On the Hidden Complexities Within the Phrase ‘I Love You’: Taking Inspiration from Louise Bourgeois
*Content Warning: This article contains themes of emotional and psychological trauma.
**Editor’s Note: Gendered references in this article are not intended to be heteronormative or to exclude non-binary identities; rather, these match certain childhood experiences of Louise Bourgeois which inspired her artistic works.
‘I love you,’ we too frequently hear. This universally identifiable phrase, while seemingly simple at its surface, is often imbued with hidden conflicts—at an extreme it may carry with it an unlimited potential to either cherish or take for granted, to unite or destroy, and so on. By uttering the words, ‘I love you,’ the once separate islands of self and other appear momentarily bonded, joined together by this ethereal notion of ‘love’ while obscured foundations are lurking beneath.
What do I mean when I say ‘I love you’?
The intangible idea of love is capable of spanning multiple interpersonal realms—including those of friendship, romance, parenthood, and even self-worth—conveying powerful feelings of acceptance and reassurance, for example, while simultaneously concealing the deep roots of infidelity, traumatic memories, or failed expectations. We grow tired of its hackneyed appearance on Valentine’s Day or in Hollywood films, and we may also seem incapable of expressing it to ourselves with any sincerity. In some circumstances a verbal expression of love can be tiresome and restricting, while in others it can be uplifting, perhaps even liberating. Therefore, despite its surface impression, the phrase, ‘I love you,’ is very often riddled with conflicts.
These innate complexities bring me to the physical and emotional conflicts embedded within the confessional works of the artist Louise Bourgeois (1911-2010). In channelling the emotional crises and memories that inspired her creativity through tangible media—in continuously working and reworking these triggers, building and often destroying them—visceral discord is woven throughout her work. Such conflict includes themes of truth and betrayal, safety and entrapment, and oppositions both within the self and in its relation to the other.[1]
In my interpretation, by revisiting feelings of fear, anxiety, abandonment, and the confrontation of the self through her work, Bourgeois frequently creates in the observer an implicit awareness of interpersonal space. Just as the islands of self and other momentarily touch through the figment of love in the statement, ‘I love you,’ just so her art often creates a sense of our almost cyclical relation to others—this is reflected, for example, in the contrast between the untouching architectural figures of her Personages (1946-55) and the fluid combination of ‘feminine’ and ‘masculine’ elements[2] in Janus Fleuri (1968). Traversing the space between artist and observer, her sixty Cells also generate a layering of emotional reactions in us—here we find ourselves participants of varying natures in her work, such as in being both physically excluded from and also literally reflected in Cell (Eyes and Mirrors) (1989-93).
In saying, ‘I love you,’ a fluid—albeit sometimes fleeting—joining of two parties occurs. In particular, a previously rigid separation of the ‘human condition’[3] becomes a (brief) conflicting moment of touching—thus, ‘masculine’ connects with ‘feminine,’ artist connects with observer, and self connects with other. It is the joining role of these three words—the nature of this join—that is the subject of this article, for it is simultaneously capable of appearing transparent while being blurred with deceptions, or of seeming stable at its surface while possessing the most fragile of foundations.
I hope to unveil the conflicts embedded in this phrase by drawing upon some of Bourgeois’s works. I begin with the intimate streams of unconsciousness in her Insomnia Drawings (1994-5). Specifically, her depiction of a figure ‘digging out memories,’[4] the roots of which are deeply ingrained into the soil, appears to echo the apparent simplicity of the words, ‘I love you.’ Like the superficial surface of the soil, this phrase provides the mere outward layer to a complex web of deep-rooted and contrasting emotions, memories, traumas, and dreams. Beneath the surface of these words, we therefore unearth the conscious rooted in the unconscious, fragility interlocked with stability and, most significantly, self linked to other. It is these hidden complexities within the phrase, ‘I love you,’ that I shall explore in more detail.
Of your parent’s adultery not being any of your business
‘I love you,’ he tells her, while concealing his adultery.
I recently observed somebody remark that a parent’s adultery—however this may be defined—is none of their child’s business. This comment was immediately jarring to me; however, the reasons for my visceral reaction appeared to initially escape me—I felt instantly unsettled by this statement, but I could not articulate why.
Without intending to moralise this subject, I have consciously left ‘adultery’ undefined for the purposes of this article, simply intending to encapsulate those feelings that seem universally encompassed by this notion, namely themes of betrayal, abandonment of affection, and deception, and so on. Assuming, from the outset, that this remark refers to the parent of a child who commits adultery against the other parent of that child—such adultery being known or perceived by this child—then, in my view, its jarring impression on me seemed to stem from the implications of interpersonal space—in particular, the position of the child within the family unit.
In this context I am reminded of Bourgeois’s statement that, during her father’s ten-year affair with her governess, she would observe him repeating to her mother, ‘I love you.’[5] The concomitant imbalance wrapped up in his betrayal—where her father, as a ‘wolf,’ dominated her mother, ‘the rational hare, forgiving and accepting him as he was’[6]—arguably mirrors the conflicted roots that underpin the surface-level simplicity of her father’s words. Here, the vulnerable honesty of ‘I love you’ is in fact underpinned by destructive betrayal—the fragile joining of self and other conceals a deep fracture at its core.
