Introduction: Sculpture as symptom
Philip Larratt-Smith

[…] The psychoanalytic writings chronicle Bourgeois’s descent into severe depression in the 50s, agoraphobia being merely one of the most obvious symptoms. She was acutely aware that this breakdown was unravelling her family life and undermining her identity as daughter, wife, and mother. Worse still, it had become almost impossible for her to work. In the face of her depression, Bourgeois’s principal defense lay in making art that allowed her to enact the ritual movement from passive to active of which she often spoke and wrote. The process of making art also enabled her to channel and transform her dammed libido and her aggression against others and herself into symbolic form and through symbolic actions such as cutting, drilling, carving, and pouring. When she was deprived of this outlet, Bourgeois felt herself to be locked in a vicious circle of frustration, hostility, and guilt.
            If the trauma of her mother’s death in 1932 had been the primary motive for her switch from the study of mathematics and philosophy to art, the death of her father in 1951 had served as the catalyst for her decision to undergo psychoanalysis.1 In her youth her mother had repaired the tears and holes in the tapestries that passed through the family workshop at Antony. Bourgeois took this activity as a model for the restorative possibilities of art. In an undated loose sheet, she wrote: “why sculpture – because –the experiences / reached when working are the deepest and / most significant […] / Sculpture is the others / or rather clay is the others and / the sculptor is the ego. these are situa / tions concrete and precise.”2 For most of her life, art was her primary form of psychic restoration, although at the height of her depression psychoanalysis served as a substitute for art, at the same time that it helped her to learn how to continue to make art. The psychoanalytic writings flesh out the relatively unknown period between 1952, when she was still articulating her series of monolithic and segmented wooden Personnages, and 1964, when she would exhibit a new body of work at the Stable Gallery in New York City.3 They establish the crucial role played by psychoanalysis in Bourgeois’s artistic development, and their richness of detail and emotional range confirm Lucy Lippard’s observation that “rarely has an abstract art been so directly and honestly informed by its maker’s psyche.”4
            Along with Marxism, that other twentieth-century unity of theory and practice, psychoanalysis was the lingua franca of the intelligentsia in the United States of the 1930s and 40s. The Abstract Expressionist artists, Bourgeois’s contemporaries, were versed in Freud and Jung and spoke of their art in relation to the unconscious and the visual language of the dream world, all of which was the heritage of Surrealism. What Bourgeois’s writings now make clear, however, is that her relationship to psychoanalysis was of a different order of magnitude. Probably no other artist has engaged more profoundly with psychology and psychoanalysis. Bourgeois firmly believed that the artist is privileged with access to the unconscious and with a rare capacity to express fundamental psychic realities in symbolic form. She maintained that although the process of making art offers the artist no permanent cure, it does at least grant him a momentary reprieve or exorcism of past trauma. By digging deep into his unconscious the artist paradoxically develops the ability to create powerful images of universal significance. Both sculpture and psychoanalysis yielded distinct forms of knowledge that became fused in Bourgeois’s artistic practise.
            Writing about Bourgeois’s installation of her Personages, Rosalind Krauss stated that the “nature of the encounter” was a “projection of the Unconscious onto the space of the real.”5 The psychoanalytic writings reveal that the rigid, top-heavy Personages, which could barely stand by themselves and had to be bolted directly into the floor, mirrored the inner fragility of her psyche. Like the artist herself, they were literally scared stiff. By making these surrogates portable Bourgeois ensured that they were dependent on and inseparable from her, which expresses in reverse her fear of abandonment. Their titles reflect Bourgeois’s states of mind: Persistent Antagonism (1946-48), Dagger Child (1947-49), The Tomb of the Unknown Child (1947-49), The Observer (1947-49), The Blind Leading the Blind (1951), and so on.6 According to Bourgeois, these works represented “mourning”– not just for her father who died in 1951, nor for the other loved ones she had left behind in France when she moved to the United States in 1938, but mourning for her own disintegrating psychic integrity – even, perhaps, proleptic mourning for herself, since she was not certain that she would make it out of her depression alive. […]

