MAHDI: Public displays of aversion

The Louvre in Paris holds some of the most revered pieces of art in the world, most notably the mystifying smile that adorns the Mona Lisa’s face. Whether you find bliss marveling at Botticelli’s work in Florence or would rather be enraptured by the historical gems of the National Portrait Gallery in London, one thing is certain: be it human nature or a stubborn aversion to change, we place past glories on a well-lit pedestal, amongst glass cases filled with relics of lives that none of us were there to witness. Shards of glass from a broken vase, usually insignificant, are studied and placed in a building that welcomes visitors from around the globe. With expensive ticket stub in hand, they fight through throngs of other visitors to gape at works of art and ancient civilization, never to be repeated nor returned to ever again. These historical exhibits don’t just immortalize the virtue of human progress, but its vices are preserved in equal measure. The downfalls of societal judgment that resulted in horrific wars are equally perpetuated in these spaces. No matter whether the memories are painful or joyous, we persevere in ensuring we never forget. When you enter a museum, kitchen utensils are no longer just the means to a delicious meal. These humble tools take on a much more pivotal role: a gateway drug to the hallucinogenic properties of nostalgia.

The curators of a unique museum located in Croatia have concocted a winning combination. Its ingredients? A heavy dose of nostalgic appeal poisoned by the bitterness of a lover scorned. They call it the Museum of Broken Relationships. While the exhibit has travelled to many different cities, the permanent exhibition sits tucked away in the Upper Town of Zagreb. Anyone is invited to donate an object that holds sentimental value to them, or symbolizes a pivotal moment in their past failed affairs, relationships or marriages. One woman donated a small teddy bear, lamenting that the teddy bear remained, but her other half left And when a man couldn’t deal with his significant other’s obsessive phone calls, he surrendered his cell phone to her,  exasperated. The woman in question’s 300-day struggle is now nothing more than a lonely cell phone on the museum’s shelf.

The items range from the wholehearted to the horrendous. Possibly one of the more commanding articles is a giant axe, donated by a man who used it to cut up all his ex-girlfriend’s furniture. Gestures certainly deemed crimes of passion whichever way you ‘slice’ them. Yet, the museum’s rooms filled with the collateral damage of love attract hundreds of visitors everyday. Perhaps it is viewed as a cleansing process; forgetting entails setting foot on a road to recovery, an unappealing alternative to the warm blanket of remembrance. Even if this remembrance entails baring your soul to satisfy the curiosity of a complete stranger.

A museum that celebrates emotional purgatory has now been woven into the fabric of our historical tapestry. Naturally, it would seem a perfect complement if there were an exhibit that badgered the visitor with questions about life, love and even regret. Take a flight over to San Francisco and enter an angular room in the Contemporary Jewish Museum for a philosophical but equally revealing experience, the exhibit entitled “Are We There Yet?” Using highly sophisticated computer technology, sensors trace each visitor in the room and bombard them with random questions. The rate at which the questions are asked changes with your location in the room. You are demanded to contemplate what love really looks like, whether you are responsible for your family’s happiness, and do you even know where you are going? Everyday demands uttered by different faceless voices take on a whole new dimension of perplexity as you are tossed into a duel with your existing premonitions.

Museums no longer just implicitly invite us into a primitive time machine. They now appeal to our sympathies as we relish staring into the souls of the heartbroken, or become so enraptured in answering mundane questions that we find ourselves debating the finer points of what makes a really fantastic pizza. We no longer collect relics of art that have great perspective, or pottery that originated in the ancient powerhouses of the world. Instead, we hoard remnants of grief that eat away at anonymous souls. Are the audiences that pass through these physical manifestations of broken hearts concerned onlookers, or overly curious vultures?  Why is it that we only reserve time to step back into an existential abyss when computer generated whispers plant doubt into our minds in a small, bare room? Perhaps, in practice we should take into consideration these two concepts side by side and apply them as such. In matters of the heart, the wanderers reach a crossroads: they can either venture down the path of fickle forgetfulness or patiently navigate the untamed road of acceptance, optimistic hope the travelers’ only guide.

Sofiya Mahdi is a freshman at the College of Arts and Sciences and a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. She can be reached at sofiya218@gmail.com.