Arts

These objects spark joy...and pain, and other heavy feelings

The Museum of Broken Relationships is coming to Toronto this summer, and here's how to contribute, no matter where you live.

The Museum of Broken Relationships is coming to Toronto this summer, and here's how to contribute

"Handcuffs" from the Museum of Broken Relationships' permanent collection. (Photo: Ana Opalic/Courtesy of the Museum of Broken Relationships)

Imagine this: the world's oldest breakup text is discovered by archaeologists. Technically, it's a stone tablet, but the thing still captures a familiar story — one that maybe felt a little fresher in the 6th Century BCE. The sender's a Neo-Babylonian king, a guy who goes into scorched earth mode after hearing "one of his favourite concubines" is getting cozy with his best friend. "I am devastated by this betrayal," he writes. "You have until the end of the month to pick up your flax shawls and sandals or else I will donate them to the temple of the moon god."

So, maybe that was just some April Fool's headline from earlier this year. (It was.)

But phoney or not, the gag works because we all know the plot. Breakups are universal, transcending time and place (and logic), and the same goes for some of the bad habits that go with them, like clinging to weird little mementos from better days: ticket stubs, threadbare T-shirts — or a 2,000-year-old letter from the ex.

If and when it's time to let that stuff go, The Museum of Broken Relationships will be waiting. And through June 2, they're especially hoping to receive an influx of donations from Toronto.

This summer (June 28 – Sept. 8), the city's Harbourfront Centre will host the Museum as part of their slate of Brave Festival programming, and to pull it off, they need some help from the public.

Do you have any keepsakes that spark joy — and pain, among other heavy emotions?

What's inside?

Since its invention in 2006, the Museum has collected the "objects that won't let people forget."

Gnome place like it. Visitors explore the Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb. (Getty Images)

Back then, co-founders Olinka Vištica and Dražen Grubišic — a one-time couple who've since turned their "broken relationship" into a decade-plus artistic partnership — thought it would be a one-off exhibition. By 2010, they'd opened a permanent location in Zagreb in addition to ongoing satellite exhibitions that have reached more than 50 international locations. The upcoming Toronto show is just one recent example, and it's the second time the Museum's appeared in Canada. The Yukon Arts Centre in Whitehorse welcomed it in 2015.

In addition to a book published in 2017, selections from the Museum's extensive archive can be seen online.

This espresso machine, from a donor in Paris, was a gift. "For a long time he loved me. And then, one day, he no longer loved the coffee I made for him using the espresso machine he gave me."

Espresso machine. (Courtesy of the Museum of Broken Relationships)

An axe from Berlin is described by the donor as a "therapy instrument." (They used it to annihilate their ex's furniture.)

"An Ex Axe." (Photo: Ana Opalic/Courtesy of the Museum of Broken Relationships)

"The objects look banal, and then the story is like a punch in the gut," says Laura McLeod, director of cultural engagement at the Harbourfront Centre, and every account is written in the donors' own words. That premise might sound scary — or at least more involved than just shipping your stuff to Croatia. But according to Vištica, the project's confessional aspect is usually what compels people to get in touch.

"I think there is some beauty in parting and in sadness," she says, "and there are not so many platforms that you can speak about that in public."

"I think people want to forget, but at the same time, they would like their story to be meaningful — to sort some sense out of it. And while you are putting it on paper, I think you are actually doing that."

It's the same as someone channeling their loss into, say, the ultimate breakup album. And since we're not all Adele, the Museum offers a unique opportunity. "You are hoping it's going to be exhibited. You are imagining this other human being who is going to read your story and connect to it."

Museum of Broken Relationships co-founders Olinka Vištica and Dražen Grubišic. (Courtesy of the Harbourfront Centre)

"By becoming a part of the museum, a part of a public experience, it's no longer so painful," she explains. "It stops being personal and it becomes more human than individual."

"This wish to forget, to heal, to transform, but at the same time to tell, is one of the main reasons I think people donate. It is cathartic."

So how do people contribute?

There are no hard rules when it comes to submissions. Even the definition of "broken relationship" is entirely open to interpretation, so don't think the project's strictly confined to bad romance. They've collected stories about family relationships, business relationships — even the relationships people have to their own identities.

