Ampersand Duck too

Small Collects is what I once wrote on a box of stuff that had either been sent to me over the years or I'd found or bought on travels. This is a subset of infrequent posts that feature my personal collection of ephemera and creative publishing outputs. I'm so excited. A desultory search on AbeBooks for something (I can't even remember what) a few weeks ago, dredged up a catalogue that I may, I thought, or may not have packed in a box somewhere, but it's cheap enough that I should buy it and if it is a double, I can pass it on.  Well. It arrived at my door in the brave-new-world way: a doorbell ring, the parcel dumped on the doorstep and the postie buggering off as fast as possible to avoid contact. A slim but quite large envelope, containing this beauty:  I have seen it before, in my art school's library, but I haven't looked at it since I was a student falling in love with artist books. It's a catalogue for a travelling exhibition in Australia from 1991.

Small Collects is what I once wrote on a box of stuff that had either been sent to me over the years or I'd found or bought on travels. This is a subset of infrequent posts that feature my personal collection of ephemera and creative publishing outputs. Know your ABCs: Another Booklyn Chapbook series Sometimes, as I said a few posts ago, small collects just arrive. When I moved into Flat Life, I downsized and packed things up, and I had a few lovely months of being a minimalist, but stuff accumulates, doesn't it? Especially when you have a pronounced fondness for materiality, like I do. I don't collect clothes, or knick-knacks, I just end up with books and printed things and small non-commercial oddments that catch my eye. If someone likes something as much as I do, I'll sometimes give it to them, trying to practice non-attachment, but I'll often miss keenly the little things that wear out and break: an excellent pencil, a favourite soup spoon. Here's a