You should have seen me when I snuck over to Sunday Scribblings to check the weekly prompt … a smile instantly broke out on my dial. The prompt "Collector Personality" couldn't have been more me ... crikey, collector extraordinaire, I am your ultimate collector. Out with the old and in with the older has been my motto as precious curios, lavish articles, bountiful beauty surrounds me ... but times up, turning the stash into cash is the 'G O' now!
Previously, collecting people had been my obsession. Loathing being alone my phone rang hot, decisions about which invitation to accept were paramount. Noses were frequently out of joint when entertaining and matching people was part of the game. Hilarity, blame, egos, drama, addiction, flight or fight episodes, outrageouse daring exploits, accommodating the excesses of people were integral. Collecting people was perfect. My yearning for approval and acceptance was satisfied. They motivated me to aim high in business, to succeed … this style of collecting was unique, made me popular and added another intrigue to the quirky me.
During that time, around twenty years ago I received a snow dome as a fun souvenir gift. No-one collected these gems at the time and consequently a myriad of the them from numerous parts of the globe became mine. For me material possessions were unneccessary, disposable, yet these fun unusual souvenirs added a kooky trait to me.
Thirteen years ago a new life chapter commenced. A writing and studying sabbatical prompted me to become a bibliophile. Paper replaced people. Collecting knowledge was foremost. I was peopled out. Tired from what went with the human experience I shut the shop I was over it. I sought to uncover the real me, the reasons. Then six years ago, the creative me was unleashed. The elation, the gasping at the sight and touch of a creative, artistic book, luscious fabric, gorgeous beads and embellishments was a breathtaking joy. Creating beautiful objects provided the inner peace I’d sought.
But this collecting has gone too far, there’s way too much stuff, it’s time to purge. Keepers will be the snow domes, selected vintage fabric, threads, fine antique lace, Marcella linen and antique doyleys. Never mind the accumulated forty powder compacts, the stunning pique work tortoiseshell and art deco jewellery, old watches, poker work, timber boxes as well as the most unique button and belt buckle collection ever … they're all staying. The thrill of the the chase the palpitations when uncovering an elusive object is integral, better than sex.
Memories of a twelve year old being sent to live with grandmother for three years with no personal possessions reminds me of whom I have become. This dormant experience enhances, since nesting, my collector. The desire to own and possess special, gorgeous, tactile things stems from this indelible time. Decades of believing people were the key to happiness are long gone as is the notion that material possessions are disposable. The gorgeous things I surround myself with now don’t argue, want, or expect anything. My collector personality is at last contentedly peaceful. I am me.