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July
12, 2003
Savage Incongruities
The
Photographic Life of Lee Miller
By JEFFREY ST. CLAIR
On November 24 1946, the American photographer
Lee Miller walked into the newly liberated Buchenwald death camp.
Dead bodies were stacked in rotting mounds. The furnaces that
had burned human flesh were still warm to her touch. The stench
of shit and death clotted the air. The living dead remained in
their metal beds too frail to move.
The Nazi guards were there, too. Some
were confined in holding pens. Another guard awaited his execution,
after being beaten to a pulp by dozens of frail internees. In
Miller's photo, his fractured nose stabs through his skin, as
he stares beyond the camera with vacant eyes. Another camp guard
was strung up from a lamppost and, like Mussolini, his body pummeled
into a grotesque mess of flesh. Another Nazi was shot in the
head and dumped in a stream, his
body sheathed in reeds like a dead carp. Miller, the former
fashion model, moved through it all, capturing the first startling
images of the death camps with the unsparing lens her Leica.
Miller sent back to New York from that
scene of unspeakable horror some of the most disturbing photographs
to come out World War II: pictures of cruelty and retaliation,
survival and compassion, life and death amid the ruins of a Europe
gone mad. The images derive power not only from the shocking
content, but also from the craft of their composition, which
 recall scenes from the crueler
fantasies of Bosch. The images seemed otherworldly, fantastical,
a cruel dream. At the same time, there was no denying their reality.
When the images appeared in (of all venues) Vogue magazine, they
ran under the headline "Believe It!"
Lee Miller made a career out of compelling
people, often upper middle class women like herself, to believe
the impossible, to confront the dark dreamworld of life in the
20th Century. From Buchenwald Miller went to Dachau. She photographed
the sad varieties of death along the way, including a hauntingly
erotic photo a blond
teenage girl, as beautiful as Miller herself, wrapped in
her father's Nazi jacket, laying on a couch. She'd been forced
by her father to commit suicide prior to the arrival of the allied
troops. The photograph has the repulsive allure of a painting
of a martyred saint, but we know it's nothing of the kind.
The night after Miller visited
Dachau, she and fellow photographer David Scherman (who was
also her lover and 20 years her junior) ended up in a partially
bombed out villa on the outskirts of Munich. The house turned
out to be the Munich residence of Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun.
Miller asked Sherman to take her picture in Hitler's bathtub.
She posed naked in the tub, with a photo of the fuhrer behind
her. A few days later Miller arrived at Berchtesgaden in Austria,
where she photographed Hitler's mountain chalet as it was consumed
by flames.
The landscape Miller traversed in Europe
in 1944 and 1945 was that of a bad dream, a waking nightmare.
"Germany is a beautiful land dotted with jewel-like villages,
blotched with ruined cities and inhabited by schizophrenics,"
she wrote in a dispatch accompanying her photos. "Little
girls in white dresses and garlands promenade after their first
communion. The children have stilts and marbles and tops and
hoops, and they play with dolls. Mothers sew and sweep and bake,
and farmers plough and harrow; all just like real people. But
they aren't."
Lee Miller was better equipped than most
war photographers of her generation to capture the strange incongruities
of this scene. After all, prior to World War II Lee Miller was
one of the leading figures in the surrealist movement. She was
the lover of Man Ray and had invented the solarization technique
that made him famous. She was friends with Dali and Picasso and
starred in Jean Cocteau's first film, the surrealist classic
Blood of the Poet. Later she married the British surrealist painter
Roland Penrose.
Miller was no late arriving tourist of
the war, either. She had been photographing the carnage since
the blitz of London, producing thousands of photos of shattered
buildings, orphaned children, people getting along with their
lives under the nightly terror of the buzzbombs and V-2s. She
wanted to follow the British troops in North Africa, where she
had spent many years, but the English military didn't allow women
photographers on the front. So she stayed in England and got
a position working for British Vogue. She covered the air bases
and military factories. For a nearly a year, she devoted herself
to documenting the new
working roles assumed by women in a time of war: operating
tractors and heavy machinery, serving as firefighters and boat
builders, loggers and pilots. London in the early 1940s was a
world-turned upside down, filled with unexpected revelations,
as in a Magritte painting.
"I don't like to photograph horrors,"
Miller wrote. "But don't think that every town and area
isn't rich with them."
Lee Miller was born in Poughkeepsie,
New York in 1907 into an odd middle class family. Her father,
Theodore, was engineer and inventor. He also dabbled in photography.
His favorite subject was Lee Miller and her schoolmates. He photographed
his daughter thousands of times, usually naked, often in sexually
explicit poses.
Miller was raped at the age of seven,
supposedly by a family friend. But the culprit may well have
been her father, Theodore. In any event, Lee's mother, Frances,
a nurse, responded to this trauma by making it worse. She subjected
Lee to regular and excruciatingly painful douches with dichloride
of mercury.
