| I grew up in a shaky old New England house. If only I could tell you the stories of our ghosts! There was history in that place: antiques resting on the dirt floor in the basement, a staircase to the attic that came loose to reveal all kinds of hidden relics, glass bottles resting in the muck of the river that ran through our yard. We were a family of collectors. We hoarded both memories and treasures. Our treasures were other people’s trash, thrift finds, and things picked up from the side of the road. | 
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Marguerite Keyes
Marguerite Keyes, When will we be young again?…, 2006. Found objects, hair, paint, glue. Courtesy of the artist.
I grew up in a shaky old New England house. If only I could tell you the stories of our ghosts! There was history in that place: antiques resting on the dirt floor in the basement, a staircase to the attic that came loose to reveal all kinds of hidden relics, glass bottles resting in the muck of the river that ran through our yard.
We were a family of collectors. We hoarded both memories and treasures. Our treasures were other people’s trash, thrift finds, and things picked up from the side of the road. The attic was full, as was the barn, and every closet and drawer was a museum or time capsule. In this house, I never ran out of things to be inspired by. And so, like the hereditary disease that it is, I’ve inherited my parents’ need to collect and save everything in sight.
I’m also a collector of ideas. Once I stumble upon a new one, I become a different person. My habits and rhythms change, and I become an ambitious little night owl with a patience that surprises even me.
In my art, I want to remind you of the little things, despite the fact that we are so busy with the big ones. Being thrilled by simple things is in my genes. My dad would sometimes wake us up in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower or to see a snapping turtle that crawled out of the swamp. I want to share these stories with you and hear what you think.
