Somewhere along the line, I started collecting postcards. I didn’t even mean to do it. It just happened. Next thing I know, I had an interesting assortment. Then I completely forgot I had them all, until my Mom recently sent me one from Spain.
No matter how old they are (or aren’t), there’s something strangely timeless, but dated. There’s a history, an authenticity. Little snippets of history and personalities, handled by strangers, sent on airplanes and trucks for a few cents, across timezones. I look at them as a whole, and it feels like a kind of time capsule meets art installation.
So here they are, my postcards, somewhat organized by location, but not much else.
The “Thailand” cards were sent in a package, along with a note (I think), a Balinese Monkey Demon mask, and some nasal spray that all the locals have sticking out of their noses because of the addictive properties contained within.
I’m almost certain at least one of them was given to me from someplace someone visited. As in, “Here, I got this for you, while I was there.” Why they didn’t mail it? Um, because my friends are weird. Almost as weird as the guy who scanned the unwritten side of a postcard and uploaded it to his website.