The spaces I live in -- the cluttered shelves, the mobiles, the things hanging from other things, the cushions toys scraps objects and more might suggest a vast homogeneous mass of bewildering colour, but it is not just one thing, like pattern or colour. Things have derivations, stories, individuality. There are reasons for why they are where. I relate to each object or object group as an individual.
Those I fail to do this with, those that fail the three questions of good clutter ("is it individual" "do I really like it" and "does it make me pleased") I pass on to the charity shop, but because memory is not perfect and sometimes I'm just in a bad mood, on occasion things leaves that should maybe have stayed, and later I find myself missing them.
Although sometimes I wonder if my mind fills in a list of likely things over the spaces where I can't quite remember what things I had and I am instead missing the ghosts of memories of things I thought I had.