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The Return of the Repressed, by Philip Larratt-Smith
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[…] To give unconscious expression to her Oedipal conflict Bourgeois created a triadic form, one which was sufficiently open to comprehend multiple narratives and shifting subject positions but also subject to the condensation and displacement characteristic of symbols and dreams.  Janus Fleuri embodies the triadic structure of the Oedipal situation: the individual terms of this triad can be rotated and switched out, but the basic structure remains fixed. The central crevice of furrowed folds where two identical breasts/phalli are conjoined resembles the labia and opening of the vagina, here the third sexual organ. This tertiary point uniting two equidistant polarities forms the apex of an imaginary triangle. Like a theorem, Janus Fleuri concisely establishes the coordinates of Bourgeois’s blocked Oedipal strivings and passions. Its double-faced form allows it to serve as a repository of good and bad identifications in the Kleinian sense, which is a crucial turning point in the passage through the Oedipal phase.
            The first triadic dialogue must be the nucleus of the Bourgeois family, Louis – Joséphine – Louise, a reading that brings together the father’s phallus and the mother’s breast. At the threshold of puberty a powerful love for and jealousy of her father coexists with a solicitous devotion to her sick mother that cannot conceal an incestuous fantasy of taking the latter’s place in the conjugal bed. In a loose sheet dating from 1959, Bourgeois notes various compulsive precautions she took to “protect” her mother from unspecified “people” who might wish to “hurt her,” which is to say that she displaced her own unacceptable death wishes against her mother onto others. “I was definitely / relieved by her death and I put myself in her bed,” coupling a symbolic enactment of her incestuous wishes for the forbidden father with a formulaic rationalization of the reason for her “relief” that displaces and disguises the source of her unconscious pleasure: “after she was dead I said / that at least she would not  suffer any more.” That she later kept her mother’s memory alive “as an atonement” only confirms Bourgeois’s sense of guilt.7  Janus Fleuri represents the polarities and contradictory impulses of love and hate, but also the possibility of reparation. “I wanted to keep her alive (the / vow) it means I was trying or not to / get her dead ; then it was a mitigated and / crude aggression I felt (the reason is not necessary / to know) =I felt like killing – but this has never / been felt – I acted as if I was saving her.”8
            Another permutation of the triadic dialogue is the now-canonical love triangle of Louis – Sadie – Louise. Sadie Richmond Gordon was hired by Louis to tutor Bourgeois and her siblings in English and became his mistress. That Sadie was very close to Bourgeois and lived in the same house (like “a standard piece of furniture,” in Bourgeois’s mordant phrase9) made the liaison all the more traumatic.  More, Sadie’s liaison with Louis occurred right when Bourgeois was entering puberty and becoming sexually aware (the 1923 diary, dating from when Bourgeois was eleven years old, records her awareness of boys looking at her). Yet much as Dora facilitated her father’s affair with Frau K. by spending time with Herr K., Bourgeois facilitated her father’s liaison with Sadie by taking the role of her mother’s nurse. No less than her mother Joséphine, she too is complicit in her father’s liaison, adding another layer to her later guilt.  Bourgeois’s love for Sadie, with the intensity typical of her age, is analogous to the feelings Dora harbored towards the “adorable white body”10 of Frau K.; it was also an unconscious identification with her father.  If “the combined parent figure forms the basis of the ego ideal,”11 then these various triangular configurations can only have contributed to the split in Bourgeois’s ego.
            Conflicting impulses emanating from within the triadic configuration leads to murderous hostility and violence. Reverting to a pre-Oedipal position, Bourgeois feels castrated, dispossessed of the father’s phallus that she regards as rightfully hers.  Impossible to identify with the weak mother figure of Joséphine, who has been supplanted by Sadie in the conjugal bed.  And yet Bourgeois’s transference of hostility from her mother to Sadie, from Sadie to her father, ultimately produces only confusion:12

            I have the missing link   –    Kill   *
The killing – the stabbing to death
[…]
Is it Sadie back of it all -
[…]
my jealousy is deadly
Look how the triangle establishes itself
I feel two against one – against me
with Alain + Robert against me
the men against the woman
and the couple against me13

