JAMES BALDWIN AND LEONARD BERNSTEIN

From the collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture. Gift of The Baldwin Family.

Afterimage by Dani Issler:

I was going to choose a catastrophic image, seeing that we are living through a catastrophic era—it seemed more truthful. When I read the description of the Afterimage series, Gaza immediately came to mind. I also thought of Los Angeles, an image of something that consumes itself—fire, catastrophe, and misery. But then I realized that it would be more important for me to present an image that is closer to my own life. This image is my desktop background, and it has been on my computer for about a year. It feels like a tableau, almost like a painting.

On June 19, 1986, American writer James Baldwin and composer/conductor Leonard Bernstein were each awarded the Légion d’Honneur, France’s highest honor, by President François Mitterrand. The ceremony took place at Place de la Concorde in Paris, at what is now a museum, Hôtel de La Marine. It was a symbolic moment: a Black writer who revolutionized literature and Civil Rights, challenging the American status quo, and a Jewish composer who reshaped American music and supported progressive causes.

I came across this image randomly while researching both men. I think I chose it because there's something very amusing about it. As far as I can tell, it’s a candid 35mm shot. There’s intimacy between the two men in the foreground. Bernstein looks like a Bar-Mitzvah boy, only recently out of the closet. This could even be a photo of a Gay marriage avant la lettre. In other photos from the event, they both seem genuinely happy and more relaxed than ever before. It was also a rare moment when Baldwin was honored outside of the U.S., where his work was often controversial. The fact that he and Bernstein—both gay and deeply involved in Civil Rights causes—stood together to receive this award is a powerful image of artistic and political solidarity. There’s also a kind of melancholy that I project onto that moment: Baldwin would die one year later, 1987, and Bernstein shortly after in 1990, at the height of the raging AIDS pandemic, where many Gay cultural icons and thinkers were struggling for their lives, often perceived melancholically in black and white images (I’m thinking of Hervé Guibert’s intimate portraits, such as that of Michel Foucault).

The snapshot quality of the photo, almost like a Kodak moment, adds a sense of relatability. Color clearly plays a key role here, from the rich textured decor to their clothing. Baldwin chose elegant black, while Bernstein dared to wear a white tuxedo with a red bow tie. The flamboyant, gay-ish quality of their attire, paired with the colorfulness, sets the tone in my mind. The queerness, in the true sense of the word (though I find it difficult to embrace how the term has evolved today), is partially present in the pairing of these two larger-than-life figures. It feels like they are on a stage and the human backdrop (predominantly women) adds character and liveliness to this casual, yet festive scene. I can spot Baldwin’s brother and his elderly French housekeeper from Saint-Paul-de-Vence who was close to him, and this moves me, that she accompanied him there.

For me, it’s a symbolic event—a ceremony that could represent an alternative existence in time. This moment of happiness is also tied to the trope of ‘an American in Paris,’. Although I am not American, I can certainly relate to the idea of expatriatism, especially in today's context – as we bear witness to the decline of the Pax Americana. Under Trump the American experience in Paris, as particular and privileged expatriatisms as it may be, feels more relevant. Paris was and still is a real place, even for Americans. As Oscar Wilde summed it up in The Picture of Dorian Gray:

‘They say that when good Americans die, they go to Paris.’

‘Oh, and where do bad Americans go?’

‘They stay in America.’

This photograph captures a fleeting moment of joy, camaraderie, and recognition—an afterimage of history. I’m tempted to title it Glitter and Be Gay, which is the title of the famous coloratura aria from Bernstein’s comic operetta adaptation of Voltaire’s Candide (1956). A critique of false optimism, war, religious hypocrisy, and human cruelty – ideas that feel just as relevant today. This aria is a satire of aristocratic excess and female suffering, blending irony, musical brilliance, and theatricality.

Glitter and be gay,

That's the part I play;

Here I am in Paris, France,

Forced to bend my soul

To a sordid role,

Victimized by bitter, bitter circumstance.

[…]

Enough, enough

Of being basely tearful!

I'll show my noble stuff

By being bright and cheerful!

[…]

Observe how bravely I conceal

The dreadful, dreadful shame I feel.

*Listen and see Bernstein conducting this aria here.

Afterimage is an ekphrastic series about that one image you see when you close your eyes, the one still lingering in your mind. We invite artists and writers to reflect on an image they can't shake. This column has been a part of Objektiv since our very first issue in 2010.