Forget-Me-Not: Death in the 19th Century

“One lives in the hope of becoming a memory”

                   -- Antonio Porchia

Death is inevitable. It’s one thing that we have in common with every other human on the planet, we will all die. And yet, we forget this so often, thinking unconsciously that we will live forever. The desire to remember those we have lost is a quintessentially human trait, keeping us focused on what is truly important in life and what is lost in death. We create memorials that will allow our loved ones to live forever in our memories. Memorials do not have to be built of stone, they are often images that stick in our minds informing us on how we should think of death. To ​form​ this space in our collective conscience, we use shared symbols and imagery shaped by the artists of our time.

The people of the 19th century are famous for their fascination with death. The century was wrought with the beginnings of modern war and flush with the presence of disease. Artists of the time were forced to ask, what can we do to commemorate death? With the Industrial Revolution in full swing, technology such as photography became accessible for the first time. This led to the practice of “Memento Mori” photography: the practice of taking photographs of the recently deceased, often children. Although this may seem grim to us, photographs were rare enough that a post-mortem photo was often the only time someone would have their picture taken. At the same time, many artists sought to answer the question in much less literal terms and to continue the tradition of using symbols and images to speak about death, much like the visual language found in cemeteries today. For these Romantics, images of the overarching ideas of Death were used to commemorate individuals, much like symbols on a gravestone are used today.

This show is meant to put on display the ways that people of the 1800s thought about death and remembered their lost loved ones. All these works are meant to remind us of something important, a person, an idea, or just simply, death.

Arnold Böcklin, The Island of the Dead, 1880, Oil on wood, 29 x 48 in., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Accession no. 26.90

Arnold Böcklin created the dark island motif, but it was his patron, Marie Berna whose inspiration turned the painting into a memorial for her recently deceased husband. The work feels similar to a graveyard: full of Classical imagery and symbolism, mysterious and yet solid, mournful, but hopeful for what lies ahead. Böcklin evokes ancient Greek myths in his imagery that is reminiscent of crossing the river Styx, temple ruins, and a barely discernible dog-like figure in the center. It can even be argued that the white figure in the boat is Berna herself, laying her husband to rest in the mystery of the beyond. As the composition pulls us into the darkness of the center, we are forced to question: what lies ahead?

Arnold Böcklin, 1872, Self-Portrait with Death as a Fiddler, Oil on canvas, 75 x 61 cm, Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin, Germany

Böcklin paints himself with death personified as a skeleton that is quite literally peering over his shoulder, reminding him that life is short. With paintbrush in hand, it is as though Böcklin is trying to paint as quickly as possible, to finish his work before it is too late. Behind him, the skeleton with a violin or fiddle is a traditional symbol of death, playing his enchanting tune and leading in the dance of death. Böcklin calls us to remember that life is short and death is never far away. In painting himself with death, he paints his own memorial, a portrait that will survive long after his death.

Alexander Gardner, Is This Death - Antietam Battlefield, September 1862, 1862, Albumen silver print from glass negative, No dimensions given, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Accession no. 1970.537.6

Alexander Gardner made hundreds of photographs documenting the Civil War, showing the horrors of war in graphic, realistic detail. He was one of the first photographers in the world to capture the gory details and aftermath of war. This work was taken at Antietam, the bloodiest day in the American civil war. Gardner gives us a way to visualize the gruesomeness of the battle without actually showing us the human dead. As we face this horse, it reminds us of the reality of death and forces us to realize that the effects of humans waging war on one another ring far beyond our species.

Alphonse Le Blondel, [Postmortem], Ca. 1850, 3 1/2 x 4 11/16 in., Daguerreotype, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Accession no. 2005.100.31

Alphonse Le Blondel gives us a theatrical example of memento mori photography. A young girl is bathed in light and white drapery as her grieving father watches the final moments of life leave her small form. Some post-mortem photography is done similarly to modern family photos, all the children lined up with the deceased propped up amongst them seemingly calm or even asleep. Photos were often taken after the death of children to remember the young faces that would never be seen again. For the first time in history, almost anyone, not simply the upper class, could preserve and remember the actual faces of their loved ones for their remaining lifetime or for future generations to see.


Henry Peach Robinson, Fading Away, 1858, 9 3/8 x 14 5/8 in., Albumen silver print from glass negatives, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, No accession no. 

Although this may appear to be a single photograph, it is actually a composite of five separate negatives cut together by Henry Peach Robinson. It is truly a Victorian work as Prince Albert, the husband of Queen Victoria was the original owner and sponsored much of Robinson’s work. Robinson creates a fiction, piecing together a scene that could be any family in any place. He captures not a specific death, but the grief and sorrow that is universal to our human experience. His photograph shows us three responses to death in the three different mourners surrounding the deathbed. Robinson is not interested in the specifics, but in the process of passing out of this life, both from the perspective of the dying and from that of the mourners. Here is not a memorial to a specific person, but to the moment in which life slips away and sorrow sets in.


Edvard Munch, The Dead Mother, 1899-1900, 99 x 90 cm, Oil on canvas, Kunsthalle Bremen, Bremen, Germany

At the end of the 19th century, Edvard Munch brings us full circle from extremely realistic depictions of death back to a more emotional and evocative image that reflects his own childhood. When Munch was a young child, his mother passed away from illness, leaving him with a difficult life ahead. In this piece, we see a young child just realizing the grief of their mother being taken from them too soon. The child covers their ears in an attempt to block out reality, to stay in the peaceful world before death creeped in. Although this child is probably not intended to be a self portrait of Munch as a five year old, he memorializes forever the intimate moment of his mother’s death and the despair brought into his life at that moment; the moment he will never forget.