By Maja Fredin
Prologue:
You, whoever you are reading this, are about to read fragments of my journal. Parts of my artistic process that takes place at the gym where I am forcing myself to look at the world through the lens of a bodybuilder. An investigation of the ego-centered times we live in, an era where the world is on fire, everything seems to be fake and plastic, but as a paradox authenticity and personal growth is rewarded. This journal is part of a bigger project with the working title 'Broiler - We Achieved Failure'. And by getting invited to write this essay I had to first explain to myself why I (un)consciously chose the chicken (broiler) as, for me, the perfect metaphor for the industrializing and optimizing the self. It all started as a bad joke, the similarities between the bodybuilder and the broiler; ”they only eat chicken, and look like chicken”. I can date my relationship with the broiler chicken back to 2003 when I in 5th grade decided to stop eating chicken upon reading in school about the cruel reality of the chicken industry. In that case, the broiler chicken becomes the starting point for all the bodily restrictions I later on have been forcing upon myself to control the world around me.
Lately I been thinking a lot about chickens, meat and muscles. I am now totally absorbed in gym training and the building of my own flesh, my whole world revolves around bodybuilding as an art form, to the point that I've come to embody that famous Nietzsche quote:
“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.
What you are about to read is a mad journey into my mind, while I’m shapeshifting into something I once detested. Maybe a monster, but in that case, my monster is a broiler.
March 1, 2024:
I've been trying to exercise a bit more ”seriously” for about a year now. And by that I mean regularly going to the gym, three times a week, to pump iron, instead of sporadically going a few times a month. This process has been slow and in the beginning I told myself that there were, and perhaps there still is, a feminist angle to the project. With questions like: ”How much space is the woman body allowed to take up in a room without people becoming uncomfortable? "Is there a glass ceiling to how much mass I can put on before I am seen as unattractive?" ”If attraction is a part of the greatest capital a woman can have in the patriarchy, what happens if I deject it and am relegated to a "sub class" of womanhood?" and "How will I react if I do succeed in being relegated to that subclass?”
But I've fairly quickly realized that it's my own prejudices and boundaries that I need to move past. At the same pace as I rebuild my body, my outlook and my perception of myself changes. I have however noticed that my friends and family still harbor these preconceived notions of femininity. Many have expressed worry for me and my male partner's sex life, and even his mental health. They also worry about what he will think about my new muscular heft. Am I belittling his masculinity? Is he really okay with this project? Call me unromantic, but unfortunately I am of a disposition where I am completely unbothered by whether or not he and his supposed masculinity would be crushed by the weight of my new body. He has in passing mentioned that he isn't "thrilled" by the thought of me becoming "veiny". But I've silenced such uproar by simply quoting our relationship therapist Eva: "This is the package you get”. Lucky he seems a bit too absent-minded to even really notice my metamorphosis into a harder and more taut exterior.
March 6, 2024:
Bodybuilding is about chasing the failure. Could then ”achieved failure” be a new title for my work? That we've collectively accepted the failure makes us succeed in failing - something so fundamental.
May 20, 2024:
It feels as though I've come pretty far with the project, but in the process I've been consumed by my training. It's become imperative to go to the gym, the days on which I am meant to "rest" feel unreasonably long and I grow restless (could I work out even more?). At this point when I jot down a "rest day" it's somehow become something that contextualizes that the gym-junkie life is something that lies in parallel, but also separate from, my other life. To put such unfathomable amounts of time into exercising takes
planning. All my days are meticulously planned down to the very last detail in order to more precisely optimize my training. It's something that makes me feel good, albeit somewhat manic, albeit somewhat high. Anyway, the reason I'm writing today was because I was thinking about how privileged I am to even have the opportunity to consider, to hate and to love my body in this way. To even have a fully functioning body that is normatively attractive. And to also be in the position to be able to spend such an inordinate amount of time in the gym and upon self reflection should be enough. Shouldn't I feel some shame or should I just accept my thoughts as they are?
Either way I take another step beyond myself, trying to observe myself from afar. And up-close. A bit as though I was staring at myself through a pair of backwards binoculars. You know, when you can stand real close to something but through the lenses of the binoculars the perspective is warped and the distance feels much greater than it is.
May 27, 2024, Kiruna:
I'm sitting by myself, in my hotel room, sucking down a casein shake. I've just been invited to do a performance at Konstakademien on September 14 to which I obviously said yes. I suppose I felt flattered and saw an opportunity in being able to be a contrast to the marble statues housed in there. Bodybuilding is something so directly inspired by the ideals of antiquity, just like fascism. Could be interesting. I've previously thought about letting the performative part play second fiddle, but it's difficult. I might work on an interactive video piece. If this is going to work I think I'll have to deep dive into the bodybuilding swamps. That would mean putting even more time into this project, avoiding alcohol and eating the kinds of food that are needed to manipulate my flesh and psyche. Could I be training more?
