I Don't Collect These

Yesterday, I was flipping through the red lunch box of paper ephemera and came across an unopened envelope. I carefully used my letter opener, anticipating a last letter, something special to craft a story around. Instead, I found an advertisement for a clothing sale — junk mail from the 1940s, beautifully printed on nice paper with a handwritten address, but still junk mail. How cool. Some things never change. We still know when things are junk mail and don't bother opening them. Companies print handwritten addresses on unmarked envelopes to trick us into opening the mail, only to find an advertisement.

It was this that got me thinking about what I collect and what I refuse to collect. For example, I refuse to collect vintage tobacco tins, especially those blue ones — Edgeworth, I think that's the brand. (I know it is.) You know the ones — they come in endless sizes, from tiny ones that must have only fit a single serving to the large ones that would have kept a gentleman in fine fashion for a month. The blue is such a lovely shade, and the typography and graphic design of the case are wonderful. Plus, the attached lids mean they haven't been lost. Sure, some of them are worn, dented, or rusty, but since I'm not collecting them, it doesn't matter. They're functional, not decorative — at least that was the intent. I think that's why I like them. And somehow, so many of these were saved because the design was so good. I only have two Edgeworth containers. Is that a collection?

The question isn’t how many items make a collection. It’s why certain things are saved– a letter, a tobacco tin. The answer is usually that someone made it well, created it thoughtfully. This is something that I think of when I’m working: what it means to make something that holds up, that someone wants to collect and treasure.