The new home of existential analysis in Cape Town is finally taking shape. Even though I am far from a traditionally trained psychoanalyst, many of my clients have shared the fantasy of being able to just lie down and speak freely – to just be for a moment. This very fantasy of being able to say everything that could be said or needs to be said, is the very fantasy of psychoanalysis. This fantasy is perhaps most accurately represented by the psychoanalytic motif – the “chaise longue” (French for “long chair”) – an object with a fascinating story of its own.

We can imagine as far back as 7th Century B.C., an Assyrian King reclining on a sofa in what is now modern-day Iran, while feasting in celebration of a great victory. Reclining to eat or recount conquests was a marker of one’s elite status: you needed enough servants, enough space, and enough security to lie down like this in public. The Greeks and Romans adopted this reclining habit for their symposion – banquets that focused on drinking wine, conversation, and intellectual debate. Reclining became an increasing symbol of social status and masculinity.

The “Garden Party” relief from Nineveh, depicting the Neo-Assyrian queen Libbali-sharrat (left) dining with her husband, the king Ashurbanipal (right; r. 669–631 BC)

This trend went out of fashion in the Middle Ages but made its comeback in 18th century France. Reclining was, however, no longer a male endeavour but a feature saved for aristocratic women’s private chambers. The luxury and even performance of rest became an ideal that spread across upper class Europe. This is where the actual pieces of furnishing designed for such activity became popularised amongst those who could afford it.

The long chair got its most famous cultural boost in 1800, when the painter Jacques-Louis David depicted a 23-year-old socialite, Madame Récamier, seductively reclining on one, her feet bare. With her feet bare, the painting became a scandal and the gradual sensation of the work (bought by the Louvre) led the chaise longue to become something of an object of desire, femininity, and a certain transgressive sensuality.

Jacques-Louis David, Portrait of Madame Récamier, 1800, Louvre Museum, Paris. Public domain image

The Victorians moved the chaise longue out of the boudoir and into their over-furnished living rooms, where it served a new function – to catch women fainting from the physical restrictions of their corsetry. As a result, the Victorian “long chair” was now the fainting couch, with a particular design: featuring a single back with one high, curved arm – the perfect backdrop for a dainty arm as the lady in question wilted. You can therefore tell a Victorian chaise longue by this particular shape. Its design not only aestheticized collapse but became an object that supported the oppressive social norms imposed on women.

This is where its use in psychoanalysis became interesting. Freud was apparently gifted a chaise longue by his patient Madame Benvenisti. He covered it with a Qashqa’i rug – a carpet originating in southwestern Iran – and some pillows for comfort. The reclining position was first used for hypnosis but following a particularly stubborn patient, a wealthy woman named Fanny Moser, who preferred to talk rather than give into hypnosis, a new method was gradually discovered: Freud found that patients were more relaxed, open, and receptive when they lay down, facing away from him. This physical arrangement – the patient reclined, relaxed enough to be somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and unable to see the analyst – seemed to allow things usually pushed away to surface. In this way, the chaise longue was no longer just a Victorian piece of furniture but an integral part of methodology and a particular mode of relating.

“There was always a feeling of sacred peace and quiet here. The rooms themselves must have been a surprise to any patient, for they in no way reminded one of a doctor’s office but rather of an archaeologist’s study… Everything here contributed to one’s feeling of leaving the haste of modern life behind, of being sheltered from one’s daily cares.”

–Sergei Pankejeff, known as the Wolfman

It potentially remains a significant symbol of the power of clinician over patient. But I like to think that it has other potential: a symbol of how methodology may be moving from oppression and suppression to freedom of expression. After all, it moved from an object to catch women as they fell prey to their oppressive corsetry to one that attempted to gradually free the symptoms of their sexual repressions. We have gladly moved beyond the idea that “hysteria” is a symptom of female failing, but I like to think that there may still be some therapeutic value in succumbing to a therapeutic “recline”, watchful of classism, racism, sexism and capitalism.

My own methodology, which I named in my thesis – contemplative existential analysis – looks at how Buddhist practices, existential philosophy and therapy intersect. What I invite here is something distinct from the classical psychoanalytic instruction to free associate: less a technique to be performed, and more an open, unguarded presence – a willingness to let what is true simply arrive. And so, with the introduction of this piece of Victorian history into the therapy space, I invite you to come and recline, relax, and speak whatever emerges.

Feel free to book an appointment using the menu below, regular sessions are encouraged and charged at a lower rate if booked in packages…