In later life she will play out this dynamic with the men in her own family, “with Alain + Robert against me.” She feels beleaguered by the “couple” which, in true Oedipal fashion, she wants to break up. As the title of Janus Fleuri implies, her repressed Oedipal deadlock continues to blossom and bear fruit in the present.
            Bourgeois later wrote that “the story of Sadie is to me almost as important as the story of my mother in my life. The motivation for the work is a negative reaction against her.”14 The tale of a “double betrayal” by father and mother, by Louis and Sadie, can be said to culminate in The Destruction of the Father (1974), a murderous fantasy staged amid fragmented body parts. The Oedipal deadlock gives rise to “a patricide idea” that expresses the “wish for freedom from an overstrong father fixation” and “from a jealousy which does not permit the patient to share his father with other siblings”15 (or, in Sadie’s case, surrogate sibling). In Bourgeois’s account of this installation work, the children devour the overbearing father in order to bring his reign to an end. Certainly her murderous hostility against the father suggests a regression to a pre-Oedipal phase. But to eat the father is to incorporate the father’s body into oneself, a symbolic representation of intercourse. The guilt that follows this act of killing is nothing other than a screen for the true cause of her guilt, which stems from having symbolically enacted her repressed wish to sleep with her father and of having usurped her mother’s place.16  Bourgeois manifests an obsessive fear that “it is certain that if I steal a P / that belongs to her since my father belongs / to her she will not be content / and she will take her revenge.” This revenge will take the form of abandonment (“my mother will abandon me”):

            but silly you I am not going
            to love him I simply want to
            steal him, to dispossess him, and I will come back to you
            Both of us we are going to steal him, we
            are going to eat him17

Nicky Glover writes that according to Klein, “emptiness” is “the most profound anxiety experienced by girls [and] is the equivalent of castration anxiety in boys.”18  The killing of the father in The Destruction of the Father is Bourgeois’s retaliation for the feeling of emptiness which indicates a castration anxiety (and which is so evident in her psychoanalytic writings). To fill herself with the father fulfils the most elementary “infantile phantasies” which are “associated with on the one hand love and on the other hand hunger.”19 […]

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Beyond the return of the repressed: Louise Bourgeois’ chthonic art
By Paul Verhaeghe & Julie De Ganck

[…] Even a nightmare fails in its attempt to represent the unthinkable; we wake up before the final confrontation with what is literally undreamt-of. Louise’s insomnia spells may be understood as a nightly vigilance to keep the horror at bay, with the insomnia drawings functioning as a charm to ward off the danger of the Real by introducing it into the Symbolic. This is the final level, i.e. the confrontation at the border with the truly unconscious, facing the most fundamental forces that drive us. Eros pushes towards synthesis, destroying all individuality in a deadly fusion. Thanatos precipitates towards analysis, destroying all unity and giving birth to the individual in a deadly isolation. These two principles govern the organic world, from chemistry to the male-female relationship. By and large, their reign is unconscious for us and we only confront them in those moments that are called “existential”: death, birth, sex. Even then, we are usually well-protected because we have buried this Real under the layers of the Symbolic, usually in a mixture of religious, scientific, and artistic forms. For some, this defense is broken through, meaning that they have to construct a new one by themselves for themselves. Such is the case with Louise Bourgeois.
As previously suggested, chthonic is the best denomination for her work from that period (incubating in the 1950s, produced mainly in the 1960s and 1970s, roughly speaking). In its original Greek signification, chthonic means pertaining to the earth, subterranean. Chthonic art must be distinguished from and contrasted with Oedipal art, which is always in one way or another a sexual-genital and relational processing of these originally undifferentiated and more anxiety-provoking forces. Such processing is almost completely lacking in chthonic works, as shown by the different versions of Soft Landscape (1963-67), Portrait (1963) and Lair, Amoeba (1963-65), Le Regard (1966), Germinal (1967), Avenza (1968-69), Cumul (1969), and Sleep (1967). These works cannot be interpreted, in our opinion, because they are themselves first attempts to interpret what can never be fully represented. In Louise’s words: “It is not an image I am seeking. It’s not an idea. It is an emotion you want to recreate, an emotion of wanting, of giving, and of destroying.”32 Because chthonic precedes the traditional erotic level, it is not surprising that Louise Bourgeois rejected the sexual interpretations of her work.33 Such automatic interpretations say more about the interpreters than they do about her work.34
Once these works had provided her with a more or less stable footing, we see a return to the first inklings of shared meanings at the pre-Oedipal level with its ambivalent bond between mother and child and with the onset of gender differentiation. The latter is illustrated by the different versions of Janus and Fillette, She-Fox and Nature Study. The former appears in her comment on a drawing (Untitled, 1986) of a large pair of shears with a smaller version between its legs, linked by an umbilical cord. She tells us that the big pair is her mother, and she is the small one: “That she was a monstrous cutting instrument didn’t matter to me. I liked her the way she was: very dangerous.”35 Ten years later, the spider project (1995-1997) or Maman endorses this return to the pre-Oedipal level from her horrific encounter with the Real. In part 9 of the film The Spider, the Mistress and the Tangerine, Louise tells us that the spider is her mother and an ode to her mother: “it represents a reconciliation.” She says this while walking around the spider, pulling and hitting the legs (“they can take a lot”). […]
After returning from the borders of the Real via the pre-Oedipal stage back to the normal level, meaning the Oedipal stage of sexuality and gender relations, the quality of her work, compared to that before the 1950s, is much higher — the confrontation with the fringes of madness proved to be very fruitful.  A number of her later works condense the Oedipal and the pre-Oedipal level. That she herself is conscious of this condensation appears from her commentary on The Twosome (1991) as a rendering of the attraction of adultery for the male and female elements and at the same time of the effort of a child to gain independence.36 With Arch of Hysteria (1993) she deliberately mixes the two genders, but now with an erotic, almost seductive quality. Altered States (1992-94) brings the couple back, although originally still with a dominating woman/mother. This is no longer the case in the many versions of Couple. With the different versions of Red Room and Cells, as imaginary constructions of childhood memories, fantasies and anxieties about love and betrayal in the intimacy of the family, she can truly say “I have been to hell and back. And let me tell you. It was wonderful.”37 Her return is illustrated by her diaries from the early nineties as well, mirroring the anxieties of her early years, the Oedipal craving for The Father included – in translation: “I have to manage to find a good father / a professor, a scholar, a genius, a / doctor […]”38. […]

