Objects of Desire
JEWELLERY · SYMBOLISM
The Collector's Catalogue
*On art, memory and the things we choose to keep*
I have spent almost fifteen years working in contemporary art. During that time, I have seen hundreds of exhibitions, met countless artists, visited studios, art fairs and galleries, and, somewhere along the way, started building a collection of my own.
I never rрeally set out to become a collector. It happened gradually. One artwork led to another, and before I knew it, I had accumulated not only a collection of objects, but also a collection of memories, encounters and stories.
Some works remind me of particular exhibitions. Others of conversations with artists, unexpected discoveries or moments in my life when I saw something differently.
And some, I must admit, I can no longer remember exactly why I bought.
I find that rather interesting.
We often think of an art collection as something carefully constructed — guided by a concept, a strategy or a particular artistic interest. And perhaps it should be. But a personal collection is also something much less rational.
It is a record of our changing tastes, intellectual curiosities, emotional attachments and occasional impulses.
In a way, it is a portrait of the collector, created by other people.
Recently, I started thinking about making a proper catalogue of my collection. Not simply an inventory of artists, titles, dates and dimensions, although those are certainly useful.
I want to revisit each work, remember how it entered my life, understand why it mattered to me then and whether it still matters in the same way today.
There is also the question of what to keep.
For years, I was surrounded by art professionally. Now that my life has moved in different directions, I am beginning to reconsider my relationship with the objects I own.
Some works I would never want to part with. Others might be ready to find a new home.
And I have come to think that letting a work go does not necessarily mean that it has become less important. Perhaps its place in my story has simply changed.
So this is the beginning of a small personal research project: cataloguing my collection, revisiting its history and exploring what collecting really means to me.
Along the way, I will share selected works, the stories behind them and, occasionally, pieces available for acquisition.
I am curious to see what kind of picture emerges when everything is finally brought together.
After all, a collection is never just about what we own.
It is also about who we were when we chose it.
*On art, memory and the things we choose to keep*
I have spent almost fifteen years working in contemporary art. During that time, I have seen hundreds of exhibitions, met countless artists, visited studios, art fairs and galleries, and, somewhere along the way, started building a collection of my own.
I never rрeally set out to become a collector. It happened gradually. One artwork led to another, and before I knew it, I had accumulated not only a collection of objects, but also a collection of memories, encounters and stories.
Some works remind me of particular exhibitions. Others of conversations with artists, unexpected discoveries or moments in my life when I saw something differently.
And some, I must admit, I can no longer remember exactly why I bought.
I find that rather interesting.
We often think of an art collection as something carefully constructed — guided by a concept, a strategy or a particular artistic interest. And perhaps it should be. But a personal collection is also something much less rational.
It is a record of our changing tastes, intellectual curiosities, emotional attachments and occasional impulses.
In a way, it is a portrait of the collector, created by other people.
Recently, I started thinking about making a proper catalogue of my collection. Not simply an inventory of artists, titles, dates and dimensions, although those are certainly useful.
I want to revisit each work, remember how it entered my life, understand why it mattered to me then and whether it still matters in the same way today.
There is also the question of what to keep.
For years, I was surrounded by art professionally. Now that my life has moved in different directions, I am beginning to reconsider my relationship with the objects I own.
Some works I would never want to part with. Others might be ready to find a new home.
And I have come to think that letting a work go does not necessarily mean that it has become less important. Perhaps its place in my story has simply changed.
So this is the beginning of a small personal research project: cataloguing my collection, revisiting its history and exploring what collecting really means to me.
Along the way, I will share selected works, the stories behind them and, occasionally, pieces available for acquisition.
I am curious to see what kind of picture emerges when everything is finally brought together.
After all, a collection is never just about what we own.
It is also about who we were when we chose it.