[gallery columns="4"] Over my lifetime I have accumulated a lot of crap. Ragged cuddly toys I've owned since the beginning of time mold contently at the back of my cupboards; boxes overflowing with scraps of paper-tickets, doodles, letters, certificates gather dust on top of shelves; nick-nacks, torn-up books, photographs I'll never put in frames and bits that have fallen off other bits that I won't throw away just in case they come in useful again adorn every available surface.
I love clutter. I immerse myself in these bits of junk that mean nothing and everything. I collect antique cameras that I never uses, broken watches I'll never repair, and stacks upon stacks of books that I'll probably never read. Why?
I am fascinated by the qualities we project onto our possessions. I'm sure this sounds familiar. Marxist theories of Commodity fetishism have been boggling my mind for a while now, and my interest in human relationships with their material environment has been ongoing since I can remember.
They say that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and I believe this statement applies to personal expression through possession perfectly. That is to say, a single book; a single pen, a lamp or chair would not go far in defining a person's character as a whole. However, when put together, a selection of miscellaneous objects can weave a portrait with their symbolism, their attributed qualities, the roots of their implications.
How do we read a person's possessions? How do we draw conclusions about intangible assets through readings of tangible ones? How do we select what we consume by way of expressing the way we see ourselves, and how accurately do our possessions reflect the truth about us? Are we influenced in our opinions of others through what they own? How can we use objects to construct a narrative around an individual?