Collecting beautiful things is an urge, innate within us. From early childhood, the desire to own things we like the look of is pervasive – grasping, even. Sharing is a developmental milestone that toddlers, with encouragement, can hit around three or four. But far earlier, babies learn the power of ‘mine’, and the satisfaction that comes with it. We might not be sophisticated in our choice of chewed rattle, but we can still bellow outrage should another small person deprive us of it. We know, deep within us, what catches the eye and holds the heart. It used to be thought that in early history, humans were driven by practical requirements. Natural hunter-gatherer nomads, we had – so it was said – little need for ‘stuff’: the trappings of modern lives. Not so, according to recent discoveries in the Kalahari Desert.

In 2021, a team from Griffith University in Australia, came across a set of crystals in an ancient rock shelter. There were 22 – small, white rectangles, carefully coveted and stored by ancient hands 100,000 years ago. They were not made from local stone; they were brought to the site specifically and serve no practical purpose whatsoever. They are, in fact, just pretty. Something in their tactile shape and stark white form sparked an emotional reaction. ‘Mine’, thought that Palaeolithic curator. A third of people in the UK have a collection of something; and others probably collect without realising it – a stack of saved wedding invites; more coffee cups than one family needs; that ball of elastic bands. We collect for myriad reasons.

It could be habit, or completism – every issue of a magazine, every retro toy from a decades-old series. Sometimes it’s loyalty – for a sports team, perhaps, or a band. It might be financial: a hope one day your collection will earn a fortune. Or, it can be pragmatic. Chef Allegra McEvedy collects knives – neat for someone who chops for a living, even if she now has 150. But for a collection that brings true happiness, we must tap into that visceral desire to have and to hold, which struck that ancient traveller rubbing the white calcite fragment between opposable thumb and finger. The best collections move objects beyond the material. Take a shelf and arrange it with beauty – but more than that: with feeling.

We pick different sizes, different ages; bought, found and inherited. We choose easy, neutral shades that create a harmonious, coherent set. Something brought back from travels, something our grandmother gave us, something that just feels very right when we run a hand across it. Curating is a word that belongs in a museum but, unlike a museum, these are objects to be handled: picked up, remembered, smiled over; filled with a bunch of faux peonies, or stacked with pillar candle. And although it’s unlikely that in 100,000 years an enthusiastic archaeologist will find our collections, if they do, we’d hope they’d understand the joy that had been sparked.