miku miku

ana mendieta “people looking at blood, moffit, iowa” 1973

“In this piece, Mendieta spilled a large amount of what appeared to be chunky blood over a doorway and sidewalk on an Iowa City street. Then she removed herself from the scene and, from a distance, photographed the reactions of various passersby. […]
It intimates to passersby that a grievous and dramatic injury has taken place, but it gives no explanation and, more important, no recourse to action. It may incite horror, concern, compassion, and revulsion—in short, pity and fear—but it doesn’t offer anywhere for these feelings to go. […] Each pedestrian’s only real choice is to walk on by, which looks from the outside—and likely felt, on the inside—like an uncaring abandonment, even if of an indeterminate or imaginary entity. […] And somewhere out of sight lurks Mendieta, a voyeur of each passerby’s involuntary voyeurism. […] People Looking at Blood says, Look at this pile of carnage, with no clear story, source, assailant, or victim. Just look at it. Now look at others looking at it. (And I will be looking at you looking.)”

— The Art of Cruelty, Maggie Nelson

Ana Mendieta was murdered by her husband and fellow artist Carl Andre. This work became a self fulfilling prophecy and meditation on tragedy, the nature of violence, and peoples unwillingness to help.

And no I will not shut up about this.

By the way, her husband never went to prison for what he did.

But it’s NOT about unwillingness to help! It’s NOT about people not caring!! It’s so very explicitly the opposite!!!

I’ve BEEN in this situation. You walk past an old crime scene, or the place where an accident happened, and you see evidence of something terrible. If it’s old, maybe broken glass, or scuff marks.

But sometimes, you’re too late. Sometimes someone is on the ground, and EMTs are already helping, and the only helpful thing you can do you is move on, refuse to linger, refuse to form a crowd.

Sometimes there’s dried blood, or fresh blood, but when you look around you can’t find anyone hurt or needing help. Whatever happened, it has happened without you, and you can’t undo it or make it better. You could contact an authority, report what you’ve seen, but that’s just sharing information. It doesn’t FEEL like helping.

Humans are by nature incredibly compassionate creatures. What is more heartbreaking to an animal designed to bring comfort than a pain that cannot be comforted? A hurt that cannot be soothed?

You are confronted by this helplessness, and it looks you in the face and says, “It’s too late for you to fix this. You must move on, and hope that next time, you aren’t.” And then you do. You have to. There is no other choice.

Ana Mendieta’s piece is not condemning the observed- it’s mourning their directionless compassion, their grief, their uncertainty- their concern and hope offered to someone or something they will never know, never speak to, never be able to help.

It says that we love each other, that we care for one another, and that even if we are lost and no one ever finds us, we are cared for long after we are gone, and by people who never knew our names.

Our outrage at her death only proves this. Now that we know her life ended tragically, what will you do? What CAN you do? Nothing. You will observe the blood, experience something that cannot be captured on film, and move on.

“What CAN you do? Nothing. You will observe the blood, experience something that cannot be captured on film, and move on. “