The madeleine, the memento and the accidental monument

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The madeleine, the memento and the accidental monument  

Abstract:  This paper addresses the subject of diaspora from an auto-ethnographic

perspective defined as a social constructionist project that rejects the deep-

rooted binary oppositions between the researcher and the researched, self

and others, process and product (Ellingson and Ellis 2008). It is a ‘layered

account’ that makes no attempt to retrospectively trace the procedural nature

of the author’s research in any chronological order (Charmaz, 1983). Instead

it adopts a series of objects and takes these as frames or containers through

which the role of memory and the world of objects are explored. The

researcher consciously embeds herself amidst theory and practice by way of

an autobiographic account (McIlveen, 2008).

Key Words: Diaspora, memory, time, auto-ethnography

Introduction:

‘Can one write without playing a part?’

(Max Frisch, 1962)

In writing about the diaspora I have, as a product of the Central European

Diaspora at close of World War 2 to position myself within it, albeit that a

generation and a life lived elsewhere have removed me from the events,

which preceded and followed it. As such, I have adopted an auto-

ethnographic perspective

This paper explores the role of memory and the world of objects in relation to

what, for many descendants of diasporas, enforced or otherwise, is an

unknown or imagined homeland. In the absence of any coherent family

narrative this paper commences with a series of historical fragments leading

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to a description of a place, Galicia, which could be said to no longer exist

(Davies, 2011).

‘Beginning almost as an ideological tabula rasa, a mere name applied to

a stretch of annexed territory, Galicia acquired meaning over the course

of its historical existence; indeed, it accumulated multiple and shifting

layers of meaning… meant different things to its diverse populations and

acquired complex significance in the observations of statesmen and the

imaginations of writers’ (Wolff, 2010).

An historical outline of Galicia is offered as a series of fragments, which reflect

the comings and goings of a process of locating it on a series of maps where

it appears and disappears. Nothing seems to stand still. Historical accounts

are contradictory, boundaries and borders shift and names are changed in

what Snyder (2011) has described as ‘a world of daunting linguistic

complexity’ and ‘competing systems of transliteration’ compounded by the

appropriation of different territories at different times (Snyder, 2011, p.414).

These contradictions and shifting boundaries mirror the complex nature of

memory which ‘occurs in the mind as an image, gives itself spontaneously as

a sign, not of itself, but of something else, actually absent but held as having

existed earlier. Three traits are paradoxically put together: presence, absence,

anteriority’ (Ricoeur, 2010, p.2).

Images, as signs of something else, are taken to explore the nature of

memory. Layered accounts focus on my subjective experience of exploring

the subject of diaspora with recourse to my own memories and associations

alongside scraps of data, abstract analysis, relevant literature and a series of

objects. In an account of his childhood the architect and urbanist William. J.

Mitchell observes that ‘objects, narratives, memories, and space are woven

into a complex, expanding web each fragment of which gives meaning to all

the others’ (Mitchell, 2007, p. 150). The vignettes, which follow, seek to

illustrate this.

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Fragments  Ukraine was not always known by its present name and its relative obscurity

comes from the fact that for most of its history it was a divided and stateless

nation. For centuries, different parts of Ukraine belonged to countries with

different political, religious and social systems (Aslund 2009). Derived from

the old east Slavic word ukraina, Ukraine had the meaning ‘borderland’ and

was used for different border regions of the ‘Rus’ an ethno-cultural region in

Eastern Europe inhabited by eastern Slavs, which historically, included the

Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria, in what is today Western Ukraine. These

borderlands were also part of what Snyder (2011) refers to as the ‘bloodlands’

defined as ‘territories subject to both German and Soviet police power and

associated mass killing polices between 1933 and 1945’ (Snyder,

2011,p.409).

Before the First World War, the Ukrainian lands had been divided between the

Habsburg and Russian empires (Snyder, 2008). Galicia was the north-

easternmost province of the Habsburg Empire and Lemberg was its capital.

