“I’m forever in this shed of the many memories of a person, going: ‘OK, this time, I’m going to sort it out. It’s going to make sense.’ And it never quite makes sense.” When musician and theatre maker Delia Olam’s mother passed away a couple years ago, she inherited an amazing collection of interests, obsessions and craft supplies.
“But it’s completely filled my shed,” Olam says. She reflects on the idea of Swedish death cleaning, where a person condenses their belongings so they are easier for their family to manage once they’re gone. Because her mother passed away suddenly, the task has been left to Olam – and taking on the role of ‘memory keeper’ has been anything but straightforward.
“I uncovered these old diaries of hers, and each of them have such a different facet to them, and are also in opposition, in many ways, to the stories that her sisters would tell,” Olam says. “She was this passionate person who had a major impact on people by making them feel more OK about themselves… But then there’s the sister who’s like, ‘I don’t think she ever hugged me.’ How are these different people the same person, and what is the role of me as the memory keeper? How am I going to tell [her] story?”
Olam seeks to unpack this overwhelming duty and grief in her upcoming Adelaide Fringe show, Swedish Death Cleaning vs. EVERYTHING (the shed.). “[My experience] is shared with the audience,” she says. “Like: ‘OK, I’ve got people coming over later. We need to clear this stuff. Can you help me with it?’” As she selects items onstage, she starts a conversation about the significance of viewing a loved one through a new lens, and the difficulty of deciding which parts of their story to keep and throw away.
“I have been diagnosed with ADHD in the last few years… and I’ve realised how much of the stories that were told and retold [about my mother] were a fairly unkind reaction to not knowing that we were looking at an undiagnosed person with not only ADHD, but with autism as well,” Olam says. “There’s something meaningful about allowing that to enter the conversation.”
“Because [my family is] also neurodivergent, our memories are not very good and we do depend on seeing the item to remember the love… and there is a big burden on us of what we choose to keep and therefore remember.” For Olam, music leads the way in expressing these dilemmas to her audience. “I feel so comfortable singing, but also really trust how that can hit the tenderest parts without labouring,” she says.
“I love making people cry – but having a cry about the invitation to reflect on things that are not so easily resolved. By putting it on the stage, there’s a safe place to explore grief.” We have all been in the shed, and audience members may feel eerily united by the realisation that none of us have the answers.
“It’s like Gothic tales, which have a supernatural and unnerving element,” Olam says of her show. “We would like to think that at some point we’ll feel grief, not at all, or less… Trying to make sense of a beautiful, complicated life is probably one of the most unnerving themes, and maybe it’s not meant to be tied up in a bow.”
Still, Olam acknowledges we can’t hold onto the past forever. “We loved [my mother’s things] because she loved them, but they are encroaching on our space,” she says.
“We need this literal and metaphorical shed… there has to be a space to live and make our own memories.”
Swedish Death Cleaning vs EVERYTHING (the shed.), Holden Street Theatres, until 23 March