In 1925, Miller fled New York and her
grim family for Paris, where she studied theater at L'Ecole Medgyes
pour la Technique du Theatre. She stayed for six month until
her father, anxious to have back by his side in New York, cut
off her funds.
The next fall Miller enrolled in the
Art Students League in New York City, where she studied set design.
On her way to class one day, Miller casually stepped off the
curb into oncoming traffic. She was snatched from the murderous
path of a taxi by a sharply dressed passerby. That man happened
to be Conde Nast, publisher of Vogue.
Nast knew a beautiful face when he saw
one and Miller was a striking blond: athletic, smart and adventuresome.
He immediately put Miller to work for his magazine as a model
and later a photographer. In 1927 her face graced the cover of
Vogue in a photo taken by Edward Steicher. The Vogue cover led
to other gigs as a model,
including the first Kotex ad to feature a photograph of a woman.
Modeling paid the bills, but Miller really
aspired to be a writer. Nast sent her to Paris as a correspondent
for Vogue in 1929. She was supposed to cover the fashion industry
and the Parisian art and social scene. Miller was a skilled writer,
but she also suffered from an incapacitating case of writer's
block. She would churn out torrents of text, but rarely a complete
story. After missing dozens of deadlines, Nast put her to work
doing research for Vogue designers.
One of her first assignments was to compile
a catalogue of Renaissance gowns for reproduction in a Vogue
photoshoot. Miller visited museums and palaces, drawing the samples.
But she soon discovered that her skills as a sketch artist were
limited, so she began photographing collections from Parisian
museums.
So it was in Paris that she sought out
another expatriate from New York, Emmanuel Radnitzky: Man Ray.
Miller wanted to improve her skills as a photographer, so she
showed up at Man Ray's studio one afternoon and demanded to take
her on as a student. Man Ray told Miller he wasn't a teacher.
"I am here to inspire, not inform," Man Ray said piously.
But he didn't blow her off entirely. And as it turned out, Miller
became the inspirer. That night they became lovers and lived
together on and off for the next three years.
It's hard to say who benefited more from
the relationship. Man Ray introduced Miller to the luminaries
of the Parisian art scene: Marcel Duchamps, Picasso, Magritte,
Cocteau, Max Ernst, Lenora Carrington and, her future husband,
Roland Penrose. She later wrote that Man Ray taught her the rudiments
of photography: "Fashion pictures, portraits, the whole
technique of what he did."
For her part, Miller soon became the
surrealist's favorite model. Man Ray photographed her obsessively,
often
in darkly erotic poses. He even photographed her lounging
on the lap of her stiff father in a portrait infused with an
unsettling subtext, hinting at incest, longing and steaming hatred.
You can see how the dissipated beauty of Miller's face in this
strange portrait appealed to Jean
Cocteau, the man who would write Les Enfants Terrible.
One day Miller, working in Man Ray's
dark room, accidentally exposed a negative plate to light. She
and Man Ray were astounded by how this distorted the images,
giving them an electric, almost 3-D appearance. They fine-tuned
this accidental discovery into a technique called solarization.
It brought Man Ray (though not Miller) international acclaim.
Miller was the most sexually and artistically
uninhibited American woman to hit the streets of Paris since
Josephine Baker. Notoriously, she drove her car topless through
the streets of Paris. She posed nude for dozens of painters and
sculptors and allowed a mould to be taken of her breast, which
was transformed into the most popular champagne glass in Paris.
Like the other surrealists, Man Ray publicly
ridiculed marriage and promoted sexual liberationfor himself.
Miller took the pompous photographer seriously and flung herself
freely into numerous affairs. Man Ray objected. He was free to
fuck around at will but she wasn't. He wanted to keep her shackled
in one of the oldest modes, as an artistic muse: as confined
and immobile as one of the strange statues in a de Chirico painting.
When Miller resisted, Man Ray became insanely jealously and violent.
In 1930, Miller moved out and opened her own studio, where she
exhibited some of her best surrealist photos, including "Man
Ray Shaving", "Nude
Bent Forward" and "The
Exploding Hand".
But Man Ray refused to leave her alone.
He trashed her work, bullied her friends, threatened her lovers
and stalked her through the streets of Paris.
Eventually, Miller fled to Alexandria,
where she fell in with a crowd of British writers and artists
that included Lawrence Durrell. The distraught Man Ray responded
to Miller's flight by shredding his photographs of Miller and
creating his so-called Objects of Destruction. One of the most
famous is a metronome with a photo of Miller's eye attached to
the pendulum. In 1941, Man Ray left Paris ahead of the Nazis
for southern California, where he wound up doing headshots for
Hollywood.
In Egypt Miller met up with an old lover,
Aziz Eloui Bey, an Egyptian millionaire and art patron. They
soon married and Miller became a hostess to bacchanalian parties,
many of them with surrealist themes. Freed of Man Ray's oppressiveness
and photographic aesthetic, Miller also began to perfect her
photographic style: composed, luminous and slightly offbeat.
