Stamps, coins, teddy bears – people collect lots of different things, but what does a collection say about the collector, and at what point does your hobby become an obsession, asks CIAN TRAYNOR
WHEN THE all-consuming quest of a collector involves an object so unattainable that it’s spoken of as a “holy grail”, everyday hobbies can seem half-hearted by comparison.
Just as Jacques Guérin’s developed an obsession with French novelist Marcel Proust, the collection has a way of defining the collector.Guérin was a Parisian perfume maker and book collector who, by chance, was treated for an illness by Dr Robert Proust in 1929. When Guérin popped by one night to thank him, he caught sight of a bookcase filled with the complete handwritten works of the doctors brother, Marcel Proust, then a celebrated literary figure, seven years after his death.
The experience left such an impression on Guérin that he began befriending and interrogating anyone connected with the late writer, gate-crashing funerals in the hope of collecting memorabilia.
Acquiring the bed Proust slept in from the age of 16 until his death wasn't enough. For Guérin, the ultimate prize was the coat Proust wrapped himself in for years. Today that fanatical pursuit is what Guérin is remembered for, committed to history in a new book entitled Proust's Overcoat.
As the son of a music collector, I think there’s something familiar about that level of dedication. The sight of countless records in our living room caused one man to regularly slip song requests through the letterbox, mistaking our house for a local radio station. Blues, jazz, rock, classical, folk, reggae, soul – it was always there, towering above us in alphabetical order.
As a child, my bedroom walls were tiled, floor to ceiling, with cassettes. This seemed perfectly normal to me but not so for my mother, who felt the collection was taking over the entire house. Even when the daily intake of music necessitated a move, the new house filled up quickly. To this day, she rues the arrival of CDs in the 1980s.
Yet whereas Jacques Guérin was a shrewd investor, my father is content with the hunt. Before record shops began disappearing, he’d spend every lunch break hitting two or three, working a different beat each time. His rate of accumulation has since slowed to just over a dozen albums per week, but even still, there couldn’t possibly be enough time to listen to everything – a point he is reluctant to concede.
“It’s not about the size of the collection,” he says. “It’s about the journey of discovery. Every time I go out, I want to come back with something new. I recognise that I’m compulsive about collecting but I can’t imagine being without that comfort. It’s life-affirming. Why wouldn’t you want that?”
Sitting forebodingly on Seán Curtis’s driveway in Maddenstown, Co Kildare, is the centrepiece of a far more imposing collection. It’s the tank his wife Elaine bought him for Christmas – one of two in his possession. “Military vehicles are like tattoos,” he explains. “When you get one, you have to get another.”
Unlike my father, Curtis’s passion proved irresistible to his wife.
She has four military vehicles of her own (he has seven), including a 16-tonne personnel carrier. They formed the Irish Military Vehicles Group together seven years ago, pooling a fleet of 60 army motors and warranting an invitation from President Obama to attend the 60th anniversary of D-Day. Even if others don’t understand his fascination, Curtis says being the only person to win the two most important international prizes for military restoration makes it feel worthwhile.
“You have to have money to be eccentric. I’m just mad,” he says. “My therapy is being in a shed with a welder every weekend and turning scrap into a prize-winning vehicle. I don’t drink or smoke; I just put my disposable income into this. I wish it was because I was an egomaniac – I could be like Dr Evil [from the Austin Powers movies]. But as I always tell people, we’re just taking care of these vehicles for the next generation.”
Preserving the history of the Defence Forces, which Curtis served in for 20 years, is his main motivation. Though when pushed, he won’t deny that the sight of a tank in his driveway is an expression of who he is. “Even though I’ve been a civilian for 10 years now, I still see myself as a soldier. I’m proud of that time and this is my tribute to it.”
On the other end of the spectrum is Ireland’s largest collection of teddy bears. When Anke Morgenroth moved from Hamburg to Cavan with her husband 26 years ago, the German tradition of passing teddies through generations inspired her to open Bear Essentials, a mohair teddy bear workshop where people can learn about “teddy bear history”. Since they’re often the first gift we receive in life and the one we’re most likely to keep as we get older, bears hold a deep significance for Morgenroth.
“It’s such a personal thing because often the bear is standing in for another person,” she says. “In my last class, people talked to their bears or would get funny if you tried to put it in a plastic bag because they think the bear can’t breathe. Even when couples are here together, one will think the other is crazy but they’ll buy it for them anyway.”
As a collector herself, Morgenroth can empathise – it’s the reason she also runs a teddy bear hospital. “I get people driving across the country just to leave the bear here personally and I have to assure them I have a trustworthy courier I can send it back with. It’s nice when you know the back-story, though; it can be quite emotional. There’s a connection there that has lasted years and, hopefully, will last for years to come.”
Not everyone sees it that way. Daniel Miller, author of The Comfort of Things, says possessions are among the most important sets of relationships people have and are essential in understanding others and allowing people to understand themselves. But it’s the desire to bequeath those belongings he finds naive.
“We like to celebrate the collection that became a museum but in practise, that rarely happens,” he says. “The untold story is that most collections will be disregarded. People down the chain won’t have the same personal links we do. So when we legitimate our collections as something for future generations rather than recognising it as something we do more for ourselves, it becomes a problem. As people get older, they have to face the reality that nobody wants to cherish their belongings.”
Given that bequeathing is what these collectors have in common, it’s a sobering perspective. In defence of the the younger generation, however, there’s something to be said for following in those fanatical footsteps.
If I were to inherit that impeccably archived music collection one day, it would be a privilege rather than a burden, since the passion behind it is what propelled me towards music journalism. Considering Seán Curtis’s daughter drives her own military jeep and that Anke Morgenroth’s children have been crucial in supporting her teddy bear business, there could be hope for the second-generation collections yet.
Proust’s Overcoat by Lorenza Foschini is published by Portobello Books, €13.20.
The Irish Military Vehicles Group are exhibiting at Toys 4 Big Boys this week at the RDS, Dublin. See imvg.ie
You collect what?
The names for collectors are as varied as the items they collect. Here are a few:
Archtophilist: a collector of teddy bears
Copoclephilist: a collector of key-rings
Deltiologist: a collector of postcards
Tegestologist: a collector of beer mats
Numismatist: a collector of coins
Plangonologist: a collector of dolls
Philatelist: a collector of stamps
Spermologer: a collector of trivia
Machirologist: a collector of knives
Rabdophilist: a collector of walking sticks
