My collection is a diverse and eclectic collection of disparate delights kept and curated for no other reason than that they please me and have the potential to feed my soul and help to inform my art.
Living in a caravan my collections are today temporarily, for the most part, stored away in boxes under the bed. This was not always the case.
In my home in France I used to have several display cabinets and in my down moments I would often open the door and handle the objects – appreciating their peculiar beauty I would be intrigued by stories untold and suspended within their molecular makeup.
Going back further I had a small chipped gloss cream painted metal cabinet in my home in London, a wonderful Edwardian house in Catford. Within were small inconsequential gifts my infant son gave me. I remember holding him in my arms and allowing him to carefully open the cabinet door allowing us both to gaze and recount the tales of the objects mindfully housed within.
For me my collection has nothing to do with monetary value and everything to do with sentiment and intimacy of forgotten objects from forgotten times of forgotten folks.
Eventually I will return to live in my house in Spain and when I do I promise myself a beautiful dark oak wood museum case to house my worthless wonders and thus allow me to daily feast upon my treasures without the chore of dusting.
Until then my collecting is severely curtailed and I must satisfy myself with the odd trip to an odd museum.
Things could certainly be worse…