A friend forwarded me details of a home gallery they visited, the Elliot Eyes Collection (tEEC), and I loved their taste and may visit one day myself. Looking through their site, I saw so many things I liked. I would love a colourful sculpture by John Nicholson, in fact I want that block of rainbows :-) I’d never heard of Euan Macleod, now I would love one of his pictures.
I am not in their league; they occupy spaces, a mental landscape far removed from my own; other worlds beyond my existence.
I liked this reference they made to collecting:
Allen Weiss in “The Grain of the Clay” (Reaction Books,2016) has described collecting, or a collection, as an autobiographical statement. Unencumbered by the boundaries, rules and bureaucracy of public galleries, the housemusem displays the passion of the collector – individualistic, subjective, imaginative and zany.
It resonates. The collection conveys a sense of the person, their past, perhaps an image of themselves that they want to present. A curated appearance.
I collect books. I used to collect books to read, to accumulate, to expand. I used to read more in the past: a voracious appetite. I read less now but still buy but I no longer buy as much. I hope.
Books can be objects
Books can be read
Books can be memory
I buy books now as objects, to have nice things. Objects that can be opened and read; the intent is that all should and will be read. I buy nice books, pretty books, well bound books.
On occasion, I browse my books, pulling out this or that, memories triggered, a life passed. My books are a map to my past: of place, of mind, of heart. I need to know where my books are. They are part of the story of who I am.