Swedish Death Cleaning

And expressions of love and connection in art

As an artist, I am trained to keep a sketchbook close at hand to observe the world around me and to document my process and inspirations as I work. I came to heavily rely on this training as I broached a more personal project in my life: cleaning out my parents’ home of over 50 years. Recently, I shared how this came to pass as well as a little bit about how the clearing process became the inspiration for a new installation project in my studio notes on Patreon (excerpt below).

I just returned to my studio yesterday from trip #6 to my childhood home (about 5 hours away) after 4 days trying to finish clearing out more than 50 years of crafting and collecting debris before putting the house up for sale.

[In the process I…] collected many little stashes of materials: buttons, ribbons, wire, pins, needles, fabric, thread, linens, vintage crochet, books, and baubles. I am planning to find new ways to use these little bits and pieces in several little collages of memorabilia which will then be cast in plaster and formed into paper.

For those of you who have been through the process of cleaning out a loved one’s home, you have my utmost respect. It is a difficult job and journey. During the whole process, there were several moments of tearful frustration, many anxiety-fueled sleepless nights, and always sore muscles after every trip from moving so much stuff up and down stairs (I remember now why I hate split-level homes), climbing ladders to remove stuff from walls and shelves, and finding ways to get furniture through doors that simply didn’t look like they ever let in the furniture in the first place.

From the start, I made a concerted effort to document the process with photos, videos, and journaling. I knew this process was going to be bigger than me, and it would infiltrate my life and art. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my documentation, but with it, I saved collections of photos, books, and crafting supplies to keep and ponder.

I was often asked why I didn't hire someone else to clear the house.

I honestly wasn't sure myself, until recently.

After my latest trip, I realized I needed this process as painful as it was. It allowed me to examine emotions around my relationship with my family which were quietly buried. I saw little glimpses of lives that I only thought I knew which told a larger story than what my childhood self could understand. As frustrated with the situation as I was - leaving my family and work for several days at a time to sort through closets, documents, books, patterns, albums, and drawers full of every bit of nonsense you could imagine - I was able to see my mother and her life in a new, more nuanced way. (It also allowed me to throw out old narratives of myself that clung to my psyche even though they no longer represented who I am, but that’s a story for another day, and probably best for a therapist to unravel.)

More practically, though, I’m glad I persevered sorting through all the clutter because I needed to see what a lifetime of accumulation looked like. It raised my awareness of the "stuff" we hold onto and why we choose to do so. For example, I recalled all the times my mother would say with a glint in her eye, “I could make that”, and would proceed to collect all the necessary materials and tools to do so. (And, quite impressively, she usually could.) If something was “useful”, it was kept, even if there were already ten versions of the same thing tucked in a drawer. What may have originally been necessitated by early financial circumstances, became an identity that was never shed. The overflowing cupboards and garage were a testament to the strong grip objects can have over a person.

As I considered the many ways one ends up with three bread machines and fifteen different sets of dinnerware in a modest little kitchen, I knew, even if it wasn’t on this scale, I had some of my own house cleaning to do.

It made me an eager fan of what I recently learned is called, the Swedish practice of "Death Cleaning".

Swedish Death Cleaning

I may be a little late to the party (which is pretty typical for me), but this 2017 article What is “Swedish Death Cleaning” and should you be doing it? by Sarah DiGiulio is a nice introduction to the topic and review of the book The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson. (The book was also recently turned into a Netflix Series of the same name starring Amy Poehler.)

An artist herself, Magnusson brings “humor and wisdom” to the “…process of clearing out unnecessary belongings… before others have to do it for you. Her radical and joyous method for putting things in order helps families broach sensitive conversations, and makes the process uplifting rather than overwhelming.” (Bookshop.org)

As mentioned in the article, similar to Marie Kondo’s, “Does this spark joy?”, Swedish Death Cleaning encourages a new perspective and relationship with our possessions.

According to DiGiulio, Margareta suggests which possessions you can easily get rid of (unworn clothes, unwanted presents, more plates than you'd ever use - I’m thinking of you, Mom!) and which you might want to keep (photographs, love letters, a few of your children's art projects). Along the way, readers get a glimpse into her life in Sweden and also become more comfortable with the idea of letting go.

Letting Go

There is no right way to manage this stage of life. Everyone will have their own process, needs, and struggles as the timing of life’s events doesn’t always care what your personal timeline is. I know I wasn’t ready. But we don’t always get to choose what we’re ready to handle. Instead, we just move our foot forward and hope for the best.

Once the need for sorting through a life begins, attachments to objects and memories of people, places, and events can resurface unannounced. While, in the end, I found value in the process, I would’ve had a more difficult time if I hadn’t done the task mostly alone, pairing it with quiet evenings in the little Airbnb rentals I found nearby or with long walks on the beach. I needed the space to reflect - before, during, and after each trip, and I was lucky to have people in my life who respected these needs while also stepping in to help when it became overwhelming.

For me, this experience of cleaning out my childhood home while also considering my own collections and possessions gave me a new perspective. As I sorted, I thought about the aging process, relationships, fear, death, community, peace, and life - all of which will hopefully allow me to grow as a person… and as an artist. And, these thoughts are what will inform my multi-media installation project over the next year.

Expressions of Love and Connection

My mother was an avid crafter. (She would be still if not for dementia stealing her focus and skills.) Sorting through the materials and tools she collected over the years, I have found a new connection to her with the memories that returned to me of sitting in her sewing room learning to make. As I uncovered her various crafts and saw the whispers of her life contained within a history of objects, photos, cards, and notes found in boxes and desk drawers, I saw a different perspective of her life from the one formed in my childhood.

Seeing all her craft supplies neatly stashed away, I have also become quite fascinated with the collections of crafters in general and have taken in a few from other family members (such as the knitting needles, above) in order to weave their stories metaphorically and physically into my art. Many crafts are carried forward by shared skills from generation to generation. I want to explore a dialogue between objects and art in a way to honor the histories we share in craft. The more I work on my art practice, I realize my need to express love and connection with it, even as it can evoke painful experiences. While I’m not sure yet how I will use these knitting needles, I know they will find a place in a future piece with their own story to tell.

In fact, I don’t yet know what I’m doing with most of my collections, which, funnily enough, may put me in the realm of becoming my mother. (Fortunately, my home is much smaller, though, and will naturally limit what I can hold onto!) But, I am currently working to unravel my thoughts into small hexagons of various materials. These little pieces will be joined together to form the primary “quilt” in my small (and first) installation slated for August 2024 at The Arts Center of Corvallis, Oregon. I’ve started the process by free-form crocheting fibers from one of my mother’s many bins of materials. I will continue building on the form which is based on an English paper-pieced quilt I watched my mother make when I was young. (My great-grandmother immigrated from England when my grandmother was a small child. She eventually taught my own mother many of the skills she later passed on to me.) However, this non-traditional quilt will include paper castings, mixed media collages, crochet and knit fibers, along with a few sewn pieces to herald the original inspiration. In the end, I plan to have nearly one thousand little thoughts to literally connect.

Now that I’m almost done with clearing out my family home, I’m excited for this next stage of my life and this new installation project. For the first time in quite a while (maybe, ever?), I will be free to focus fully on my art. And, all gratitude for the de-cluttering experience of my family home aside, it also will prompt me to practice the Swedish Death Cleaning art form in my own life (even as I hoard bins of materials for future projects).

Maybe I’m my mother’s daughter after all.

~ Jennifer