The fever dream that never ended. The late Christine Furuya-Gössler is one of the more complex icons in photographic history. Her face is recognizable at a distance, and numerous exhibitions and books have been made about her and her family, mostly by her husband Seiichi Furuya, a Japanese photographer living in Austria. What makes her place in the annals of photographic history complicated is how she has become recognized. Her tragic, suicidal death, at a young age, as a young mother, and a wife to Furuya, cannot be distanced from the images that she has come to be recognized by. Without her tragedy, on a scale comparable to Ophelia’s, we would perhaps not have the record or Mémoires that we do. Seiichi Furuya has been canonizing his late wife into our popular consciousness as a constant elegy over the past four decades. His consistent output is encapsulated by their time together as lovers, then as young parents. His devotion is spread across numerous books, and his testament to Christine is exemplary. Loss, especially tragic loss, is a hard motivator. Elegies born from pain are simultaneously a gift and a curse, and you can feel this in the books that have been produced since Christine died in 1985.

As mentioned, one cannot disentangle the artist and muse from the tragedy detailed in her death, or the memorial invigilation that Seiichi keeps. With this in mind, it is challenging to discuss Christine Furuya-Gössler’s photographic work. A game of shadows complicates this. Who overshadows whom in the work of both artists is an interesting, if digressive, question. For example, in the work of Seiichi, would his work be as notable if it were not for its constant state of elegiac poise? I might argue that it could have been, but we will never know, as the artist has been arrested due to the deep mourning they exude in the process of continually bringing out work from the couple’s seven years together. It is his life’s focus, and it seems relevant to him to continue his focus on Christine. In opposition to this, would we see these photographs by Christine were it not for the constant elegy of her husband? I cannot be sure of this. This will be complicated to outline, and I, as someone deeply moved by the Furuya-Gössler story, will be at pains to see it be interpreted as anything but a serious attempt to explore the new book of Christine Furuya-Gössler’s photographic work. Bear with me.

When I saw that a book of Christine’s photographs was forthcoming, I was unsure what to expect. I have been a believer in Chose Commune’s work with Furuya. They have, along with the artist’s archive digging, brought forth a couple of great titles from the Furuya-Gössler collaboration. With Christine, there are not that many images. Seiichi described rummaging through his attic and finding among Christine’s effects, something around a total of 40-50 developed and undeveloped rolls of film shot during their seven years together, of which, the first and last years are marked by a flurry of activity, with the intervening years stretched out into parenthood and relative silence on the photographic front. This is entirely understandable given the stress of motherhood. That stated, one wonders about how much of a photographic life, as Seiichi suggests in the essay found in the book, that one can have stretched over such a small amount of material.

Whereas I am convinced of the photographs in the new book, I might be cautious about understanding the work as exemplary or independent of the broader story of the family. In the book, there is an intimacy that I believe is sincere. Some images undoubtedly show incredible potential, which is a secondary loss to the tragedy of Christine’s death. Yet, in thinking through this, and for want of not having to contextualize a person by their spouse’s output, I cannot be positive that this work stands alone or besides the emotional navigation associated with such work, that it would have otherwise been a trove of work that a publisher might’ve published otherwise. I feel the need to be honest about this, despite enjoying the book. I cannot separate the artist from the narrative surrounding her life and death, and I believe that if this work were brought to light under different circumstances and with a different name, it might not have been published. Again, it is essential to note that the photographs show incredible promise, and some of the images are of exceptional quality. However, I might think that such a volume, as presented, is less about outright quality than the continuation of Christine Furuya-Gössler’s memory.

Not all is lost with my sentiment. It is simply suggesting that when I look at the work, I will see it over the vast elegy of Christine, and though it is independent here as a book of Christine’s work, I will not be able to see it as work without antecedent. It does open up more of Christine’s story. I see images of her mother. I see more photos of their son, and I get a better sense of what life in the family might have looked like. I also get a glimpse, however minimal, into the way Christine framed the world in her camera outside of her pictures of her husband and child, which offers a sad note as I do believe that there was something to her eye that would have been engaging to see mature. With Chose Commune, I think that the power of this particular publisher is in editing work that might otherwise pass as banal and finding within that, the golden thread of possible production. What begins as something small eventually unravels into something extraordinary by the publisher whose eye for detail and also the everdayness of some of their projects makes their taste exemplary in a world full of spectacle and overproduction. My lasting thought about this book is that it should exist and is interesting, but that expecting or squeezing more from this archive might not pass scrutiny in the future. I believe this continues to illuminate one of photography’s most remarkable stories, I would be at pains to see it risked…

Christine Furuya-Gössler

Photographs (1978-1985)

Chose Commune