The Art of Holding Places
“What kind of traveller are you?”. This question often comes up at the coffee table. The first time I was asked, I pondered about the type of response this question might solicit. Words such as shopper, explorer, thrill-seeker, escapist, backpacker, nature-enthusiast came to mind – none of which I could readily identify with. After reflecting upon my past travels and rituals, I arrived at an answer – a collector.
As a traveller, I enjoy collecting. My last bout of loot consists of a coffee cup sleeve from a memorable sip on the trip, a handwritten ‘merry christmas’ note on a luggage tag from an airline, an assortment of pressed leaves from the grounds of a shrine, amongst folders and folders of photographs, videos and sound recordings. However, with each travel, one collectible is constant regardless of the destination – magnets.
At times incidental and at times intentional, this search or act of stumbling upon ‘a piece of the destination’ has always been a part of my quest. I collect magnets not for their light-weight as souvenirs, but for their weightlessness – for their ability to carry a blend of memories, sights and place – the infinite – in the palm of a hand.
A miniature log fashioned to look like a little seabed with a scoop of sand from a particular beach, little resin sculptures of our favourite Korean dishes, a Van Gogh favourite that I can enjoy anytime, a miniature paper lantern that conjures the scene of Osaka’s drinking allies after nightfall… The magnets I have amassed over the years have unknowingly created a dissonant but beautiful visual narrative of my travels, unique only to those who have shared these memories with me. Each magnet tells a story of a moment in time, of cultures we’ve experienced, of the flavours we have tasted and of the scenes we’ve encountered.
When we return, these tiny canvases painted with the colours of elsewhere become a gallery of moments on our fridge – fragments of the world we can hold onto, and one of wanderlust that we can revisit again and again, without leaving home.
Text and images by ANATOMY OF THINGS