Over the centuries control of this area passed from Hungary to Poland, the

Lithuanian Commonwealth and in 1772 to the Austrian Hungarian Empire

where it remained until the end of WW1 when Galicia was effectively removed

from the map of Europe and relegated to the category of extinct geopolitical

entities (Wolff, 2010). Western Galicia, which was mainly Polish, became part

of the newly independent Second Poland Republic while eastern Galicia,

where the majority of the population was Ukrainian, proclaimed the short-lived

Western Ukrainian Republic. The resulting conflict led to the Polish-Ukrainian

War (November 1918 -July 1919) and ultimately to Poland's annexation of

eastern Galicia in 1921.1 These new borders were internationally recognized

in 1923 when eastern Galicia came to be known by the Poles as Eastern Little

Poland and Lemberg became Lvow (Bartov, 2010). The remaining central and

                                                                                                               1  Treaty of Riga, (1921) treaty between Poland and Russia signed in Riga, Latvia, that ended the Russo-Polish War of 1919–20 and set their mutual border. The treaty, which gave Poland parts of Belorussia (now Belarus) and Ukraine, lasted until World War II, after which a new treaty established a new border. Treaty of Riga. 2013. Encyclopedia Britannica Online. Retrieved 27 September, 2013, from http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/503397/Treaty-of-Riga

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eastern Ukrainian provinces were absorbed by the Soviet Union,

Czechoslovakia and Romania.

Interbellum  In 1945, the British historian Hugh Seton Watson was to write that ‘the fate of

the Ukraine since 1921 has been the subject of so much controversy that it is

very difficult to discover even the faintest shadow of truth’ (Seton-Watson,

1945, p.332). This controversy continues and has accelerated since the

dissolution of the Soviet Union and access to the archival sources that have

since become available (Bartov 2007; Kasianov and Ther 2008; Seegel et al.

2010; Himka and Michlic 2013; Himka 2013; Snyder 2010).

War  The Invasion of Poland began 1 September 1939, one week after the signing

of the infamous Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact 2 between Stalin and Hitler.

Subsequently the Soviets invaded Poland and Galicia was divided into

German and Soviet ‘spheres of influence’; a geopolitical division which

remains today with the former Galician territories divided between Poland and

Ukraine (Wolff, L, 2010).

The Polish Republic was destroyed in four weeks in September 1939 by the

collusion of Hitler’s Wehrmacht with Stalin’s Red Army and the land and

people of the defunct Polish Republic were divided between German and

Soviet zones of occupation (Davies, 2011, ch.9).

‘In the German zone, Kraków, renamed Krakau, was made the capital of

the SS-ruled General Government; Oświęcim, renamed Auschwitz, saw

                                                                                                               2  German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact, also called Nazi-Soviet Nonaggression Pact, German-Soviet Treaty of Nonaggression, Hitler-Stalin Pact, Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, was a nonaggression pact between Germany and the Soviet Union that was concluded only a few days before the beginning of World War II and which divided eastern Europe into German and Soviet spheres of influence. It was signed in Moscow in the late hours of the 23rd of August 1939.German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact. 2013. Encyclopedia Britannica Online. Retrieved 27 September, 2013, from http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/230972/German-Soviet-Nonaggression-Pact  

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the installation of the Nazis’ largest concentration camp. In the Soviet

zone, Lemberg (now Lvov) became the headquarters of a brutal

Communist regime enforcing Stalinist norms. Up to a million people,

Poles, Ukrainians and Jews,   were condemned either to the Soviet

concentration camps of the Gulag, or to exile in the depths of Siberia or of

Central Asia’…In 1941– 4, following Hitler’s reneging on the Nazi– Soviet

Pact and ‘Operation Barbarossa’, the area of German   occupation was

extended far to the east. East Galicia, now Distrikt Galizien,  was added to

the General Government, and Nazi policies for reconstructing the racial

composition of their Lebensraum swung into action’ (Davies, 2011, ch.9).

The German occupation of eastern Galicia lasted from 1941 to the autumn of

1944 when it was ‘liberated’ by the Red Army and effectively subsumed once

more into the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic where it remained until the

dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991.

Of all the maps of Galicia I have chosen one, which reflects its conception in

1772 as the Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria where it existed until the

dissolution of Austrian Hungarian Empire at the end of World War I in 1918.

No country in the Empire had such a varied ethnic mix as Galicia: Poles,

Ruthenians, Jews, Germans, Armenians, Czechs, Slovaks, Hungarians, and

Roma.

