One of the very first pieces of art I saw in Glasgow was Patricia Cronin’s Memorial to a Marriage in Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum. I had been living in Glasgow for just under a week and wandered five minutes away from my flat in a homesick rush to get away from the confines of the awkward encounters with my new flatmates. With my earphones blasting Olivia Rodrigo’s new album, I walked up and down the museum’s balconies in a disassociated haze; nothing felt real. That was until I found myself staring down at Memorial to a Marriage.
Memorial to a Marriage depicts two women lying on a bed wrapped up in each other’s arms, hair splayed across the pillow they share. The bedsheet lies around their waists, even their legs and feet are entwined. The women are naked, clearly caught in a moment of passion. The unequivocal sexual nature of this piece makes it very clear that the women are lovers, that this is a queer piece of art – in that sense, it is proud and unashamed. I was struck by the intimacy of this sculpture, it felt almost as if I was encroaching on a private moment, and in many ways I was. This is not only a sculpture, but a tombstone. In 2004, when Cronin first created the bronze version of this piece of art, same-sex marriage was illegal in the USA. Cronin created a tombstone depicting herself and her wife as only in death would their marriage be legally recognised, that is in the form of wills and life insurance policies. Memorial to a Marriage is a protest of love, it is the way in which Cronin could declare her love defiantly, even if her relationship was not recognised as equal. The plaque accompanying this piece in Kelvingrove Museum explains the backstory and motivations of the artist. It also included a photograph of Patricia Cronin and her wife, Deborah Kass, on their Wedding Day in 2011.
I felt seen in that moment, sleep deprived and afraid, tears sprang to my eyes. I was in the midst of anxiously exploring my identity, uncertain of who I was in this new city. There is much angst in being young and reclaiming your own version of the queer identity, but coming across this piece of art quietened some of these anxieties. It is undeniably a painful piece of art, it reveals the effects that inequality has on individuals, how it changes our own personal relationships. But there is happiness too, Cronin and Kass’ love story is made immortal through art; it will long outlast both of their lifespans. Memorial to a Marriage perfectly articulates how bittersweet the queer experience can be, how it can be both wonderful and painful. Cronin’s art has touched me deeply, it made me feel understood and comforted at an unprecedented time in my life.
My love for Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum is punctuated by this singular piece of art, I find myself longing to show it to my loved ones. It remains my most loved piece of modern art. Ultimately, Memorial to a Marriage tells us that love is universal and inherent, it doesn’t matter where it is or who it is between.
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