June 23, 2024:
The biggest problem with growth as a means is our faith in eternity. Nothing lasts forever.
June 19, 2024:
I'm now going to the gym five times a week. My diligent discipline has unfortunately had me look down on people who say they are going to get things done. Their careers, their workout habits, their relationships, their reading, doing their part in society, but still never getting to it. They just keep chasing their dopamine kicks and depressing circumstances. You, whoever you are reading this right now, I am fully aware that I've gone through some kind of mental transformation. From the outside I can hear how disgusting sounding my mindset has become - like why am I so bothered by what others are up to? But at the same time I still think that's where the problem lies. People share war images and pictures of broken people on social media to somehow lighten their heavy conscience. To show that they are part of the community of the echo chamber that the social media bubble is. But what's next? It's just a double whammy of exploitation of these poor people lives. A large hopelessness is growing inside of me and my friends. I dream of revolution and a paradigm shift. But what do I do instead? I go to the gym. Because it's easier to improve upon yourself than the world. And at the end of the day that is what all this is about.
June 22, 2024:
I've got herpes on my eye. I hate feeling weak, suppressed by my own flaws. Is it perhaps a reminder of death? I lie at home sowing my sculpture as I'm gorging myself on Pumping Iron 2. Everyone should see it. Beautifully filmed, interesting dialogue, my favorite environment (Las Vegas and the gym), good music, nice camaraderie. I asked my partner to watch the movie with me and I asked him what he thought about it. He said that he enjoyed it but also expressed a slight worry that I would become that huge. "What if Maja becomes that huge, a bit like a crab", he said with a mouth full of digestive biscuits. A crab? Sometimes he confuses me. And then I thought about his withering muscles and the long lost six pack from when we first met, but I kept my mouth shut. Why should this poor man have to have a complex for his body. I love him deeply.
August 24, 2024:
The sculpture 'Side lunge, Double Bicep' is finished. The piece originally meant to be a costume, became a sculpture, frozen in motion. Instead I make my own flesh into the costume. The textile is separate, a beheaded hybrid of human and chicken. A self portrait? And I, who built her from my own perceived proportions of myself, for the first time feel small standing beside her. Meek. I am in friction with myself.
September 15, 2024, Konstakademien
I've undressed in the fine halls of art. I'm finding it difficult to keep my productions at a reasonable level. But then again that seems to be how I work. All the time. My body aches from flexing my muscles in such a (un)controlled fashion. I need to hire a professional.
October 2, 2024:
Instructions from ”Arnold's Bodyshaping for Women” (1979):
A completely deranged perspective on the human body and a radical way of objectifying yourself. A new project?
October 8, 2024:
After my performance at Konstakademin I was given the tip of getting in touch with Oscar, an artist who also considers muscle as an artistic practice. Since then we've been emailing and kept in touch almost daily on social media. Yesterday we finally met, worked out and spoke in my study - ”So what is it that you are exploring?” He kept picking my brain, almost in an uncomfortable way. And then I realized what I've been calling "a yearning for the unattainable" is alchemy. I see the bodybuilder as the mad alchemist trying to realize fantasy in flesh. A fantasy about a body that no one quite knows what it looks like. Only that it could be better. From my point of view it is probably the chasing that is the thrill. The deeply rooted trait of humanity, to never settle, always expanding at any cost. I also feel that this is where the meat industry comes into play in this project. Maybe as a subtitle: "at any cost". To play at being creator and losing oneself in creating to the point where the only thing that matters is the creating for creating sake. I wonder if it's a fear of death or perhaps an acceptance of it that leads to this. Since the dawn of time humanity has believed that we live in the end of times. But when our "punishment" has gone from being individualistic to being collective, we act more individualistically because it's too late for anything else. We know the world will burn, but instead of doing something about it together we are doing everything in our power to make things nice right now. Procrastinating instead of "living a good life and be judged later". Develop this thought! We went our separate ways and said that next time we're meeting at his place, jointly do one of his routines and talk about his art. I'm grateful for Oscar.
November 17, 2024:
When I lift the self becomes irrelevant. In the moment I am simply my body and my breathing. The flesh. Sometimes I lift so heavy that it feels like something will break inside of me, my soft bits are compressed and wants to escape through the closest exit. This happened last week, here I am back lifting. I think of Ronnie Coleman, who lifted until his body broke. Today he can't walk. YEEEAAAAH BUDDY!!!
I tear apart and I mend. Pain is just weakness leaving the body. Am I glorifying martyrdom?
