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As long as I knew him, my late father always had a workshop. At first for his work, later, in his retirement, at home. There was a winged word, where my father was: "He is in his workshop." Now, after his death, I realize even more than before, how accurate he kept some items, sorted them and put them in order. Most of them were trivial things he thought he could make use of some time. He wasn't a real collector. Occasionally he parted with some of his items. My father spent much time trying to group things and to bring them in their proper place according to his personal conception.
The book shows a world. My father's world.