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L.
Mignon Nixon

[…] Bourgeois’s writings not only expand the archive of psychoanalysis but transform it. In particular, she brings feminine aggression to the forefront of psychoanalysis, makes this the main theme. The trend of violence and its yield of anxiety, guilt, and fear dominate these pages, precipitating the analysis itself and providing its core dynamic. Reading Melanie Klein on July 14, 1956, Bourgeois makes one of her rare comments on the treatment itself: “(To Lowenfeld this / seems to be the / basic problem) / it is my aggression / that I am afraid / of) and this / nucleus would fit in / with Melanie Klein / and Freud).”51 Bourgeois was a close reader of Klein, whose theories, we now know, featured early and prominently in her own analysis.52 Lowenfeld posited the anxiety of aggression—fear of one’s own destructive impulses and their harming effects—as “the basic problem” of her analysis, a classic Kleinian stance. Throughout her artistic life, Bourgeois would pay elaborate homage to this theory. Her work also crucially expands its compass. Repeatedly breaking the cultural taboo on maternal aggression, for instance, she created works in which the anxiety of aggression is provocatively extended to the mother’s relationship with the child. As anger, or “colère,” escalates, and is played out in the domestic scene, the vicissitudes of fury and remorse come under the pitiless scrutiny of this most scrupulous of diarists. “I was so angry that I / was afraid of what I / might do. I needed all / my self control and it / kept me from answering / I became paralysed by / my own violence,” she writes, Sunday, May 9, 195453--Mother’s Day on the commercially printed pocket calendar.
Yet, Bourgeois is anything but compliant in her attitude toward psychoanalysis, her analyst, and the culture that treats women’s aggression so differently from men’s. The analysis, she frequently remarks, has the coercive aim of making her more “acceptable,” of bringing her into conformity with cultural expectations of femininity.54 Her diaries and analytic notebooks are mordant on the subject of feminine deportment. She drily enumerates the expectations of a good wife, mother, and hostess to be friendly, flattering, and clean. “My house work is finished / The house is clean 2PM - / I deserve my nap. I am reading Simone / de Beauvoir on the atrocious fate of / women.”55 Bourgeois lists “remedies” for social anxiety: “1) pay complete attention to the other / 2) listen + understand what he says / 3) answer to the point-” “What if he says nothing?” she demands. “That is a good point,” she answers herself. “However don’t give / up the ship—encourage him -”…“How?” she pursues. “By looking at him in the eyes and smiling,” she suggests. “Should not I give a compliment?” she wonders. “No, it is too gross—maybe taken as patronizing /who am I to distribute compliments like rose / petal blessings it is assinine [sic]?” comes the tart riposte. But, “With your eyes and your expression invite / friendly feeling […]” she advises.56
Bourgeois bemoans the coercive climate of analytic treatment with its aim of making her more socially acceptable. She fumes at being assigned inconvenient “housewife” hours. She anguishes over Lowenfeld’s fees, which deepen her financial dependency upon her professor husband, and opens Erasmus, a small book and print shop, to generate independent income. The entire ritual of the analysis seems at times profoundly dispiriting. She considers breaking it off—and does not. Unlikely as it was in the chill 1950s with visions of the “happy housewife” dancing in ad-men’s heads and fantasies of “infanticide” lurking in those of housebound women, the analytic situation became, for Bourgeois—at her insistence--a setting in which to examine the psychic trends of feminine and maternal aggression.57
“When I do not ‘attack’ I do not feel myself alive,”58 she reflects, voicing a sentiment all but expected of male artists of her generation, whose “colère” is so often enthusiastically celebrated as a virile stimulus for art.59 Struggling with her own aggressive impulses, which are the “basic problem” of the analysis and a source of intense suffering, but also a symptom of the repressive patriarchal authority she defies in the defense of her own integrity, Bourgeois produced an unparalleled portfolio of writings on a question that psychoanalysis itself for too long failed to address: What makes women mad?

