I guess I liked mathematical progressions...Series of numbers, conceivably unlimited, can give a sense of order, coherence, a sense of sense (in 'A weird tale with a dog at midnight', the main, autistic character, believed prime numbers are just like life. I sometimes agree. Can't really explain why). I randomly collect, into series of (still) countable objects:
- first of March tokens ('martisoare'). Symbolic, often handmade, tiny objects surrounded by red and white ribbons. Especially supposedly good luck charms, such as horseshoes, chimney sweepers, four leaves clovers.
- naive postcards from foreign cities, preferably irrepresentative or vintage, of the actual place. I'm mostly proud of my Prague collection, exhibited around the arch in my room. Bruges is also promising.
- quotes from books. Those that say not something I already know but never put into my own words. Or witty anecdotes of otherwise rather criptic views. Sometimes even lines from movies or song lyrics. I actually write them down. Can't let them go.
- bookmarks from art museums. They're usually the only souvenir I can afford. I take the Mucha 'Dance' bookmark to every book.
- any object in shape of or containing a clef. It doesn't get any more elegant than the clef, or, in general, musical notes. I therefore own a decorative silver cliff, notes on pins, earrings, bags. I'm personally attached to a Polish scarf by which one could play Chopin. Unrelated to this, the cat is also elegant and has potential to become the theme of a new collection.
- chemical formulae of drug substances.
- donkey toys.
- stripped pyjamas.
- shells of avocado. Perfect candle holders.
- concert tickets. I was there.
- dresses I can't really see the occasion in which I could wear. Glam shoes to go with. 'Cause hopefully...
I don't really care what Baudrillard's object semiotics would say about this.
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