break down
There's a Michael Landy work that I think about a lot. It's called Break Down.
In 2001 Landy destroyed every single thing he owned: every item of clothing, document and record, his passport, his car, his father's coat, everything. This isn't so much a story but an anti-story. An attempt at wiping the slate clean. This process of grinding and shredding a single man's earthly goods into smaller and smaller pieces was open to the public and many people wandered in off Oxford Street over the two weeks it took Landy and his team to accomplish their goal. People were bewildered, disbelieving, some saddened. Landy himself nods towards one possible explanation for his actions in the punning title: Break Down. I imagine many people questioned if they could, should, would ever want to do the same.
The things we own tell the narrative of our life and I wonder if Landy thought that by getting rid of his worldly possessions he would be able to annihilate himself. Landy later said of his time spent pulverising his life's belongings that he, "felt like I was witnessing my own death." Was this an attempt at rebirth? Or was it an act of extreme rebellion to an oppressive life under capitalism; to the narrative that says stuff equals happiness? Was it both or neither? Was it some other strange impulse that drove him to shred his entire life so completely? The story is of course, in the end, that in losing everything he gained much more — not least the launch of his art career into the popular consciousness.
I like to think I could do it, destroy all 7,227 items (as Landy counted up) of my belongings. The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating. But I know I cannot, my grip on the story my stuff tells is too strong: the engagement ring of my grandma's, my late aunt's Hi-Tec squash shoes she gave to my mum and then my mum to me, my dad's brown leather belt that I have added notches to so that it can now circle my waist. These significant, sentimental objects and all my other smaller life-stuff carry my identity in them. They are the result of specific personal choices: for better or worse they are a part of my narrative and I am not radical enough to scrap it all and start over. But I can't help looking at Landy and wonder what it would be like to be so free.
A coda to this story of destruction: all this was 17 years ago and Landy's life has, of course, carried on. He continues to draw, to stage his Art Bin installations and to make incredible mechanical sculptures — much of his work explores the idea of self-destruction as if it's a concept he cannot quite escape. He has not stopped accumulating stuff or making art. Break Down is only one part of his narrative, a reset point perhaps, but his story trundles on and so does mine, gathering more stuff as I go.
You can see more of Michael Landy's work here
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