We are surrounded by voices, by remembering.
-Edmund de Waal
We all fill our homes with things. Some of these things are practical, some are not. Some accumulate in ways that are a bit mysterious, others are chosen with care and a great deal of thought. Some of our homes are full, some of our homes have barely enough, or less. Wandering through our collections has been an exercise in gratitude at the immense wealth that lies within a bunch of objects. The wealth of a monetary sort, yes, I won’t deny that, but also the wealth of experience and memory, of friends and family, of beauty and human skill, creativity and generosity.
My initial motivation for writing about all these things was to tell their stories – my stories. To think beyond a mere list of possessions and find within them some meaning. I suppose what I’ve found is a sort of map of my life. Not the whole map, nor every detail, but a part of it that can be considered and shared. I wondered at the start if I had wasted my focus, my time, my money on too many things – things that some may consider frivolous or unnecessary. There certainly is the possibility that I have, that greater things could have been accomplished. And yet, I find myself encouraged by the journey through the memories evoked. The memories of people I’ve known that reside within these things that surround me. The memories of experiences I’ve shared, gifts I’ve received, places I’ve been. The knowledge I’ve gained – the ways in which ideas and creativity and beauty have opened me up, expanded my vision, soothed my soul. These things that provide sustenance; these things that encourage enthusiasm.
I value the skills needed to create all these many objects. I value artists and creators who offer us glimpses of what and who we are, who we can be. Glimpses of where we’ve been, how we differ, how we are the same. I value the endurance and commitment that has resulted in all these bits of human creation – people figured things out, they made them, they failed, they tried again, they improved, they evolved, they grew. I value the vast range of talents that speak of their own experiences in all kinds of ways – offering us windows to view and understand both the glorious and the horrific parts of being human. I am drawn to those that have carefully placed ideas within their objects. Ideas that become paths left for us to find – sometimes paths we must avoid, other times paths we would do well to follow, many times paths that take us in directions we hadn’t considered. I love that there is space in my home for so many voices. I love that some of these voices belong to the people dearest to me and others to complete strangers – beyond my reach in either time or geography.
I collect things because I love things. Perhaps it’s just a matter of that which is shiny catching my eye. And sometimes it is simply that. But from each shiny object grows something more. Those little glimmers expand my world time and time again. A beautiful teacup turns into an understanding of how mastering porcelain production impacted cultures around the world – politically, economically, culturally. A spectacular ceramic tile introduces me to imagery significant to the faith practices of others – so very different from my own religious upbringing, but no less spiritually impressive and meaningful. A painting allows me the experience of meeting artists from worlds away, and seeing them and their cultures in ways that I would never have otherwise. A piece of furniture shows me what human ingenuity can accomplish, despite a materials and resources with which to work. A simple wood box opens my eyes to the journeys of refugees and immigrants – those who arrive with nothing.
I began with two questions. Have I been wasteful? Have I been wise? I’m not sure I have answers to either. I suspect I’ve been both, or maybe neither. But I do know I have no regrets. As I have wandered through this place that appears to most to be overwhelmingly full, I have realised that it absolutely is exactly that. Full. It is full of colour and interest. Full of variety and, perhaps some quirkiness (more than a little, I would guess). Full of stories and experiences and memories and beauty and ugliness and oddities and cracks and chips and perfection and way too much stuff. It is full of my life.
These collections reflect a bit of who I am, maybe a lot of who I am, but also who I choose to be. They speak about who I share my life and home with and how we have chosen to live day to day. How we've attempted to explore ideas beyond our own, finding inspiration and meaning, and avenues of expression. We are filled with gratitude, surrounded by many voices. Collecting together, these things we love.
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