“something (such as a decorative object) considered novel, rare, or bizarre“

Look online for ‘curio’ and you’ll be drowned in ditsy little wooden cabinets with a smattering of cut glass flutes and white porcelain gravy boats. Are you fucking kidding me?

The word curio comes from curiosity of course – around 1640 you’d have a curiosity collection in your Kunstkabinett or Wonder Room. That would be an entire room in a house dedicated to objects that defied categorization. Outjects that a learned person might sort into God’s practical jokes. This is well before the science of museology and holds dark ambitions – there are more things in heaven and earth – as said Hamlet.

I must admit my collection is not about organisation – quite the opposite. I intend that the reality of each object is overwhelmed by my hoarding and their arrangement. I know what the curio is supposed to be, but prefer to overcome that with layers of magic/bullshit. For me – museology is not innocent of politics and power, it (and the world fairs) are about confining the common man – but that’s a topic for another time.

My cabinet.

I work within a room of stuff. Some of it inheritance such as a variety of wooden ‘witch doctor’ masks from around the world that represent early attempts at psychiatry. A doctor needs a mask as they act on behalf of greater powers. There are toys, because toys are often liberated from common sense and the best are inspirational. There are recent artworks such as the produce of Meow Wolf’s Omega Mart in Las Vegas. Skulls, lots of skulls, some with lights in them. Cuddly plush cows with two heads or a dog with one eye – but not taxidermy. A robot cat. Tiki mugs. Artificial jellyfish.

Taxidermy is too often the go-to for ‘oddities’. So much taxidermy gets displayed at curio exhibitions that I’ve normalised it and no longer see anything particularly interesting about some mangled chicken bones. Once I scored a two headed baby skeleton (thankfully not real) it’s time for other things to have their say.

When you build a Kunstkabinett you have a machine that operates in two directions – it could lead to science (clarity), or it could lead to mysticism (obscurity). But if you have any respect for science you leave it to the professionals and belly flop into the other.

Books.

I inherited a large number of unusual texts. I’m not fully sure what my parents were looking for. One book is a history of demonic possession which (for complex reasons) I now believe to be the pre-history of borderline personality disorder. There’s also a very complex picture textbook for summoning up spirits from which I stole images for the Explosive New Movie video.

A wonderful art-paper collection of the ‘art of the insane’ sponsored by some drug company in the 1960s. A detailed history of poltergeists (and young women). A history of astrology. And so on. To which I’ve added more of the same… but also a theory textbook for the design of theme parks. A personal history of Coney Island. A biography of John Dee. A Sourcebook of the Unfathomed Mind. A facsimile of the Voynich manuscript. And so on.

Looking around bookshops these days you’re lucky to find an esoteric section let alone an outlier text. I’m sure it’s possible in London or New York but that will have to come some future trip.

Inspiration.

The point of it is this: to insinuate structures where they may not exist. To allow magical thinking where, like the Comte de Lautréamont you find things, ‘beautiful as the accidental encounter, on a dissecting table, of a sewing machine and an umbrella’.

Actually it’s Dali that best explains it (a man much smarter than was assumed). His Paranoid-Critical method involving:

A. Allow all connections to occur in the mind. Everything has irrational meaning, everything is entwined with everything else, leave nothing out, be suspicious.

B. Form doubts. Critique the work, carve it into a final form. Be methodical.

It is difficult to truly open your mind to all and every coincidence that can be applied to a work. Living in an environment where you are surrounded by accidental encounters is a great help. Place two or three objects together. They are family. Then divorce them, angrily blaming each other.