Belonging
I believe we are all possessed by the fetish of collection. Be he patrician or be he prole the desire to pursue, purchase and display is to be found in most of us. I am almost suspicious of a person who claims: "I do not collect anything". It is as...
I believe we are all possessed by the fetish of collection. Be he patrician or be he prole the desire to pursue, purchase and display is to be found in most of us. I am almost suspicious of a person who claims: "I do not collect anything". It is as though he were without personality, a hollow man.
Collecting falls into two categories. The narrow category - ornamental ducks, stuffed birds, modern art, saintly bones, matchboxes, jugs, wives, badges, stamps, cookbooks, fake friends on facebook etc; a linear and focused pursuit that allows the collector to point at the subject in question and with immediate conviction state whether or not it may form part of his collection.
But there are those people who are more curious still. They may not call themselves collectors, and would have difficulty telling you what it is that they collected, but they are avid lovers of bric-a-brac and other useless trinkets that carry with them some history, known or unknown, allowing the individual to look upon the piece and conjure up memories and myths around it and whence it came. In other words, they are sentimentalists and this may make it difficult for them to throw away last winter's bus ticket when finding it inside their coat pocket. The latter type of collector is formed by concept rather than category, allowing the many piques of the day to be incorporated into a satisfying collective junk map of the mind.
I have just returned from the flea market in Israel Plads in downtown Copenhagen. It is early September and the weather plays cat and mouse with itself, allowing for spells of warm sunshine to be pounced upon by chilly, dull clouds. I suspect this kept many away from their Saturday jaunt, and so the flea market was wide open and dealers were chatty and eager to sell. First up was a cigarette case with my name engraved on it, a set of glass eyes and some particular Royal Copenhagen coffee cups and saucers, made for a conditori (bakery) no longer in existence. All three "sets" were offered to me at 250 kroner (about Lm14) a piece. But I was not here for glass eyes and cigarette cases, for if you are to be a truly liberal collector, you must also venture to such markets with the intention of picking up gifts that will stay with you for but a few days.
Next up was a box of cassettes. Does anyone remember the song Sunshine Reggae? It was a great number that got us all going back in the days of beach parties, but of course none of us remember that the song was by a Danish band called Laid Back. I am now the proud owner of one Laid Back tape; now I just need to get hold of a tape player to relive those neon-coloured days - "Gimme gimme, gimme just a little smile".
The other tape I bought is of a more intellectual nature. A splendid old man looks out at me through his thick frames, his mouth clamped shut in a determined smile, the letters PH sitting boldly below his heavy chin. I am informed that this is a tape on which I can listen to Poul Henningsen recite poetry and play the piano. Poul Henningsen is one of Denmark's most remarkable men. An architect (who never bothered to graduate), an author and critic most famous for his light design. One of the numbers on the tape is called Copenhagen Dreams...
I heard old Danish records playing on a wind-up gramophone (as a gust of wind went by). I bought a piece of speckled cardboard upon which two identical photographs were glued; it is a picture of two men standing by a fence in the snow many years ago, and then I bought two faïence ceramic pieces by Royal Copenhagen - a blue cream jug and a white sugar bowl designed by Ursula Munch Petersen, an influential ceramicist and, I am told, the daughter of a famous Danish poet. The pieces are functional and of a more sculptural nature than what we are used to from Royal Copenhagen. They could sit quite happily on a shelf, sorry in an alcove, at one of my friends' trendy houses; more exciting, however, is that this purchase has opened up the world of delft, majolica and faïence to me, adding another compartment to the collective junk box of the mind.
Though I live mostly out of a suitcase I have learnt to collect things along the way, things that I may or may not take on with me to the next shelf life, things that may have a life of their own as they pass from hand to hand. In this way I also collect degradable things. From the Stockholm Archipelago I returned with a bag of fallen hazelnuts, small cones, dried Chanterelle mushrooms too small to eat, some apple and strawberry jelly, delightful purple transport tickets and pressed wild flowers. I will lay these things out in front of me for a few days and enjoy them looking slightly out of place. Suddenly things around me have assumed a certain independent mobility, they belong here, but just for now, as part of my transient collection.
