….is a constant desire I live and long for. Be it vintage perfumes and whiskey decanters. Or antique jewellery and Venetian masks, I am a collector – when time, space….and my purse afford it. It’s now something of a tradition, to visit brocantes markets and obscure antiquarian bookshops wherever my travels take me. Perhaps any obscure shop will do, as long as they present pretty little things. These mementos offer me not only pleasure for the eye, but the conjuring of memories and dreams. Sometimes they even act as a guide to my life(long) goals and desires. One of these collections I tend to are old prints. Often with dented frames and sun faded paper. But it’s these imperfections which makes them all the more beautiful and desirable.

I took them out the other day, placing them on the floor, rearranging them to a pattern that pleased my eyes. And there I stood, dreaming for a moment, imagining the people that once laid eyes on the very same prints. Purchasing them for a week’s wage, eventually leaving them in trusted custody of their children and grandchildren. Because these forefathers were not so different to their contemporaries. They harboured the same hopes and dreams as we do. And I am sure, pretty little things sustained their desires much the same.


prints from past trips

a silent moment contemplating their journeys