Collected Moments

I travel quite often—for work, and for pleasure. And every time I travel, I collect things.

Not just the things you buy on purpose, but the small, ordinary pieces of a place: a bus ticket, a tram pass, a museum stub, a receipt from a tiny local shop. Sometimes it’s an artwork bought from a street artist. Sometimes it’s something as simple as the wrapping paper from a local candy or chocolate bar. If it catches my eye, I keep it.

As I collect these fragments, ideas begin to form. I start imagining how they might live in my home—how a simple piece of paper could become an artwork. Sometimes the object is displayed just as it is. Other times, I add my own touch—working into it, layering, altering it—until it becomes something entirely my own.

Once these ordinary objects are placed in a frame or arranged with intention, something changes. They turn into one-of-a-kind pieces, quietly holding my travel memories. Whenever I look at them, I’m taken back to that moment—that street, that afternoon, that feeling.

I love this process of transforming the everyday into something meaningful. But I only do it when there’s a story worth holding onto—one I want to remember, and one I want to bring out again and again, like a conversation waiting to be retold.

And as I move from one home to another, those artworks change with me. Sometimes the frame changes. Sometimes the way they are displayed shifts, shaped by the new style of the space around them. Each home has a strong concept of its own, and the artworks respond to that.

Some pieces find their place again, reappearing in a new context. Others are carefully stored away, waiting for the right moment and the right home to return. Over time, the collection quietly grows—layered with stories, memories, and places gathered along the way.

Together, they turn my home into something more than a living space. It becomes a visual form of storytelling, where every wall, every frame, and every object holds a memory—my life, told through space.