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Lemberg  Lemberg has become Lviv by the time I arrive there in February 2010, via

Rzeszow, which was once part of Western Galicia and is now in Poland, late

at night, on a train, in the snow. I take Lemberg as my point of departure in

thinking about diaspora as a ‘scattering’ and dissolution.

It is where I meet the last surviving members of my family in a once beautiful

but dilapidated apartment block. I am carried upstairs because I have fallen in

the snow and hurt my leg. The stairs are dark but the steps are white marble

and the banisters are broken in parts. There is a tall kachelofen 3 in a room,

which has several sets of double doors. My uncle bows and kisses my hand.

Already groggy with Russian painkillers I participate in a toast to something I

do not understand.

                                                                                                               3    A tiled stove.  

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It is an odd feeling to be where you have never been and be greeted as if you

are returning.

There is nothing familiar in this scene. It is a collage of objects and a priori

associations, which allow me, retrospectively, to reassemble it inaccurately in

my minds eye, which is inevitably selective. Was it really a parquet floor? Or

did I lift this memory from some other room with Viennese overtones and graft

it on to my mental assemblage.

For after all, as Stiller reminds us:

‘We live in an age of reproduction. ‘Most of what makes up our personal

picture of the world we have never seen with our own eyes—or rather we

have seen it with our own eyes, but not on the spot: our knowledge

comes to us from a distance we are tele- viewers, tele-hearers, tele-

knowers’ (Frisch, 1962, p.186).

The Madeleine  Proust’s account of dunking4 a dry madeleine in a cup of tea as described ‘In

Search of Lost Time’ is possibly amongst the most quoted references in

literature to one of those moments in which, uninvited, the past rejoins the

present and time is abolished through the congruence of past and present

experience (Ellison, 2010).

In the episode of the madeleine Proust’s narrator is transported, through the

sensation of taste, to the scene of his childhood in Combray; a scene which

begins with visiting his Aunt Léonie on Sunday mornings and ‘the little piece

of madeleine’ she would give him after dipping it in her infusion of lime-

flowers. This scene opens up once the narrator has recognised the origin of

the petite madeleine and the entirety of Combray, its inhabitants and its

                                                                                                               4  Dunk: to submerge briefly in liquid. Pennsylvania Dutch dunke, from Middle High German dunken, from Old High German dunkn.

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surroundings, are retrieved, as they emerge as one vast panorama replete

with detail from the narrator’s cup of tea.

In La Recherché du Temps Perdu 5 Proust employs the madeleine to contrast

involuntary memory with voluntary memory, his narrator lamenting that

voluntary memories are inevitably partial, and do not bear the "essence" of

the past.

In contrast to voluntary or deliberately retrieved memories, involuntary

memories come to mind with no preceding attempt directed at their retrieval.

They simply ‘‘pop up’’ during our activities in daily life—just as Proust

describes. Involuntary recall favours the recollection of past events with

distinctive features matching the current situation and/or past events that are

                                                                                                               5    C. K. Scott Moncrieff translated six of the seven volumes, into English, under the title Remembrance of Things Past between 1922 and 1931; dying before completing the last. The literal meaning of the title, In Search of Lost Time is now favoured. However, as Wassenaar (2006) points out in her introduction to Moncrieff’s 1922 translation, there are problems with this, that lie in the double meaning of recherche and perdu. Proust clearly intended recherche to carry the sense of research and experimentation as well as quest. And ‘perdu’ means both ‘lost’ and ‘wasted’ (Wassenaar, 2006, p.17).

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highly accessible due to such factors such as novelty and emotion (Berntsen

and Rubin 2002; Berntsen 2010).

Recent research supports Proust’s observations. The memories associated

with smell and the flavour of food come mostly from its smell, and are more

likely to come from childhood than memories evoked by the other senses

(Fields, 2012). They are strongly linked to the situations or to the sources from

which they emanate and are powerful in bringing back old and vivid memories

bearing emotional content (Zucco et al., 2012). The sight of the little

madeleine had recalled nothing to narrator’s mind before he tasted it; he has

seen many madeleines in the intervening years and concludes that their

image has perhaps dissociated itself from those of his childhood. It was the

taste that he recognised and it is this, accompanied by a feeling of happiness,

that he cannot yet place which brings him to reflect on the passing of time.