November 24, 2024:
I've lost myself to bodybuilding. The gym is now part of my nature and bodybuilding is now the method of my artistry. Perhaps I'm getting closer to an understanding of what wanting and longing mean in today's consumerist society. The role of my ego in these times. Or perhaps I'm too self centered. I now spend nearly every waking moment thinking of my flesh, my body and my muscles. Pumping iron is as much a part of my life as eating, sleeping, shitting and breathing. I also write a lot, but mostly I've found a new way of approaching art and craftsmanship. If my previous projects were slow and repetitive, then this has completely redefined endurance and repetitiveness to me. A kind of endurance performance? I note, keep track of and document my changing body and self-image. I indulge in my new muscles. I find myself late at night in the bathroom flexing in a double bicep pose. My gaze fixates on the web of veins that now envelops in my shoulders. Yet I am not content, I wish to become even bigger, as huge as possible and my body is in flux. The days blend together into a mash of gym and endless work in the studio.
November 29, 2024:
The self-hatred comes when I lose control. I doubt my authenticity. Am I getting closer to myself and my thoughts when I follow my schedule, or am I losing them? Is it the thoughts I escape from when I embrace chaos? There are two wolves inside of me, it sounds like a cliche, but I am confused by the excuses I give myself to act completely uninhibited.
December 4, 2024:
Maybe I need something that irks me. The art becomes uninteresting if it's only driven by prestige and performance, pretty but doesn't stand up to scrutiny. If frailty is lost then so is the human nerve. The music at my gym has been replaced by AI-generated slop. It's hard to focus, it feels like a dreary preview of the future.
December 16, 2024:
I think it's the dark, there's no other explanation. I need to sit down and write a longer text than this one, but it's too hard. My note taking doesn't help the mess in my head, but I must purge. I still live for new beginnings, rebirth, the shedding of skin. Kicks.
December 18, 2024:
Aphorism on a meal replacement, found in a dorm kitchen.
January 5, 2025:
I've been sick and have missed a gym session. Accessory work. This seemingly superfluous session that I added to my routine three months ago. It feels weird how surprised I get when I am reminded of the fact of my humanity and my ability to get sick. Apparently I've completely bought into this wellness craze. I mean how could I get sick when I take such good care of my body? It feels like a failure when I am weakened. A market collapse. My body is my economy and I've gotten greedy. I desire growth to a point where I am enraged when my disloyal meat goes on strike.
Maybe the human element is lost when one gets this self-centered. Since you only meet yourself you have only yourself to go by. Especially when everything needs to be optimized all the time. I thought I was free, but am I actually trapped? I wanna head to the gym.
January 10, 2025, 7:45 am:
I don't appreciate going to the gym this early. I feel queasy. Why do I torment myself?
To be flesh, pure flesh. Let go of earthly desires, intellect and to just be flesh. Is
freedom?
What has happened to me? Why isn't thinking a worthy goal but a burden? Am I now
jealous of the broiler? I need to read more.
January 22, 2025, Berlin:
I'm on vacation, but in my mind I'm counting the hours I've missed in the gym and studio. Has pleasure become secondary or has my definition of it shifted? We're at Neues Nationalgallerie and looking at Nan Goldin's 'This Will Not End Well'. Hours and minutes of slideshows of her family and friends. Suddenly a few pictures of bodybuilders show up. My partner turns to me smiling to see if I react. I've become synonymous with bodybuilding and muscles to him and I think that's nice. And of course I reacted to the muscular bodies even though I didn't want to show it. Because at the same time I simply want to be meat, I also want to be more than that.
Epilogue:
It's now the beginning of February 2025 and I've received the weekly mail from Arnold's Pump Club:
”90% percent of all the new years resolutions have already failed, don’t be one of them”.
Fuck, how stressful, I think to myself, but I'm still in the clear. Not because I am part of the 10% übermensches who apparently can stick to their commitments, but because I've got none. Instead I chase my failures, bodybuilding has become my method both in art and life. I embrace failure and would rather take a crooked path than missing the important details of life, which I do when I'm hurrying forward. Calmly and methodically I grind myself down, day in and day out. If I reach a plateau I'll take a break and breathe before doing a slight adjustment, tensing my muscles and launch again. And just like in craftsmanship I grow the more I do the same. It is a luxury to have the time to consider myself and my perceptions of reality to this extent. Time is money and training in that regard becomes a question of socio-economics. But then again I've also sacrificed much in life. I have no children, I seldom party. Instead I have the art and my aching muscles.
I read Kathy Acker's essay 'Against Ordinary Language: The Language of the Body' (1993) about bodybuilding:
”In our culture, we simultaneously fetishize and disdain the athlete, a worker in the body. For we still live under the sign of Descartes. This sign is also a sign of the patriarchy. As long as we continue to regard the body, that which is subject to change, chance and death, as disgusting and inimical, so long shall we continue to regard our own selves as dangerous others”
In a few weeks, on February 22, I will attend in a posing work shop with professional bodybuilders. It is a part of my preparation, since I in May this year will present new work within this project, both performance and objects. Who I am and who I will become at that time, this I do not know yet. I am forever expanding, forever in flux.
All images courtesy of the artist.
Special thanks to Pär Fredin for documentation, Martin Seipel for help with the polaroids and Joakim Mattson Ödman for help with translation.