One bizarre photograph from this time is of the British writer
Robin Fedden, wearing snow skis and a pith helmet, atop a Saharan
dune. Another is the strange and beautiful "Portrait
of Space," a view of the desert through a torn screen,
which inspired Rene Magritte's painting "Le Baiser."
Equally striking is Miller's 1937 photo "The
Shadow of the Pyramid", taken from the peak of the Great
Pyramid of Giza, showing the dark void of negative space looming
across the desert.
Here in Egypt we begin to see the maturation
of Miller's art. Increasingly, her subjects are more naturalistic,
but the composition is increasingly fractured, a suggesting an
increasing influence of the Cubists on her approach to photography.
Even in Egypt, Miller didn't lose her
fondness for sexual puns. In 1939 Miller took a series of photographs
of cliffs and rock outcrops near Siwa. The photos are as austere
and descriptive as anything taken Ansel Adams. But Miller learned
from the surrealists how a title could completely alter the meaning
of a work of art. Hence her photo of a sandstone monolith, which
she called "Cock
Rock", immediately assumes the resemblance of a mighty,
semi-erect phallus.
Eventually, Miller bored of the sheltered
life of Egypt and in 1939 she left Cairo for Paris where she
threw herself into a torrid affair with the English surrealist
painter Roland Penrose. Penrose, also extremely wealthy, was
close friends with Max Ernst and Picasso, both of whom painted
portraits of Miller. Penrose would later write one of the
best critical works on Picasso, who famously said it was so good
he could have written it himself. Miller took the photographs
for the book.
When war broke out, Miller and Penrose
moved to London to a mansion in Hampstead near Sigmund Freud.
Penrose was a Quaker and a pacifist, but Miller was gung ho for
war. She tried to get accredited as a war photographer by British
papers, but the British army refused to allow women to accompany
troops into combat. So Miller signed on with British Vogue and
soon produced a stunning series of photographs documenting the
London
Blitz, which was turned into a popular book called Grim Glory:
Pictures of Britain Under Fire, featuring a text by Edward R.
Murrow.
When the US entered the war, Miller went
back to work for American Vogue and followed the D-Day landings
into France. She was no embedded reporter. In fact, during her
first week in France, Miller violated orders from the Army and
entered the besieged
village of St. Malo. She was the only photographer to capture
the decimation of this small French town. She also rode into
Paris on the day
of its liberation.
During these frenzied months, Miller,
along with fellow American Margaret Burke-White who had been
photographing the war from the Russian Front, helped invent what
we now know as photojournalism. Prior to WW II, photographs were
used mainly to illustrate long prose dispatches from the likes
of Ernie Pyle. But Miller's work from Europe put that tradition
on its head. She used a series of photographs linked by small
fragments of prose.
Her photos of Europe during the war are
informed by surrealism but without resorting to its more overt
gimmicks. Gone are the contrived camera angles and the darkroom
tricks. It's as if she were saying that the images themselves,
of senseless death and cultural destruction, are strange enough-to
enhance them would be to undermine their reality.
"We've all been conditioned wrong,"
Miller wrote. "We should have been exposed to nightclubs
and sleep-snatching and alarms and excursions to prepare us for
this, our life."
Like other war journalists, the battles
in Europe ended too soon for Lee Miller. Like Sean Flynn in Vietnam,
Miller became addicted to tense reality of war, living on coffee,
random violence and benezdrine. She loathed the Germans and opposed
reconstruction of the German nation. "A more disorganized,
dissolute, dishonest population has never existed in the history
books," Miller wrote. She continued on for a few more weeks.
One of her final photographs was of the execution of Laszlo Bardossy,
the former prime minister of Hungary and fascist collaborator.
When she returned to London, she began
to sour on photography. It could never recapture the intensity
it had during those feverish days in Europe. She began taking
portraits, mainly of friends and painters in relaxed settings.
Some of these photographs retain the old power, especially the
photos of Picasso. Others seem restrained and mannered.
In the mid-1950s Miller stopped taking
photos, refused all interviews and prohibited her works from
being shown-- one reason she remains an obscure artist today.
She turned her attention to cooking. She began collecting recipes
and interviewing chefs from across Europe. There's a strange
similarity between the dark room and the kitchen, both are conjurer's
arts. It's the kind of career conjuncture that would appeal to
the surrealists.
When Miller died in 1970 from cancer,
her son Anthony began to excavate her attic. He found more than
500 prints and 40,000 negatives, many of them never seen by anyone
other than his mother. Slowly, Penrose has begun the hard work
of reassembling his mother's astonishing legacy of work, first
in a book, The
Lives of Lee Miller, then in a small museum in East Sussex
and now in an
online archive. The work is far from complete and Miller
is yet to receive the kind of critical assessment that she is
due. But even so what has been released so far is nothing less
than a dramatic reemergence of a buried history of the 20th century
as recorded by one of the most unflinching eyes to ever aim a
camera lens.
"It's like this," Miller wrote.
"Perhaps you haven't noticed. This is how it is."
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