Involuntary memories once retrieved may, as in Proust’s example, open up an

entire landscape of involuntary memories for exploration.

‘Immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was,

rose up like the scenery of a theatre to attach itself to the little pavilion,

opening on to the garden, which had been built out behind it for my

parents (the isolated panel which until that moment had been all that I

could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all

weathers, the Square where I was sent before luncheon, the streets along

which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine’

(Proust, 2006 p.33).

This process is referred to as involuntary memory chaining and occurs in the

production of everyday involuntary memories. However, recent research

implies that involuntary memory production also occurs as a product of

chaining from voluntary memory, that is, from a deliberate recall of the past

and that it occurs when participants are intentionally recalling autobiographical

memories (Mace, 2006, 2007, 2009).

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As I have no past memories of Lviv, this place or these people, I have no such

recall but I have other memories from other places, which I layer into an

unknown ‘here and now’ like a pastry chef assembling something multi-

layered and as fragile as a mille-feuille. 6

The Memento  As children we may form a particular attachment to a toy, a piece of material,

while as adults an item of jewellery may assume special importance. During

periods of transition, such as leaving home or following bereavement or loss,

these objects often assume even greater significance and we may become

very attached to them (Lesiba Molepo, 2008). My experience is that everyone,

on first hearing about the concept of transitional objects (Winnicott, 1999)

immediately recognizes the phenomenon in their own or their children's

experience. Indeed there is every suggestion that this is a universal

phenomenon, which is transcultural.

The use of transitional objects continues throughout our lives as we imbue

objects with meaning and memories that are associated with other ideas,

places and people. As such it is not surprising that it appears in the literature

in relation to separation and loss as experienced by displaced and refugee

children and their families (Melzak and Woodcock, 1991; Parkin, 1999).

‘In the process of transition they may hold onto a variety of sometimes

very flimsy transitional objects from their distant and more recent past in

an effort to maintain mental continuity’ (Melzak and Woodcock, 1991,

p.2).

Referring to forced displacement Parkin (1999) describes people in conditions

of immediate flight gathering together enough of what is needed for practical

uses as well as for perpetrating a personal and cultural memory.

                                                                                                               6    The exact origin of the mille-feuille is unknown. Carême, writing in the early 19th century, considered it of "ancient origin".  

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‘ If they can, people seek minimal reminders of who they are and where

they come from…photos, letters and personal effects of little or no

utilitarian or market value…these personal mementoes provide the

material markers of templates inscribed with narrative and sentiment,

which may later rearticulate the shifting boundaries of a socio-cultural

identity’ (Parkin, 1999, p.6).

The soapbox is one such example encountered in my work with a young

woman who I shall call Anna during our work together in Art Psychotherapy.

Stored in an airing cupboard it was the only object Anna possessed that had

belonged to her mother who had worked as a prostitute. She been an

alcoholic and had died young when Anna was in her late teens. Neglected in

her childhood, and relegated to the remedial class Anna had been bullied at

school for being dirty. Unable to wash, because her mother had not paid the

bills and there was no hot water, she joined the swimming club. She excelled,

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won medals and was able to shower following the early morning training

sessions held several times a week.

She told me about the soapbox near the end of our work together in the

context of endings and the closure of our therapy sessions. Her anxiety was

focused on being able to keep hold of what she had experienced as good

things. The soapbox was empty but she would take it out when alone and in

need of comfort and try to recapture the last remnants of the lingering scent;

conjuring up her absent mother. The soapbox had been a gift from an

unknown someone to her mother; it was L’Air du Temps and I translated this

for her quite literally as the ‘air of time’.

In the weeks before the therapy came to an end Anna asked me if I had a

garden. I replied that I did not have a garden but that I had a balcony. She told

me that she imagined me looking after my balcony and that there would be

flowers in it. In our last session she told me that she had started gardening

and about how much she enjoyed it. She said that she often thought about

our conversations when she was there and that she would talk to me and that

I would answer. She would ask me advice and I would give it to her, which in

reality I never did. She then spoke movingly about her mother’s death. About

the wake, of not wanting to see her mother laid out in the coffin. She

described her as she was when alive at which point I became aware that I

was the same age as her mother had been when she died.