Louise elle est maligne.
cette pensée me plait +
J’ai ecrit ces pages pour
me soulager d’un
feeling malheureux
de guilt, mon agression
me fait peur
me rend guilty60

In these writings, Bourgeois holds herself to account daily, even hourly, in a painstaking catalogue of self-examination, duly acknowledging the pleasures of her own beastliness (Louise elle est maligne, cette pensée me plaît) and the pain of its boomerang effects (mon aggression me fait peur, me rend guilty). In a household with three little boys, the cultural taboo against maternal aggression is persistently violated.61 Like her art, these analytic notes, the final dossier of the writer Louise Bourgeois, carry political and ethical import. Unsparing but never self-lacerating, she recounts the “psychic facts” of life, in a phrase supplied by the Kleinian psychoanalyst Hanna Segal, destructive impulses, even toward one’s own children, being foremost among them.62
Bourgeois’s decision to offer her analytic notes to study, to expose her faithful record of human failing to any reader, is an invitation to share her close and patient interest in all that is worst about us—all. It is a gesture in keeping with the entire trend of her art, which is toward responsibility. As an art of subjectivity, Bourgeois’s work is most often seen as abstaining from politics, apart from its engagement with feminism. Some even question her fidelity to feminism, as if this, too, were vitiated by the exploration of subjective experience, including her own. This is not surprising. For a splitting of the subjective and the social might qualify as a defining condition of political discourse, even of the Left, and is ritually invoked in the political critique of psychoanalysis. Bourgeois made no claims for the political significance of her art.
But, devoted as she was to examining the vicissitudes of the passions, and the dark fantasies of everyday life, her art was politically significant precisely in questioning the psycho-social divide. Her rejection of cultural myths of the maternal-infantile relation is fundamental to this endeavour and begins, perhaps crucially, in advance of analysis. Bourgeois brings to psychoanalysis some searching questions about motherhood, and she uses psychoanalysis, both in theory and in praxis, to explore the dynamics of maternal subjectivity in her art. […]

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Louise Bourgeois In Psychoanalysis With Henry Lowenfeld
Donald Kuspit

