Photographer Todd McLellan has probably trashed more gadgets than most people own in their lifetimes – but don’t worry – he’s doing it for art and the environment.
His book, Things Come Apart, was originally published in 2013 and featured neatly arranged guts from all sorts of consumer devices, from Swiss Army knives to wood chippers, alongside essays by figures in the maker, design, conservator and tinkerer communities, on the changing nature of product design.
For this updated 2.0 edition, McLellan revisits his project, which has been running since 2009, with a few new purchases in hand, including a 3D printer and an Amazon Echo smart speaker, but the message remains the same – that technology is increasingly designed to be forever sealed, where components are not only invisible and inaccessible, but are constructed in a way that precludes upgrades or modifications to extend useful life, or even simple repair. And with rare-earth minerals more in demand than ever, it is this newest generation of device, where so little can be rescued, that will have greatest impact on already dwindling resources.
Beyond the call for a kinder, more sustainable approach to technology design, there is an undeniable aesthetic pleasure to be had in all this broken-down stuff – whether fanned out in fetishistic displays of organisation, or pictured as if spontaneously dissembling in zero gravity (they’re actually dropped from a height, and photographed using super-fast strobe-light technology as they fall), this is product porn of the highest order.
The giddy thrill of peeking inside the black boxes of record players, ATMs, accordions and even light aircraft is not to be underestimated – and there are 50 objects to enjoy in all their denuded organisational glory. (Fun fact: the word for arranging pieces in parallel or at pleasing angles is “knolling”.)
“The thrilling part about disassembling an object myself, is the opportunity to understand the manufacturer’s challenge,” says McLellan. “I gain a basic understanding of how the item works, and, in turn, a greater respect for it.” He’s got a point – looking through his photographs, you can’t help but marvel at just how ingenious we humans are, be it via the humble mechanical pencil, or a handheld GPS.
Someone who understood this all too well, and indeed took this philosophy to extremes, was Steve Jobs. Jobs's adoptive father, a mechanic in Silicon Valley, could build almost anything. He instilled in Jobs the value of quality craftsmanship even in unseen parts of a product, such as the crime of using a piece of plywood on the back of a otherwise well-made chest of drawers. This design obsession chimed with Jobs and eventually led to him rejecting the original logic boards inside of the Apple II as the "lines were not straight enough".
Recalling disassembling the Echo, McLellan says: "I remember thinking, 'How am I going to get inside this thing?' No visible screws, very new on the market and had never been explored prior, that I knew of. Once the hidden bottom screws were out, it slid open with a bit of friction like you would experience with a boot-hatch hydraulic. Very slick and it felt durable, not that you need that in a tabletop speaker."
"All the parts were intricately placed to create great sound," he says. "I was actually surprised by how many pieces came out of this little speaker. It’s always challenging to make a photo from an object will a small amount of parts. After the shoot I was actually able to put this back together and give it away."
Among McLellan’s most satisfying compositions in Things Come Apart 2.0 are the side-by side comparisons, which often highlight the ongoing streamlining that comes with progress – the 80 components of a 2002 iPod, for example, look deceptively simple next to the clockwork intricacy of a 370-part Sony Walkman that’s 20 years its junior.
But others make you wonder how much has really changed – who knew that a mechanical stills camera from 1973 would have just four fewer parts than it’s 2012 digital equivalent? (576 vs 580).
Ultimately, this is a book for people who would like to break open their prized possessions and peek inside but dare not, for fear of voiding the warranty. Reading Things Come Apart is strangely therapeutic, and that is perhaps the best excuse you can have to go and pick up a copy.
Things Come Apart 2.0 is published by Thames & Hudson, and is out now, £14.95
This article was originally published by WIRED UK
