Why is it so rare for me to walk into another house and encounter the same kettle, toaster or microwave as the one I have at home? These are some of the most common household objects, and yet there appears to be enough variants in the local postcode to always make my own seem rare.

And the more I focus on this phenomenon, the more I notice how it extends across an almost infinite number of examples, from cutlery to curtains, chairs to mugs, lamps to loo roll holders, and then beyond appliances toward more immaterial things.

It’s hard to find familiarity in the outside world, much harder than it was when I was younger anyway. It seems like this shouldn’t be the case, considering the sheer volume of stuff now produced every second, but it is.

It’s still a special moment when we encounter something new that feels oddly familiar. This can sometimes be a trusted sign of an oncoming relationship.

For most of my creative life, I’ve tended to run away from what feels familiar, believing that it meant an audience would find the piece unoriginal, cliched, and boring. But I’m learning that this is far from true. If anything, the more familiar the art feels to me, the more likely it will feel fresh to someone else.

Sometimes, it just helps to remind myself of the infinite kinds of kettles, toasters and microwaves out there in the world. I recommend it. Next time you’re in another person’s house, try search for a familiar kitchen appliance.

Notice what shifts.