[…] Bourgeois read extensively in the psychoanalytic literature—even though she said she didn’t want to “dirty” her analysis by such reading68 —and had an extensive psychoanalytic library.  She seemed to have read Anna Freud’s The Ego and the Mechanisms of Defenses (1936) thoroughly, and knew the writings of Karen Horney, an early psychoanalytic feminist who argued that women envied men’s power, the penis being merely a symbol of it—as well as those of Marie Bonaparte.  She criticized Lacan for his “anti-Jewishness,”69 implicitly an attack against the Jewish Freud—a remarkable insight into the fact that Lacan’s so-called return to Freud dismantled and undermined his ideas (Lacan took the “Jewishness” out of the “Jewish science” of psychoanalysis, Frenchifying the dynamic unconscious almost beyond recognition by reifying it as a language)—and appreciated Erick Ericson’s concept of “identity crisis,” which she undoubtedly experienced, particularly in adolescence.   She knew Alfred Adler’s work—his “masculine protest” became her “mastery complex” and his “inferiority complex” became her “insecurity complex”70—and read Breuer’s and Freud’s Studies in Hysteria (1893-95), and early on identified herself as a hysteric,71 apparently male as well as female, if her Hysteria sculpture is any clue.  (She also mentions “the hysteria of war,”72 suggesting hers during World War I.)  But her object relational problems are the major source of her sexual and aggression problems, as she came to realize.  She was aware of object relational theory—she clearly realized that the Self was composed of Objects (others), ambivalently good and bad (“the good mother needs the bad mother,”73 even though they tended to polarize into idealized good mother and persecuting bad mother, suggesting a borderline aspect to her psyche)—even as she tended to blame her aggression for her problems.  Lowenfeld made her secure because he was a good object, even though she sometimes attacked him with her anxiety as though he caused it, and thus was as bad as she felt she was. 
Although Bourgeois had the conventional—and early psychoanalytic—idea that making art was a cathartic sublimation, and that the work of art, like the dream, was a substitute gratification, she was also ahead of her times in regarding the work of art as a substitute object, and especially in her idea that “form is the refuge of creativity.”74  She anticipated the later psychoanalytic concern with consciously made form rather than only unconscious content, however much she realized that the genesis of the work of art, like all creative activity, is in large part unconscious,75 just as, according to Freud’s topographic model, consciousness only gives us a glimpse of the unconscious, which is the most influential, “largest,” and dominant part of the psyche.   She was acutely aware of what she called “the irrational in everyday lives,”76 a play on Freud’s Psychopathology of Everyday Life (1901), but she knew that art had to seem rational if it was to be convincing as art, however inwardly irrational—however much it dealt with the irrationality of life.  Her sculptures represented “emotional states,”77 but they had to be unemotionally presented and self-contained if they were to be socially accepted.  Her spirals are rational—mathematically correct—constructions however irrationally compulsive they are.  Indeed, they suggest that repetition compulsion is the basis of her compulsive creativity, or at least one of its “motivations.”  It is worth noting that serial Minimalism is compulsively repetitive—reminding us of Bourgeois’ compulsive documenting of her feelings in her journals, the same feelings repeating again and again.  (She speaks of her “masochistic impulse to repeat a frustrating ritualistic experience.”78)  It is also worth noting that Minimalism involves achieving “security” by way of “elimination,” as Bourgeois says,79 which suggests the difference between her insecure, often irrationally sprawling webs and secure, neatly rational staircases.)  She uses psychoanalytic concepts deftly—reaction formation especially, applying it to herself—and records her dreams diligently, agreeing with Freud (and the Symbolists) that they are the “royal road to the unconscious.”  Psychoanalysis was clearly of great intellectual as well as emotional benefit to her.   
Bourgeois seemed to have anticipated Wilfred Bion’s concept of the “bizarre object”—“let the sediments form themselves sealed by / the peace of forgetfulness ”80—and sharply distinguishes between her menstrual periods and her chemical periods, connecting the latter with the psychoanalytic process, which she brilliantly realizes is as physical as it is emotional,81 and as painful as her menstrual periods.  And suggesting that she realized that psychoanalysis changed her body’s as well as psyche’s “chemistry.”  Bourgeois was imbued with psychoanalysis, and understood it more than any other artist-thinker of her time—Breton had a limited, narrow understanding of it compared to her, Pollock appropriated a few psychoanalytic generalizations (debatably Jungian or Freudian) which he probably didn’t understand, and Motherwell, for all his symbolization of castration anxiety, never dealt with woman’s sense of inferiority and feeling of abandonment by society (“you are nothing  since you are / only a woman,”82 “the diseases of the femininity”83)—which makes her the premier psychoanalytically oriented artist of modernity, all the more so because she understands the male as well as female psyche, and their inseparability.  Lowenfeld was her psychoanalytic mentor, and psychoanalysis became her cultural homeland, and made her feel at home and one with herself as nothing else did.  One might say that thinking psychoanalytically gave her the alchemical ability to turn her leaden feelings of deprivation and emptiness into the creative gold of her art. […]

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