There is a particular type of pleasure from coming across and finding something you weren’t looking for or expecting. It might be something small for your home, a notebook that makes you want to express your thoughts on paper, a print that changes the feeling of a wall, or an oddly intriguing piece you can’t quite explain the appeal of. The best discoveries rarely begin with a list. They begin with curiosity, and sometimes, a feeling that an object has somehow found you.
Usually, when we are looking for something we want, need, or looking to gift, there is already a partially or fully formed idea in our mind of what that object is and where to find it. Either in the real world or online, we search, looking for that specific item.
The internet is exceptionally good at helping us find the thing we already know we want. This, of course, has its useful place. However, it’s less good at the quieter pleasure of finding the thing we did not yet know to look for. This also narrows the field before we have given ourselves the opportunity to be surprised, to find something new.
Discovery is not the same as randomness
A good discovery is not simply something unexpected. It’s an object that creates a small moment of recognition, of connection. Maybe the proportions are right, perhaps the material catches the light just the right way, or it could be because the object is familiar enough to understood but different enough to make you pause. The appeal can be practical, visual, tactile or emotional, and often it is a mixture of several things that cannot be reduced to one succinct motivation.
This is where curation becomes interesting. Curation is not the same as collecting everything that could be considered unique or unusual. It is a process of noticing, examining, editing, refinement, making connections, saying “no” many times over, and only then, selection.
A carefully chosen collection can place objects beside one another that would be unlikely to meet in an other ordinary category or situation. Think of a elegant vase alongside a letterpress print, a coral inspired organiser beside a small architectural paper model, a candle holder that looks as though it belongs in a gallery but is perfectly happy on a dinner table, either as a focal piece or subtly providing a warm candle light glow as an accompaniment.
The objects we keep are rarely only functional
Take a moment to reflect on the things that remain around you for years. A favourite mug or spoon, a tray inherited from a relative, a card pinned above a your desk, a small keepsake or piece of art found on a trip. Usefulness matters, but it is rarely the whole story behind many pieces in our homes. These objects collect memories, which turns into meaning, as we live with them.
A vase can become the vase from the first dinner in a new home, a notebook can contain the beginning of your next great idea, a hand pressed wood print can remind you of a person, a place or simply a period in your life. An object does not have to arrive with meaning attached to it. Often meaning is something that grows with time, and attachment we give each piece comes later as they become part of our space.
Taste develops through encounters
Taste is often described as something static or one dimensional: minimalist, colourful, classical, or contemporary, as though it were a fixed personal trait rather than a something unique, individualistic, or evolving. In reality, it can be much more porous. When we meet new people, find a material we have never considered, see a shape used in an unexpected way, visit a museum or gallery, notice a shop window, or encounter an artist whose work changes our perspective in what we look for, our preferences shift and transform as our reference points expand.
This is why discovery matters. A collection of objects can act akin to a personal visual vocabulary. The more things we encounter, the more precisely we can say, even if only privately, why something feels right, which in many cases will manifest more as a gut feeling rather than in a rational statement of words. We begin to notice the difference between an object that is merely fashionable, and one that you would still be pleased to see many years into the future.
Leave room for the unexpected
There is a lesson that can be learnt for all of us in this… try not to preempt every decision before you make it. Leave a little room for the design, the artwork, the object to interrupt the plan and insert itself when given the opportunity. A bookshelf can be nearly finished without being perfectly appointed, a desk can be organised without becoming visually silent, and a gift can be chosen because it reflects someone's curiosity rather than because it is in a prescribed “gifts for…” category.
At just moss, this is the spirit behind the idea of find what finds you. It’s not about being an instruction to insert meaning onto an object, or even that every beautiful piece needs a grand story. It is much more of an invitation to notice, to let the eye and mind perambulate, to give an unusual shape, material, or craft and artistry used in a unique way a little more time than the what the search results might ordinarily allow when what you want to find has already been predetermined before the search began. This is why we make room for you to discover and find that which finds you.
Perhaps that is what a good collection of objects and pieces should do. Not to tell you what to like, but to make it easier to encounter something you might like. The most memorable object in a room is often not the one you searched for, it will have more meaning than that. They are the one’s that arrived unexpectedly, and somehow, stayed.