As we ended the work it was possible to acknowledge the deep grief that she

felt for the loss of her mother not only through her death but through her

alcoholism which had rendered her effectively absent. Her deep sense of

insecurity in relation to her husband found some resolution as she was able to

recognise how frightening any kind of emotional dependence had been for her

as a child and how this had been replayed within her marriage.

Much later I recall that Anna’s mother, Georgina, had come from Ireland as

part of another diaspora.

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The Accidental Monument  As Csikszentmihalyi (1993) has observed, ‘personal objects reveal the

continuity of the self through time, by providing in the present, mementos and

souvenirs of the past, and signposts to future goals’ (Csikszentmihalyi, 1993,

p.23). Monuments however address us collectively.

Riegl (1982) draws a distinction between the intentional and the unintentional

monument. According to Riegl (1982) an intentional monument erected to

commemorate a human deed or event always has the purpose of overcoming

distance to refuse the passage of time. The intentional monument’s primary

function is to keep memory alive and is dependent on an ageless appearance

to maintain its function as a memorial as any signs of decay or neglect would

suggest a diminishing interest in the subject whose presence in memory it

governs.

The value of the unintentional memorial, by contrast, resides in the visible

traces of age and in its “mortality” in that it is made up of remnants of the past

and its historical value has been attached to it by subsequent observers with

the passage of time (Gubser, 2006). Where intentional monuments always

suppress loss through the articulation of triumph or martyrdom, the

unintentional monuments leave loss at the centre. Not deliberately built as

monuments, they are found in the inflated realm of heritage as “historical

objects” that reject a transparent presence in preference for an obscured and

distant past. While both the intentional and the unintentional monument are

characterized by a commemorative value, the value of the intentional

monument is always conditioned by its makers while the value of the

unintentional monument is relative and, as Riegl points out, left to us to define

through a process of highly visually orientated analysis, by which the onlooker

constructs the monument. Finally, he abandons the classification of the

monuments themselves, instead identifying and distinguishing between

values applied to them – values almost exclusively based on the visual effect

of the monument upon the beholder (Arrhenius, 2004).

14    

In Lviv the old Viennese coffee houses have been renovated and the Opera

House restored. Meanwhile, the entrepreneurial and rather sinister sounding

‘Holding of Emotions Company’ is pulling in the crowds with concepts

purporting to address the taboos of the past (Estrin, 2012). You can drink a

beer in a partisan theme bar in a bunker and take your best shot at a portrait

of Stalin in the shooting range at the back, be whipped in the Sacher-Masoch

Bar while chained to your chair or eat alcohol-tinctured raisins and dance to

klezmer music on Staroevreyska Street overlooking the ruins of Lviv’s once-

famous Golden Rose Synagogue. Lehrer (1996) reports a similar

phenomenon in Krakow.

Behind the Opera House where I am living the plaster and different layers of

paint covering an old sign for a Jewish hat shop have fallen away revealing

paintings of homburg hats and Hebrew script. It acts as a signifier but no

longer signifies a hat shop. The relation between signifier and signified is

subject to dynamic change; any 'fixing' of 'the chain of signifiers' - is both

temporary and socially determined (Coward & Ellis 1977). Divested of its

original referent and framed by layers of peeling paint and plaster it is a

signifier in a chain of signifiers; a 'floating chain of signifieds' (Barthes 1977, p.

39).

No longer protected from the elements it will soon disappear completely. It

seems that it has ceased to be important to conceal it. But then as Kis (2007)

reminds us the majority of Lviv dwellers had not lived there during the war, nor

had their ancestors The Nazi and Soviet regimes combined to destroy the

historical multi-cultural character of the city, which by then end of the war had

lost 80% of its pre-war population (Kis, 2007, p.61-62). Those to whom it

might have meant something have all but gone and ‘there is nothing left to

transmit if nobody is there to receive the message’ (Passerini, 1992).

‘Everything we see hides another thing; we always want to see what is

hidden by what we see. There is an interest in that which is hidden and

which the visible does not show us. This interest can take the form of a

quite intense feeling, a sort of conflict, one might say, between the visible

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that is hidden and the visible that is present’ (Rene Magritte speaking

about The Son of Man (1965) cited in Torczyner, H (1977, p.172).

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