In my interpretation of her fabric book, The Trauma of Abandonment (2001), we see these conflicts of interpersonal space from the child’s perspective, complexities which, in the light of the statement that a father’s adultery is none of his child’s business, triggered such a disturbing sentiment in me. By stitching red circles around the hands of certain subjects depicted in this book—to highlight a yearning for physical touch[7]—Bourgeois alludes, in my opinion, to the jarring position of the abandoned child within the family unit in the context of such betrayal—a disquieting position, the causes of which overwhelm this child’s feelings while also eluding them.
Here the child feels instantly unsettled by this state of affairs, but often cannot articulate why. For this child, while sensing a betrayal by one parent against the other, is neither self nor other; rather, despite all their immediate feelings they are, in fact, in the position of a third-party observer—they occupy the wider space of the family unit, as opposed to the immediate realm of the betrayed parent. Nevertheless, because of these same feelings, the child is torn as both participant and observer, as both feeling betrayed and observing a betrayal. In inhabiting at once both and neither of these positions—in being neither just a third party, owing to the strength of their feelings, nor, in fact, the betrayed partner—they occupy a visceral in-between.
Therefore, necessarily intertwined within the roots of the phrase, ‘I love you,’ in this context are the adulterous self and the betrayed other, with the invisibly betrayed child.
Parental love
The stability of a parent’s love, even upon the most fragile of foundations.
Bourgeois’s ode to her mother, Maman (1999)—a spider sculpture that is at once intimidating and inviting—embodies, in my interpretation, the complex roots of parental love. ‘I love you’ the parent tells their child, expressing a commitment that is fundamentally grounded to the core of their being, despite the fragility of their surroundings—such as the status of their relationship, financial circumstances, or their health and well-being.
Like the commitment of the spider to protect her offspring—represented by an egg sac in the centre of her abdomen—despite her delicate foundations—her spindly legs somehow balancing her body—we see this juxtaposition of stability and fragility in parental love. Embodied in this sculpture we observe a profound co-existence of maternal protection and natural predation, of strength and vulnerability—we encounter a parental love that is almost too intimidating to replicate.
And yet, through the subsequent reproduction of Maman into six bronze castings,[8] it is as though some of the eggs within the original have hatched—yielding a spawn of spiders. Now identical versions of the original, all of whom are carrying eggs waiting to hatch, have successfully replicated her intimidating love upon the same fragile, and almost wavering, legs.
So, while each spider embodies this contrast between stability and vulnerability, the success of her maternal role depends on the balance being tipped in favour of the former element—in fact, it appears that she often succeeds in this task, her love for her child enduring into the next generation.
Confronting the mirror of self-love: when one is both subject and object
Before I may be capable of self-love, I have to confront myself.
In the previous sections, the subject and object of ‘love’ have been different persons or bodies. However, in the context of self-love, we observe the subject and object of the phrase, ‘I love you,’ to be two halves of the self. Therefore, unlike the deception concealed beneath this phrase when it is uttered by an adulterous partner, for example, self and other in the context of self-love are pre-cognisant of the state of affairs. As such, there can be almost no deception. ‘I love you,’ said towards oneself, necessarily builds upon the roots of self-confrontation—these roots are essentially pre-supposed.
The internal and external dimensions of self-confrontation are frequent themes in Bourgeois’s art; however, this article focuses upon the following two works: her structural, externalising piece, Cells (Eyes and Mirrors); and her internalising, fabric piece, I am Afraid (2009). Through the incorporation of mirrors of various sizes and positions in the former, we encounter the physical embodiment of self-confrontation—the observer, faced with polished marble eyes that stare vacantly outwards, is forced to confront their own reflection in the surrounding glass.[9] By contrast, in the latter piece we encounter what seems to be an internal and reflective dialogue between two selves—one more assertive and the other more vulnerable.[10]
The discords of self-confrontation which are embedded throughout Bourgeois’s art highlight the deeper complexities of self-love—the coming together of the two halves as equals, simultaneously looking and being looked at. In fact, the self appears as a living embodiment of the past, present, and future, creating an active dilemma—for in the trauma of one’s emotions or the layered memories of the past, one cannot escape them. While you may change your name or find a new identity for yourself, the residue of past experiences will always accompany you.
As such, by continually reworking her trauma—creating a physical embodiment of emotion and memory with which we, as the observer, may identify and even feel—Bourgeois reflects, in my opinion, the tangled roots to self-love. This is because there is a deep irony in the fact that, in order to express herself in this way, Bourgeois needed to draw upon the overwhelming waves of memory and feeling—the traumas of her past—to free herself from them. In fact, in so paying her ‘debt to the past,’[11] she could not eradicate it entirely, for it was both the source of her creative inspiration and the very monster she sought liberation from.
Through the creation of art and its subsequent destruction, the escape from oneself and then self-confrontation, Bourgeois highlights the opposing roots of self-love as simultaneously involving an ode to forgetting and an ode to remembering. Thus, self-love, in necessarily requiring self-confrontation, becomes the most complex ‘I love you’ of all.
