I’m helping an old friend clean out her “family house”. Her mom died six months ago and was afflicted with a compulsion commonly known as “hoarding”. If you are squeamish about this sort of thing – this blog entry is not for you.
Garage with tons of furniture, boxes & wrought iron, 6 feet deep. It is hard to describe the environment and images can’t provide the truly dark sensibility of this situation. My primary feeling right now consist of empathy for my friend who is a wonderful, bright and kind woman who I’ll call “Elle”.
As we work together clearing several tons of garbage from the house I am occasionally frozen, staring into a pile of shoes, for instance and I am suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of frustration with her deceased mother. I’ll call her “Mrs. R.”
It’s ludicrous and unfair to blame Mrs. R. as she was mentally ill. Without warning, the activity of clearing her mess elicits truly dark thoughts. As I stuff the thirtieth black plastic contractor bag with waterlogged purses, shoes and blankets, my mind tries to project into hers. The layers of newspapers, bills, receipts, broken pottery and cheap figurines, the tangled masses of synthetic blouses and polyurethane cherubim all seem to represent some enormous endeavor on her part – she was putting resources away like a squirrel but the objects are only symbolic. Very few of them have practical use or value. The collective jumbled mass in this typical suburban home becomes representative of Mrs. R’s consciousness.
Elle's childhood bedroom.
I want to understand my own consumption and collecting habits better. And frankly, I have a morbid obsession about this subject. Oprah has treated it sensitively and pretty well so there must be some zeitgeist brewing, too.
Understanding the hoarding compulsion may inform a perspective of materialism. I have sensed the global culture rushing toward a new era. In whatever new age that is coming, we will certainly have to live with less.
Elle has coped alone with her mother’s issues for several decades. Recently she observed, “I do believe that hoarding and the resulting response - clutter control, is on the upswing. My new theory is that our society is more fearful and isolated than it ever has been, plus consumerism is at an all-time high. So, the former provide the fertile ground for hoarding, and the latter provides the tools for those so inclined.” See? I told you she was smart.
The floor of Mrs. R's bedroom.
The study packed so tightly that the door was a wall of stuff.
Underneath all of this is a Brambach baby grand piano.
Consumption signifies safety and identity. What you own is who you are. What you do doesn't really matter - as long as it grants access to crap.
Mrs. R. was certainly expressing herself and defining her self-image through the types of things she stuffed into every corner. Mrs. R., an ivy league educated woman with a minor in art history hoarded a certain aesthetic. The hoarding compulsion formed a kind of text about who she was. There is a semiotic nature to the “museum” of this tangled and compressed “collection”.
An 1920's celuloid vanity set with silver inlays consumed by mold.
Approximately 60 contractor bags of contaminated material represents less than 15% of the total mass to be removed.
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Day Four
This is my 4th day working on Mrs. R's bedroom and the first day that Elle didn't come. I'm trying to encourage her to stay away. The toxicity of the house aggravates her asthma and it has an acute emotional implication. When she comes to the house she will only stand in the entrance hall and only with the door open. She's done a lot but now she neds to get away.
It was a rough day because I got down to a level of stuff that predates the pipe bursting this winter - this is a level of water contaminated material that pre-existed the winter's damage by ten years. I would pull a handfull of clothing and find the stench of shit.
And I had to throw away two incredibly beautiful pairs of cat's eye glasses - pale yellow and cornflower celuloid and silver or marquesite jewels.
A strange deformed "hand" key chain.
When I was growing up on the south side I have an image of a sweet "crazy lady" called Garbage Granny. She lived in a two story house on 111th street in Mount Greenwood. For kids like me - especially for kids with a vivid imagination - Granny represented something romantic and fascinating. Her house was big and was supposed to contain the bodies of lost pets and perhaps even lost children. It was a ghost story fantasy combined with tin lithography and Saturday morning cartoon reruns. The primal fear always comes forward. Hanzel and Gretel. The Witch's hoard of candy and cake lures us toward an illusion.
None of our childhood dreams about Aladdin's cache or my personal treasure hoard - The Count of Monte Cristo - are represented or emerge from the filth of Mrs. R's house.
The garden filled with damaged cast concrete sculpture.
Mrs. R. spent hours painting the figures so the faces of the statues are sculpted in sliding layers of grey and white liquid pigments. It reminded me of this folk art church construction we came across in an antique store in Columbia, South Carolina. And again, the environment creates the very strong impression of being in the disheveled but potent mind of the person who created it.
A example of the compulsive "frosting" effect from a model church. Artist unknown (Columbia, South Carolina). 26" w. x 38" h. x 46" l.
Mrs. R. sought out tons of wicker, cast iron wall pieces - planters and benches. She had the idea of a garden in her mind and it was an overgrown, romantic place. So she created a dillapidated environment but somehow things got out of control - once the scales were tipped it all fell apart.
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Day 5
3 comments:
Wow. I helped clear out my MIL's house after she died, and although she was not a hoarder, it was still a strange and sad experience. You're a good friend.
I have done the same thing, three construction dumpsters plus. Fifty bags of used adult diapers. Goggles, masks, and gloves. Your actions are strong and respectful, be prepared for fallout/trauma after the fact as well. Thanks for sharing.
You are a rare friend. I hope she's recovered from this. What a trauma.
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