A collected piece

Collections often begin without much intention—that’s usually what makes them feel right.

You come across something that draws you in. It might be the color, the texture, or a sense of history.

I found my first old oil painting more than twenty years ago in a small consignment shop. It’s from 1957 and depicts a quiet seaport village. Something about it stayed with me, and it still hangs above my bed.

Since then, I’ve kept an eye out for paintings like it. Flea markets, antique shops, small storefronts. I once found one on the street in Paris for forty dollars—a matador and bull in its original frame, the red of the cape still vivid.

Collections don’t have to be expensive. For me, the interest is in finding pieces that feel meaningful, even if the artist is unknown. Over time, they begin to shape the feeling of a home.