — are here, but rendered in a more spontaneous
As Mapplethorpe once said, "If I were to make something that took two
weeks to do, I'd lose my enthusiasm. It would become an act of labor,
and the love would be gone."
Sylvia Wolf, the show's curator in collaboration with the Robert
Mapplethorpe Foundation, writes in the catalog that Mapplethorpe
"learned how to see photographically with the Polaroid camera." The
growth was personal as well as artistic. Mapplethorpe's earliest
Polaroids date from 1970, around the time he was beginning to explore
his sexual identity.
His early self-portraits are frankly autoerotic, taking full advantage
of the Polaroid's seamy associations (from the days before cellphone
cameras). Instead of leafing through pornographic magazines to find a
desired pose, as he had for earlier collage-based works, Mapplethorpe
could simply create it himself.
This being the Whitney, the exhibition does not include some of the more
provocative images that appear in the catalog. It's too bad, because it
interrupts sequences of shots and plays down the Polaroid's seductive
A card from Mapplethorpe's 1973 opening at the uptown Light Gallery made
the connection explicit. Invitees opened cream-colored Tiffany
envelopes to find a protective sleeve for Polaroid film, printed with
the words "DON'T TOUCH HERE." Inside was a self-portrait made by
positioning a Polaroid camera at crotch level across from a mirror. A
strategically placed paper dot added a touch of false modesty.
The Polaroid technology was inherently collaborative, in that models
could see and respond to the results of the photo session. This is
particularly apparent in shots of Mapplethorpe's friend and roommate
Patti Smith. The ever-aloof Ms. Smith crosses her arms, hugs her knees
and thrusts her hands into her pockets, but there is a sense that she
might crack a smile.
The romantic and creative relationship between Mapplethorpe and the
collector Sam Wagstaff, which began in 1972, inspired some of the most
intimate photographs in this exhibition. A series of three subtly erotic
Polaroids, mounted on paper and separated with thin bands of colored
pencil, shows Wagstaff rinsing his hair and shaving his chiseled jawline
in the bath.
Mapplethorpe often created special mountings for his Polaroids, though
only a few examples are at the Whitney. One such 1973 work combines four
images of the Warhol superstar Candy Darling, each surrounded by
pastel-painted plastic. Another, also from 1973, features a grid of six
Polaroids in which racy portraits of Mapplethorpe and David Croland, his
friend and one of his early lovers, alternate with photographs of a
In works made the following year, Mapplethorpe continued to depict the
nude body — athletic but not necessarily male — as classical statuary.
Several Polaroids show dancers and performers posing next to columns and
on pedestals. In one photograph of a male dancer from 1974, taken
opposite a mirror, Mapplethorpe can be seen crouching with his camera in
the lower right corner.
In other photographs Mapplethorpe and his models wear masks, harnesses
and other sexual accessories, but even these pictures have a cold,
flesh-as-marble sensibility. More shocking, in a way, is a photograph of
two men ("Charles and Jim") kissing in a bathhouselike setting. In the
catalog Ms. Wolf compares this image to Warhol's taboo-defying film
By the mid-'70s, Mapplethorpe had gained access to the upper echelons of
creative society and was able to make a living by taking portraits. His
Polaroids from this time form an impressive social archive: Ozzie
Clark, Clarissa Dalrymple, Henry Geldzahler. In these pictures
Mapplethorpe seems to have used the Polaroid as if it were a more
conventional camera. Only the shots of Marianne Faithfull, cradling a
cup of tea, and Helen Marden, veiled by a leafy branch, possess the
immediacy of Mapplethorpe's earlier portraits of Ms. Smith.
In 1975 Wagstaff gave Mapplethorpe a Hasselblad 2 1/4-inch camera. It
was the end of Mapplethorpe's affair with the Polaroid. By then he had
The photographs of the early '70s show us that Mapplethorpe did not
emerge fully formed as a photographer of "the perfect moment." How might
his art have developed without the Polaroid? We can only guess, but it
is difficult to picture young artists approaching their camera phones
and Webcams with anything like his sense of wonder.
By Karen Rosenberg
For The New York Times