How I Curate Collections of My Favorite 'Found' Things to Fill Every Corner of My Home with Soul and Story

Interior designer Poonam Khanna, founder of Unionworks, is one of Homes & Gardens' new Editors-At-Large for By Design, sharing her thoughts on decor through her lens of soft light, vintage pieces, and a sepia-tinged palette. See the rest of her articles here.

I wasn’t quite sure how to begin a home decor column about collecting and collections, so I did what we all do now – I asked the Internet. What came back surprised me, not for its certainty but for its subtlety. I wondered where the threshold lies between ‘a few things’ and ‘a collection’. The answer, it turns out, is rather precise: a ‘couple’ is generally understood to be two to four. A collection, however, is not defined by numbers at all. It’s shaped by intent, by curation, by scope.

I love this distinction, because it has everything to do with what we choose – consciously or instinctively – to focus on and return to. Sometimes with purpose, sometimes without even realising we are doing it.

How freeing to know that a single object can be the beginning of a collection. The first record you bought with your pocket money as a child, played again and again, slowly becomes the soundtrack of your life, expanding into shelves of albums that span an entire wall. The ticket stubs from concerts attended over the years are tucked into scrapbooks, now stacked casually on a coffee table. A vintage Roger Capron coffee table discovered while wandering Paul Bert Serpette in Paris leads, over time, to ceramic pieces quietly dispersed throughout your home.

Each choice spools a thread. Together, they form a theme, a rhythm, a story you continue to write – often without even noticing you’ve begun.

When I think of intent, curation and scope as the guiding criteria of what I collect in both my personal and professional lives, there is a bit of random meandering-ness to it. I don’t have strict or even deliberate collections of anything. What lives with me is more like a stream-of-consciousness grouping of things that kind of find me as much as I find them. We more or less agree that we belong together and go from there.

In the sentimental category, we have a rolling collection of stones, shells, feathers, birds’ and wasp nests, dried weeds or flowers, and random ‘treasures’ we pick up on walks – in meadows and woods, on city streets, mountain trails, along stretches of beach, rolling hills, and among rock formations. They are time and place markers.

I also collect rocks and stones that have been wrapped, woven, or clad with and into other materials – thread, reeds, fabric, leather, paint, and more. They are small talismans, carrying the hand of the maker and a history of their own.

About a year ago, I visited Héctor Esrawe’s studio and furnishings showroom in Mexico City. His work is rooted in materiality and deeply connected to nature. Just above the showroom is a botanical perfume boutique that he designed. Xinū is a magical space, filled with plant life used to create the fragrances displayed alongside the perfumes on long tables. The collection of natural ephemera is literally woven into the space. It’s one of the most beautiful examples of what a curated group of objects, found materials, and intentional artisanship can be – truly a collection worth experiencing.

One of the other best parts of being a designer, aside from traveling to Mexico City, is the friendships I’ve been fortunate to make with incredibly talented makers and fabricators. I am especially partial to the women who consistently inspire me with the beauty they create. Deborah Ehrlich makes the most delicate, refined, and elegant crystal glassware I’ve ever seen. Her pieces are so subtle, they are almost invisible – you barely notice the contours and edges. Yet, when grouped together, they begin to have these wonderful, almost musical conversations with one another.

I know this firsthand because I live with a variety of her glassware. It sits inside a glass cabinet, where it can be seen yet remains safely protected, and comes out for special occasions. For me, Deborah’s pieces are heirlooms, tied to friendship.

A less obvious collection that lives with me is a group of production prototypes and a few limited editions. The prototypes make me so happy – in a way that feels like I got to witness the stages of creation in the studio or workshop. There is a distinct, individual quality to them because they are not the final product; they are more like numbered proofs.

One of the limited-edition pieces I’m lucky to live with is by Lindsey Adelman Studio. Only two of this particular piece were ever made. The joy it brings me will never diminish – a single, highly beloved object that is a collection of one, and that is more than enough.