Collecting falls into two categories. The narrow category - ornamental ducks, stuffed birds, modern art, saintly bones, matchboxes, jugs, wives, badges, stamps, cookbooks, fake friends on facebook etc; a linear and focused pursuit that allows the collector to point at the subject in question and with immediate conviction state whether or not it may form part of his collection.
But there are those people who are more curious still. They may not call themselves collectors, and would have difficulty telling you what it is that they collected, but they are avid lovers of bric-a-brac and other useless trinkets that carry with them some history, known or unknown, allowing the individual to look upon the piece and conjure up memories and myths around it and whence it came. In other words, they are sentimentalists and this may make it difficult for them to throw away last winter's bus ticket when finding it inside their coat pocket. The latter type of collector is formed by concept rather than category, allowing the many piques of the day to be incorporated into a satisfying collective junk map of the mind.
I have just returned from the flea market in Israel Plads in downtown Copenhagen. It is early September and the weather plays cat and mouse with itself, allowing for spells of warm sunshine to be pounced upon by chilly, dull clouds. I suspect this kept many away from their Saturday jaunt, and so the flea market was wide open and dealers were chatty and eager to sell. First up was a cigarette case with my name engraved on it, a set of glass eyes and some particular Royal Copenhagen coffee cups and saucers, made for a conditori (bakery) no longer in existence. All three "sets" were offered to me at 250 kroner (about Lm14) a piece. But I was not here for glass eyes and cigarette cases, for if you are to be a truly liberal collector, you must also venture to such markets with the intention of picking up gifts that will stay with you for but a few days.
Next up was a box of cassettes. Does anyone remember the song Sunshine Reggae? It was a great number that got us all going back in the days of beach parties, but of course none of us remember that the song was by a Danish band called Laid Back. I am now the proud owner of one Laid Back tape; now I just need to get hold of a tape player to relive those neon-coloured days - "Gimme gimme, gimme just a little smile".
The other tape I bought is of a more intellectual nature. A splendid old man looks out at me through his thick frames, his mouth clamped shut in a determined smile, the letters PH sitting boldly below his heavy chin. I am informed that this is a tape on which I can listen to Poul Henningsen recite poetry and play the piano. Poul Henningsen is one of Denmark's most remarkable men. An architect (who never bothered to graduate), an author and critic most famous for his light design. One of the numbers on the tape is called Copenhagen Dreams...
I heard old Danish records playing on a wind-up gramophone (as a gust of wind went by). I bought a piece of speckled cardboard upon which two identical photographs were glued; it is a picture of two men standing by a fence in the snow many years ago, and then I bought two faïence ceramic pieces by Royal Copenhagen - a blue cream jug and a white sugar bowl designed by Ursula Munch Petersen, an influential ceramicist and, I am told, the daughter of a famous Danish poet. The pieces are functional and of a more sculptural nature than what we are used to from Royal Copenhagen. They could sit quite happily on a shelf, sorry in an alcove, at one of my friends' trendy houses; more exciting, however, is that this purchase has opened up the world of delft, majolica and faïence to me, adding another compartment to the collective junk box of the mind.
Though I live mostly out of a suitcase I have learnt to collect things along the way, things that I may or may not take on with me to the next shelf life, things that may have a life of their own as they pass from hand to hand. In this way I also collect degradable things. From the Stockholm Archipelago I returned with a bag of fallen hazelnuts, small cones, dried Chanterelle mushrooms too small to eat, some apple and strawberry jelly, delightful purple transport tickets and pressed wild flowers. I will lay these things out in front of me for a few days and enjoy them looking slightly out of place. Suddenly things around me have assumed a certain independent mobility, they belong here, but just for now, as part of my transient collection.