The Collector

Day 12 – 1:32 AM (Guest Quarters)

They call him Bosh. He is of monk lineage, but something of an anomaly in the Shaolin tradition: he has dedicated his life to collecting things. I had to meet this character and today was the day we had arranged for it.

I took The Picasso about 10 blocks up from my studio, then followed some easy directions on foot to Bosh’s base of operations, the The Octopillar Flats. They said I couldn’t miss it. They were right. It was an awkward-shaped, hard-edged mess of smooth green limestone, topped with layers of burnt-orange granite shingles. It looked to be a single-story building, but took up the better part of an entire block, making this one of the more enthralling structures that I had seen in Zentauria so far.

As I stepped inside the building, Bosh was standing in the reception area, wearing a flowing robe that was three different hues of blue. His head was shaved and he looked to have a bit more Asian in him than the average Zentaurian…which would explain the Shaolin bloodline. He had just celebrated his 99th birthday the week before and, as I had come to expect, looked a solid three decades younger than his age.

“Hello, Bobby Rock,” he said, moving in for a hug.

“Nice to meet you, sir. And happy belated birthday. Your last year in double digits, huh?”

“Yes,” he said with a laugh. “I can feel that mid-life crisis coming on already!”

Bosh suggested that we begin in his office area, so I could get an idea of what they do there, and then spend a little time at a few of the exhibits afterward. I said that it sounded like a plan, and then followed him to the back.

The inside of this place was as bizarre as the outside, with its maze-like procession of angled walls, short hallways, and various-sized doorways. There were illuminated showcases filled with assorted collectibles at almost every turn, with more items artistically displayed on certain walls. It felt like we were walking through a dozen mini museums that had all been randomly attached to each other in illogical and asymmetrical ways. And yet, it was absolutely exhilarating just to walk through this place, because every 10 to 20 steps we were passing into some other wondrous new world of color, texture and lighting.

Finally, we went through a Medieval-looking door and into his business space. It was a large, open room, with a distinctly meditative vibe. The walls were painted abstractly in rich golds and burgundies, and the floors were a pitch black carpeted abyss with coral dots that glowed like stars. Candles burned around the room and a handful of lamps, all with deep blue lights, added to the calm ambience. And then you had six workstations, each enclosed in octangular shaped plexiglass, and lit up like lunar pods with a strong overhead white light. They all seemed to have the requisite desk, computer, phone, and file cabinets, manned by a diverse group of men and women, clearly lost in their work.

“This is our team, Bobby,” Bosh said. “Every day is like an Indiana Jones movie around here.”

He explained how he’s involved with almost every facet of collecting, from building a variety of personal collections, to consulting, to buying and selling items internationally, to managing other people’s collections, to organizing a revolving door of exhibits there at the Flats and elsewhere around Zantauria, to even arranging for the video documentation of certain collections.

“So all of these people here are handling any number of these various things right now?” I asked.

“Precisely. Each of my apprentices here has a very detailed, time-sensitive agenda of activities each day, because we’re dealing with international time zones. That’s why we have day and night shifts, so we can be in on key auctions and contact the right people at the optimal time. It’s as much a science as an art, my friend.”

“So like right now, that guy over there could be arranging to purchase something?” I said, pointing to a random pod.

“That’s Boko. He’s working on several things today. He’s looking to acquire a few key pieces of art from an estate sale in Amsterdam, dealing with a private collector in New York who has some rare coins we’re interested in, and talking with an archeologist in Kenya about some specific items we would like for one of our museums here.”

“You know exactly what everyone here is working on?”

“Yes. We have several progress report meetings throughout the day and decide how to best prioritize our activities on an hour-to-hour basis.”

He then led me to his desk in the back of the room and had me sit in a chair next to him in front of two large screen computer monitors. For the next 30 minutes, he pulled up a number of pictures and video clips that detailed many of his key collections through the years: stamps, currency, sports memorabilia, automobiles, musical instruments, fountain pens, LP records of various artists or genres, silverware, timepieces, books of all kinds, European Christmas ornaments, international newspapers featuring key world events, and on and on it went. And this is to say nothing of the diverse portfolios of art, from paintings and pencil sketches to sculptures and origami, all from artists on seven continents. Best of all were some of the stories and anecdotes behind the items and how they were acquired. This 99-year old man had the unbridled enthusiasm of a young kid showing me his baseball card collection.

“Mindblowing, Bosh,” I said, shaking my head. “Really…I had no idea there was so much involved, or even this level of global interest in so many of these things. What is it about the art of collecting that you find so alluring?”

