It is no secret that we live in a culture that is dominated by accumulation. We live in an anabolic society that promotes not only growth, but collection. My own preoccupation with accumulation originated with a series of illustrations that I found from pre-school. I remember an obsession with drawing women that I deemed “cool,” accessorized and dressed to the nines, and each had to possess a purse, so that they could carry their requisite belongings with them. The purse was a non-negotiable, for how else could these fictional women get through their days without carrying all of their necessities with them? I recall adding handbags to my drawings somewhat feverishly. But a preoccupation with possession is also not unique to me.

I’ve begun creating a zine dedicated to accumulations–both curated and discovered. An accumulation can consist of a single carton of raspberries at Riverwards or the conglomerate raspberry, blueberry, and blackberry carton kit and caboodle. An accumulation is by definition a mass or quantity of something that has gradually gathered or been acquired. Even art can bring accumulation into play–William Eggleston’s diner series features accumulations of banal beverages and fare photographed in clusters that leave viewers wondering whether they were arranged naturally or were found just so. And then there is Yayoi Kusama’s Accumulation No. 1, an armchair coated in innumerable stuffed phalli.

Some might consider accumulation to be another word for collection. Since high school, I have considered myself a collector. Some collect sea glass, feathers, four-leaf clovers, holy things, but not me–in other words, I like to shop. Sure, I’ve saved petals from prom boutonnieres and tiny, volcanic flowers from the top of Mt. Etna, but the majority of what I’ve collected (read: purchased) have been stickers, to decorate said petals and flowers and any other number of diary entries. To stave off boredom in my high school World Religions class, I became obsessed with ordering stickers from Etsy, and then fell into the vintage sticker trap, which included purchasing so-called limited edition stickers from brands like Sanrio and Lisa Frank. I have saved these accumulations in the vain hope that they will someday appreciate in value–although I know it’s unlikely. 

The other aspect of accumulation that I have taken great pleasure in is in creating tiny dioramas (think those tiny Polly Pocket worlds, where everything was so joyfully self-contained). I have created a mini scene like the one that you see pictured here. I’d like to say that I had previously possessed the accumulation of items photographed, but I purchased a few quarter yards of fabric, along with a pink 99-cent votive to embellish the otherwise childlike scene. I purchased or was gifted the majority of the blind box babies that usually hang above my desk on acrylic shelves, smiling down at me eerily.

I found this particular cultivated world, or accumulation, to be colorful in an almost clown-like way and thus had to push the saturation down in these Kodak UltraMax 35mm photos. By manipulating the colorscape of these images, I am able to control the aesthetic of my accumulation. As I continue to research for my zine, I’ve come to realize that accumulation is largely about control (duh) and consumption (double duh), which are both pinnacles of our late-stage capitalist world. Nevertheless, this tiny, cultivated world evokes within me a childlike sensibility that just makes me happy.