"Finds have a strange hold over us. There's a magic to them that shines on a lot longer than the soon fading glimmer of things we intentionally choose. That purposefulness is probably what kills our enthusiasm after a week or so. Because when we make a choice, there's too much of ourselves in the object already. We don't deem a consciously picked item deserving of a tea towel display. The more trash we've dug through to get to our treasure, the more it becomes. Hence the mud-crusted trouvailles. So we go hunting for crap that's out of place. Crap that becomes a find, simply because it was lost." - extract from a text by Annelies Desmet & Jill Mathieu