“So many things, Bobby. First of all, every single object of a collection has an aura, a history, and perhaps most importantly, a personal story. Every item, large or small, represents the intersection of a number of people, from a particular place, at a specific time, living under certain conditions. It is a material documentation of the life experience, through a special catalyst, not unlike a time capsule. Now, consider that many of these objects may emanate a rare beauty, represent the divinely expressive nature of their creator, or glow with the richness of sentiment from a previous handler. Then when you put them all together in a collection, you have a magnification of all these precious elements, documented in a sort of three-dimensional archive.

“Additionally,” Bosh continued, “consider the sheer diversity of it all. Every collection is totally different. Each one has a different feel, involves a different cast of characters, and will often require a different set of protocols in the acquisition or negotiation process. That’s why no two days are the same around here, and I’ve been doing this for over seven decades now.”

“Okay,” I said, “so as a dumb-ass outsider coming in here with my preconceived notions, I have to ask the obvious: Given the common cultural precedent that we all know about monks regarding non-attachment and living with few possessions, how did you wind up in the collecting business?”

“Well, I think we're still talking about the same dichotomy we all have to deal with: having something that you love and trying to avoid attachment to it. Collecting is an art form like any other. Artistically, there’s passion, practice, process, and a continually redefined series of objectives that you’re working toward. Spiritually, however, we have to keep our attachment to outcome at bay and to abandon any sense of coveting. So for me, this life has been an incredible opportunity to practice these higher principles because, everyday, we passionately pursue very specific outcomes, and live with the constant lure of coveting the objects we acquire. I’ve always seen this challenge as a game; how engrossed in the process can you remain, without allowing the process itself to take you over?”

“Sounds tough. How do you know if you’re winning the game?”

“Because at any given moment, I should be able to either sell a collection and/or discontinue my work with one. And this is exactly what I’ve continued to do through the decades. I’ve had collections that I worked on for five, ten, even 20 or more years. And then I just wake up one day and decide that it’s time to move on. So I’ll either place the whole collection or, when appropriate, break it up among various museums or collectors.”

“I gotta tell you, it sounds pretty damn painful to suddenly abandon something that you’ve worked so hard acquiring. I don’t know how you do it. Don’t you feel like you’re giving a part of yourself away?”

“No. There is a sanctity in this whole process and in many of the objects themselves. But again, the real value in every item you collect is in what it represents – the people, the geography, the historical context, the hours of devotion and expertise often involved in its creation, the sentimental value, and so forth. To this extent, the item becomes a symbol of these priceless elements; a symbol of these rich storylines. And once you have an awareness of this ‘unseen’ history, there’s really no need to covet these items because you’ve already assimilated their deeper meaning.

“Also, I have to say that ending a collection is one of the most joyful parts of the process for me for two reasons. First, because it brings the same great joy to the collector or collectors who receive the pieces, just as it did to us when we received them. And second, because to release something is to ceremoniously become liberated from it. And, as you just alluded to, we monks are all about liberation!”

“And how about some of your ‘lesser evolved’ apprentices here?” I asked. “I’ve gotta imagine that some of these folks hate to see certain collections disbursed or discontinued, given their tremendous personal investment in the acquisition process.”

“At times, sure. But we always remind each other that, at the end of the day, these things we collect are just possessions. And our motto around here has always been; ‘Possess your possessions, don’t let your possessions possess you.’

“And I suppose that painting over there is another reminder, right?” I said, pointing to a large, prominently displayed oil-on-canvas of a hearse pulling a U-Haul trailer, as it leads a funeral motorcade through a cemetery.

“Correct!” Bosh said with a big smile. “As that old saying goes, you can’t take any of your belongings with you.”

We sat quietly for a moment as I really tried to digest all that he had just told me. I was looking at photos of the last collection he had shown me on the computer screen, which was a rare, 5th century book collection of Chinese poetry. This made me think of all the titles I keep around back home.

“Not to belabor this issue,” I continued, “but all of this discussion has really made me think about some of my own possessions. You might say I am an informal collector of books…well, more of an accumulator, I suppose. I probably have 1500 of them lining the walls of my LA sanctuary. I’m not sure how to say this, but I love being in their presence, whether I’ve read every page of them all or not. Almost like the few pieces of art I have in there, these books emanate something, and I find it extremely stimulating just to be in the same room with them. The more, the better. They’ve become an integral part of the unique ambience there…of what is so inspiring about just sitting at my desk. They’re like an audience of wise old friends. Does any of this make sense?”

“Sure, it does. I think that’s the feeling many people share about their collections, myself included. It’s joyous!”

“Is it wrong that the concept of detaching from my collection and trying to write or practice in a room devoid of books is a severely depressing notion for me?”

“If you’re asking for my perspective, I would say there’s no right or wrong in any of this. And there’s certainly no across-the-board spiritual directive that would say you have to go through the physical act of ridding yourself of something to experience the enlightening liberation of detachment. Right now, those books seem to be serving you. I would say, keep them around until they no longer do.”

