Poor Collecting
This dispatch wasn’t initially planned as a dispatch. When I imagined it two years ago I only had a private Instagram account, so I wanted to do this as a sort of “before and after” thing. However two years ago I also had no idea what this “after” would look like, or what substack was, and I especially couldn’t imagine that my imposter syndrome would finally vanish, so I could actually write. To be totally honest, I wasn’t even an art advisor back then.
Through a dozen coincidences I ended up renting an extraordinary apartment (“space” is probably a better word) in North Jaffa. Why is it so extraordinary? Well, where should I start… Maybe with the ground floor, a glass entrance from the street and a six meter ceiling. You can glean the rest from the pictures.
I’ve never considered myself a collector of anything. Obviously, I own a lot of books and shoes, and I am very partial to kaftans and ropes. On the other hand, my genes don't allow me to pass by a beautiful carpet and maintain a steady heart. At some point, I noticed that I started to bring plates from every trip, then I switched to vases, then other ceramics were added to the mix. Looking back, I behaved like most of my clients, believing that I’m not that rich to own a collection. After picking another plate to carry across the globe in my luggage, I argued to my companions that I did this simply out of love for beautiful things. Just like everyone else would do, right?
Only after all my belongings began forming a coherent picture, it became clear that I own an actual collection - something that reflects everything I already know and continue to discover about myself. No longer do I hesitate when buying cheap no-name items, and I feel proud whenever I find a rare thing from Zara (as you’ve read it all here) or a mass-market Seletti and Bittosi.
At the point when I accepted my femininity and stopped hiding my affection for playing dress-up, I decided to make use of all my passionate purchases as art objects.
My family house was always full of people and the table was always ready for at least five guests in addition to our family of ten. No wonder I enjoy inviting people over, setting tables (although I prefer funkier set-ups) and cooking (even though I have to admit that my mom is a much better chef). I buy tableware on every trip, whether it’s at a flea market in Tbilisi, an indigenous ceramic store in Sao Paolo, a popular brand outlet in Milan or a workshop in Paris. I also stole some stuff from my mother’s wedding gift dinnerware set, or rather from what was left of it after my family had been using it. Recently I started paying more attention to glasses and jars - so far I’ve found 24 Moroccan glassworks pieces in a green palette.
An art collection, the one hung up on the walls, is usually based on gifts. In the past I had bought only two artworks - each purchase cost me around 600$, and I committed to them because both of the artists were dear friends of mine who needed some financial support. I’ve started consciously buying artwork for its own merits only a couple of months ago, promising myself to spend my money only on female artists. Below are I Wish For a Trip of Hope, 2024 by Olga Avstreyh next to Fighter, 2024 by Aysha E Arar (both are related to the events of October 7th). Paula Juchem’s Bicho (Pet) came from Brazil. Even though I can’t afford most of the artwork I’d like to have, once you start buying it, there is no escape. Many years ago I also made a hidden Pinterest board called Imaginary Collection - I’ve recently made it public, although it still needs a lot of adjustment.
I’ve also recently become interested in perfume bottles and smells. For many years, I’ve only been using Noir Epices by Frederic Malle. My former colleagues could tell I was nearby just by feeling this smell as it spread through museum halls. There was a whole story behind the purchase of this bottle, and I kept true to that memory for a decade, not once betraying it to wear something else. Nowadays I change my fragrances to fit my mood.
Ever since I’ve stepped into the design field, I started to pay more attention to chairs, and now I drag them into my apartment as well, without any hesitation.
I know that poor collecting might be too provocative of a term, so you can replace the word poor with humble.There are two very nice books about it - Confessions of a Poor Collector by Eugene M. Schwartz and A Poor Collector's Guide to Buying Great Art by Erling Kagge. As soon as you find the courage to look at yourself as an appreciator of any kind of art or craft, you will become much happier for it.
It took me two years to make my place look nice, and if money were not an object, it would have happened faster - however, I doubt it would have brought as much satisfaction. Meanwhile, I watched Bodkin (it does its job), and currently I plan to visit VERNER PopUp at The George.
I hope this dispatch inspires you to start looking at art not just as an object, but as a life companion.
Enjoy the weekend!
Yours,
Miri