Art exhibit documents heartbreak of broken relationships

Inside a Point Breeze art gallery is a photo of a little boy.

He is sitting on stairs, and although his face is blurred to protect his identity, it is clear he is smiling.

It's a nice photo but nothing more.

It belongs in a family photo album. Not an art exhibit.

Then you read the caption:

“This picture is important because during early pregnancy the father wanted me to have an abortion, but I wouldn't so he attempted to push me out of a moving car.”

The photo, “A picture of a son,” was submitted by a resident at a local women's shelter. It is among dozens of objects on display at the Museum of Broken Relationships, at the Mine Factory on North Braddock Avenue, that opens Saturday.

It was curated by 10 students at Carnegie Mellon University who spent months combing local communities in search of relics, and the stories behind them, that represent individual examples of loss, betrayal and in many cases heartbreak. The stories resonate, CMU Creative Writing Professor Jane Bernstein said, because while every path to heartache is different, the suffering is universally identifiable.

“It's hard to be alive and not have experienced heartache,” Bernstein said. “And nobody's story is the same as anybody else's.”

Bernstein was inspired to bring the exhibit to Pittsburgh after she visited the original Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb, Croatia, in May 2015. The Zagreb collection now travels from city to city, and some items are here on loan as part of the Pittsburgh exhibit.

Sarabeth Boak, one of five graduate students at CMU's Entertainment Technology Center who are staging and designing the exhibit, said visitors experience an “emotional arc” as they view relics that convey humor, bitterness and depression.

“There is something really powerful about detail and specificity,” Boak said. “It's not about the objects but the stories behind them.”

Among the Pittsburgh relics is a Henri Bendel New York gift bag, about which the donor wrote:

“I haven't spoken to my dad since he left my family during my senior year in high school. … He sent me a $400 Henri Bendel brief case, which I sold on eBay. But I kept the gift bag … I guess I just thought there were fewer strings attached.”

Nearby is a mix-CD in a plastic case. The donor explained:

“I still hold a lot of love for the person who gave me this, but you just don't get to keep your best friend when you break up with them.”

All of the donors are anonymous, including one person who gave a Kennywood magnet because he said the amusement park was the only place his estranged uncle did not bully his family.

Some of the stories are defiant.

A person who once dated a girl who believed strongly in eastern medicine donated a set of acupuncture pens.

“During the two years we were together, I was constantly sick (but) my health changed almost immediately after we broke up. I rarely get sick now.”

Some entries are short.

A woman who donated a gold necklace wrote simply:

“This necklace is coming from a friend that didn't show no loyalty.”

Others are long and involved narratives, including the story behind an empty bottle of Evan Williams peach whiskey.

Outside of these walls, it's a piece of trash, something to be recycled.

Here, it tells a story of almost unbelievable loneliness.

“We met at a mental institution. ... He could've been a model, for Christ's sake. His eyes were the bluest blue I had ever seen and his jawline was absolutely flawless.”

He was a patient, a meth addict and an alcoholic who suffered from bipolar disorder. He had been involuntarily admitted after a DUI car crash that cost him the custody of his son.

She was a nursing assistant at the facility who also had a history of mental illness. But she used medications to control her illness, which she described as “schizoaffective, bipolar type.”

“Once he was discharged, he contacted me through Facebook … I agreed to drive an hour into Ohio to meet him since his license was still suspended. These meetings happened a total of two times, and it was the second time that I realized that I truly cared about him.”

On that second trip, she rented a hotel room. They opened the bottle of whiskey she had brought. They drank and sat together in the Jacuzzi-style bathtub.

“With the lights on low, we caressed and massaged each other, whispered fantasies into each other's ears, and made the most romantic love I have ever made.”

Later that night, she awoke in a panic. She was off her meds. She began to hallucinate.

He held her in his arms. He told her everything would be OK. He brought her back to reality, and she fell asleep, peacefully, with her body pressed against his.

The next day, she returned to Pittsburgh. They texted and messaged often. One night, she sent him a note saying she would always be his.

But he did not respond.

“I've tried calling him, texting him, snapping him on Snapchat, messaging him on Facebook … everything. Eventually, I stopped trying.

So that's why I donated this empty bottle of whiskey from that last night that we had together. It was the night that I realized I was in love with him, and the night that I became pregnant with our baby.”

The Museum of Broken Relationships is open through December every Friday (5 to 9 p.m.), Saturday (noon to 9 p.m.) and Sunday (noon to 6 p.m.) at the Mine Factory, 201 N. Braddock Ave. Admission is free.

Chris Togneri is a Tribune-Review staff writer. Reach him at 412-380-5632 or ctogneri@tribweb.com.