“And how will I know when that is?”

“You’ll know when or if that happens the same way you know anything else. You pay attention. You go into the silence. You allow each new moment to be the potential for rebirth or reinvention that it is. And if that moment comes, you’ll feel it, and my guess is that you will shed those books like a viper sheds his skin. But again, only if you feel it.”

“Right on.”

We got up and walked back over toward the front of the room, where there were two well-lit display cases, each with its own collection. One had three rows of ancient gold rings, the other featured a series of crazy-looking, hand-carved tobacco pipes, each displayed like a museum piece.

“So you really do see this as an art form, don’t you?” I asked

“Absolutely. A great collection does what all great art does; it raises the vibration. Everyday, we know that as people enjoy one of our collections either here in Zentauria or somewhere else in the world where we’ve played a part in putting one together, it is raising their vibration and bringing them joy just to experience it. This is why the exhibits are such an important part of the process. The collecting of the objects is kind of like creating the painting, but the exhibiting is where you allow the public to actually experience it. If we just kept these collections stored away in some vault and only pulled them out on occasion for our own perusal, I think we would be missing out on a big part of the fun.”

“Do you think your spiritual background as a monk has ultimately helped or hindered you as a world-class collector?”

“I’ve always felt like it was a tremendous advantage, because if we’re talking about the actual science of collecting, non-attachment is one of your greatest tools. This is because timing is a crucial part of the process, and you have to be willing to sell or trade – in a moment’s notice – for the greater good of a collection. I’ve seen countless opportunities pass others by because they had some extreme sentimental value attached to an item and they couldn’t let it go. For me, such has not been the case.

“Now, at the same time, collecting isn’t only about sitting around calculating your profits, projecting market values and strategically plotting future acquisitions…not by a long shot. There is obviously an art to it all, an intuitive, aesthetic aspect of the equation where you make decisions based on a feeling like ‘these three paintings must remain together in this collection, no matter what.’ Believe me, that’s happened a lot through the years, and I suppose it could be said that I missed out on other opportunities as a result. But such is the line we walk between the art and science of it all, and if you can remove the coveting, attachment element from the process, then you really are like one with a collection.”

“Ah yes…’like one with it,’ you say. A familiar theme around Zentauria, right?” I asked.

“A familiar theme around the Universe…just not widely noticed.”

I spent another 10 or 15 minutes back in the work area, as Bosh introduced me to his cool, colorful group of apprentices. Then we slowly strolled through the Flats, scoping out a few collections, including priceless wood flutes, ancient Middle Eastern currency, and rare bottle caps from 20th century North America. Each exhibit was highly-customized, beautifully designed, and, at times, even had subject-appropriate music lightly playing in the background. There was also plenty of written info available on the items and subject, and many exhibits featured a flat-screen monitor that looped a video about the collection.

Most fascinating, perhaps, was having Bosh walk me though each one. We hear the term “walking encyclopedia” used fairly often in our society to describe someone who has extensive knowledge about something. But truly, this motherfucker is a walking encyclopedia, period! Not only could he recall the most minute details about virtually any item I asked him about – including the who, what, why, when, where, how and how much of its acquisition – but he could also expound on a number of intersecting social, cultural or political elements as they directly related to key items of a collection. And remember, this torrent of information is effortlessly rolling off the tongue of a 99-year old man. Incredible!

As much as I could have gotten lost in every exhibit of the Flats for hours, I finally had to pull myself away for another engagement. Bosh and I hugged, and I told him I would try to come back soon to have a closer look at more of the exhibits.

As usual, I left another Zentaurian encounter with a spinning head. There was much to digest in my time with Bosh. Once again, it’s not what you do, it’s how you do it…the level of consciousness you bring to the table moment by moment, no matter what your pursuit is. In our culture, we’re so quick to draw conclusions about someone based on what they do, without considering why or how they do it. In this case, we might assume that someone who spent this kind of time and effort collecting things would be overtly materialistic, obsessed with the acquisition of more toys. We might also assume that someone who comes from a monk culture would have, or at least should have, zero interest in possessions. And yet, he’s made both a spiritual practice and a highly-developed art form out of what he does.

The other thing I took away from the Bosh experience was the classic Zen paradox of being one with something, while simultaneously remaining detached from it. This is yet another seemingly contradictory philosophy that most westerners haven’t heard much about. But it’s really made me think deeper into many things I do. And I guess the one thing that keeps circling back around is this notion of loving something, engaging something, being devoured by something and, in effect, becoming one with something, but remaining detached from the outcome of this “something,” and staying detached from any kind of identity merging that might form as a result of your involvement with it.

Not such an easy assignment…

© 2009 Bobby Rock

 

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