Conclusion
Having explored the depths of the phrase, ‘I love you,’ through various artistic works of Louise Bourgeois, I have unearthed innate conflicts—both within ourselves and in our interactions with others—which are arguably inescapable. Beneath the surface-level elegance of these words one may discover the fundamental roots of ingrained memories, feelings, and streams of unconsciousness—all facets of our lived experience which we may endeavour to hold onto or from which we may seek to escape.
Beneath the surface-level elegance of the phrase, ‘I love you,’ one may discover the fundamental roots of ingrained memories, feelings, and streams of unconsciousness—all facets of our lived experience which we may endeavour to hold onto or from which we may seek to escape. Image source: Peter Bellamy / Louise Bourgeois photographed in Articulated Lair (1986)
Like the superficial surface of the soil, ‘I love you’ provides the mere outward layer to a complex web of deep-rooted and contrasting emotions, memories, traumas, and dreams. Beneath the surface of these words, we therefore unearth the conscious rooted in the unconscious, fragility interlocked with stability and, most significantly, self linked to other. Image source: a still from BBC documentary Louise Bourgeois: Spiderwoman (2007) depicting one of Louise Bourgeois’s Insomnia Drawings (1994-5)
Following the suggestion that a parent’s adultery is none of their child’s business, I am reminded of Bourgeois’s statement that, during her father’s ten-year affair with her governess, she would observe him repeating to her mother, ‘I love you.’ Image source: Louise Bourgeois by Bruce Weber
By stitching red circles around the hands of certain subjects depicted in her fabric book, The Trauma of Abandonment (2001)—to highlight a yearning for physical touch—Bourgeois alludes, in my opinion, to the jarring position of the abandoned child within the family unit in the context of betrayal. Image source: The Easton Foundation / VAGA at ARS, NY
‘I love you’ the parent tells their child, expressing a commitment that is fundamentally grounded to the core of their being, despite the fragility of their surroundings—such as the status of their relationship, financial circumstances, or their health and well-being. Image source: Maman (1999) by Louise Bourgeois cast in 2003 in bronze / Photo: NGC / Art: The Easton Foundation
Through the incorporation of mirrors of various sizes and positions in Cell (Eyes and Mirrors) (1989-93), we encounter the physical embodiment of self-confrontation—the observer, faced with polished marble eyes that stare vacantly outwards, is forced to confront their own reflection in the surrounding glass. Image source: a photograph of Louise Bourgeois’s Cell (Eyes and Mirrors) / MoHA
In Bourgeois’s fabric piece, I am Afraid (2009), we encounter what seems to be an internal and reflective dialogue between two selves—one more assertive and the other more vulnerable. Image source: a photograph of Louise Bourgeois’s I am Afraid / BBC
By continually reworking her trauma—creating a physical embodiment of emotion and memory with which we, as the observer, may identify and even feel—Bourgeois reflects, in my opinion, the tangled roots to self-love. Image source: Guggenheim Museum / Raimon Ramis
Search by Tag
-
While it may be unbeknownst to some, references to Greta Thunberg's U.N. Climate Action Summit address as a "meltdo… https://t.co/5kEEFQELep
Most recent articles
Sources Cited
[1] Rosie Lesso, ‘Louise Bourgeois: Fear, Trauma and Catharsis’ (The Thread, 20 June 2019) <https://blog.fabrics-store.com/2019/06/20/louise-bourgeois-fear-trauma-and-catharsis/> accessed 10 September 2020.
[2] ‘Janus Fleuri 1968’ (Tate, October 2016) <https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/bourgeois-janus-fleuri-al00347> accessed 10 September 2020.
[3] Louise Bourgeois (as cited in ‘Architecture’ (MoMA) <https://www.moma.org/s/lb/curated_lb/themes/architecture.html> accessed 9 September 2020).
[4] BBC, ‘Louise Bourgeois: Spiderwoman’ (13 November 2007) comments by Alan Yentob <https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b008bypx> accessed 5 September 2020).
[5] Jan Garden Castro, ‘Louise Bourgeois - Turning Myths Inside Out’ (2001) 20(1) Sculpture Magazine <https://www.sculpture.org/documents/scmag01/janfeb01/bourg/bourg.shtml> accessed 10 September 2020.
[6] ibid.
[7] The Louise Bourgeois Studio (as cited in ‘Cat. No. 134 - The Trauma of Abandonment, cover’ (MoMA) <https://www.moma.org/s/lb/collection_lb/object/object_objid-176812.html> accessed 9 September 2020).
[8] Elizabeth Manchester, ‘Maman 1999’ (Tate, December 2009) <https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/bourgeois-maman-t12625> accessed 8 September 2020.
[9] ‘The Art of Louise Bourgeois’ (Tate) <https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/louise-bourgeois-2351/art-louise-bourgeois> accessed 10 September 2020.
[10] BBC, ‘Tracey Emin on Louise Bourgeois - Women Without Secrets‘ (25 November 2013) comments by Tracey Emin <https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b03j46q8> accessed 13 September 2020.
[11] Louise Bourgeois (as cited in ibid).