And though they're presently focused on recruiting Toronto-based contributors, anyone, anywhere, can reach the Museum through their website.

A few important details to note: donations are anonymous, but once they're received by the Museum, they will remain in their care forever. The entire collection, which currently comprises more than 3,500 items, is stored in Zagreb, but like any museum, they only show a fraction of their holdings at a given time, displaying selections at their brick-and-mortar location in addition to various travelling shows.

'The common language of loss and love'

Says Vištica: "We try to put it all together in order to create a story about how humans love and lose, which is a story about how connected we all are." And that thread has become more compelling as the project reaches more places around the world.

"Relationships do not happen in a vacuum out of time and place," she explains. "So many times, social and economic conditions we live in are reflected in these stories."

I think people want to forget, but at the same time, they would like their story to be meaningful.- Olinka Vistica, co-founder of the Museum of Broken Relationships

One example: "During the first exhibitions we had in Croatia and the countries of the ex-Yugoslavia, some stories reflected the consequences of war," she says. "But someone in Singapore could understand what happened here during the war because of those stories. They were using the common language of loss of love." A travelling exhibition that is appearing now in England draws a line between broken relationships and Brexit.

For the satellite shows, including the one coming to Toronto, Vištica and Grubišic lead the project, usually coordinating with curators at the venue. "We want to feel the pulse of the city," she says. "There's always this excitement: what are we going to get? And we are always surprised." So, the character of Toronto's story has yet to be seen.

"The idea is very simple: the experience is very simple, but the true sharing that happens there is very unique," she says. "To me, it still feels like magic."

Check out a few of the international items that will be appearing at the Toronto exhibition.

Air sickness bags. 2004 - 2006. Zagreb, Croatia. "A range of air sickness bags as a memento of a long-distance relationship. One Croatia Airlines, one Lufthansa, one Hapag Lloyd Express and three German Wings bags. I think I still have those illustrated safety instructions as well, ones showing what to do when the airplane begins to fall apart. I have never found any instructions on what to do when a relationship begins to fall apart, but at least I’ve still got these bags." (Courtesy of the Harbourfront Museum)
A Letter T. A few days in November, a few years ago. Ljubljana, Slovenia. "We met via mail. When we actually met in person the mutual interest was lost and he gave me the letter T from his keyboard, as he did not need it any longer." (Courtesy of the Harbourfront Centre)
A red wig. July 2007 - March 2008. New York, USA. "Along with clothing and CDs I had left at her apartment, my ex-girlfriend sent me this wig I had never seen before, without a note. I can only assume it was obtained before our breakup, in preparation for a fantasy fulfilment." (Courtesy of the Harbourfront Centre)
Lottery tickets. 63 years. Zaragoza, Spain. "We were four friends. Four best friends for over 60 years. We shared everything. We did everything together: we celebrated birthdays, bought presents together, phoned each other every day, and visited each other when we were sick... One day, however, I discovered they had been doing something without telling me: they had been playing the lottery, the special Christmas one (it is a tradition in my country to buy a ticket together with your friends and/or family). How did I find out? Because they won a big prize. I felt so sad and disappointed when I found out that I fell ill. They didn’t know what to say when I asked them why they hadn’t told me; they only made excuses. The worst thing is that they never phoned me again. People told me they were too ashamed. Maybe. Only one of them contacted me again, sincerely apologized and came back into my life. But the other two... They won the prize, but they lost a real friend. Losing friends is hard when you are young but losing them when you are living the last years of your life is even harder." (Courtesy of the Harbourfront Centre)

Museum of Broken Relationships. Harbourfront Centre, Toronto. June 28 to Sept. 8. Want to contribute to the Toronto exhibition? Donations can be made here to June 2.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Leah Collins

Senior Writer

Since 2015, Leah Collins has been senior writer at CBC Arts, covering Canadian visual art and digital culture in addition to producing CBC Arts’ weekly newsletter (Hi, Art!), which was nominated for a Digital Publishing Award in 2021. A graduate of Toronto Metropolitan University's journalism school (formerly Ryerson), Leah covered music and celebrity for Postmedia before arriving at CBC.