If we gave any real thought to our actions. If we understood the things we do. All the why’s and the how’s and the reasons that we do them. Psychiatrists would go out of business. I came to collage because I couldn't afford therapy.
asked me if I'd ever given any thought to writing about my collage work and “my process” (that’s hilarious). Whenever I use that phrase in a sentence, it’s difficult to say it with any seriousness. I told him that I had, but mostly, I lied to him. In truth, I hadn’t really considered it, until just then. Forgive me Joel, for I have sinned.Since we’re confessing, I haven’t done it, or thought of it, because I’m underqualified. I have no formal art training. No background in graphic design. I have no idea what I’m doing, and if I happen to make something good, I can guarantee I don’t know how I’ve done it. And, it’s doubtful I could do it again if I tried. But, if you want another candid admission, that’s why I keep coming back for more.
“It is so much more comfortable to think that we know what it all means”, Anne Lamott says. But, sometimes the really magical, top-shelf, good shit, takes place when we realize we don't know a goddamn thing. I came to collage to stop overthinking.
It’s tactile and intuitive. If you don’t know the rules, you don’t know that you’re supposed to follow them, or when you’re breaking them. It’s just something that you feel. It’s free associating with texture, color, and images. It’s paying attention to your own attention. It’s exploring your own sensibilities. “Contemplative” isn’t quite the right word, but “meditative” will do. I came to collage to stop trying to control everything.
Neil Gaimen says that you never learn to write a novel, you only learn to write the novel you're writing. That’s what collage is like for me. “My process” (that still seems funny) is always different, always iterative, always altering, always askew. I’m always trying to learn again what I thought I already knew. It’s beginner’s mind. It’s the Socratic method of knowing that you know nothing. It’s being in over your head. Thrown into the deep end of the pool. It’s sink or swim. Fight or flight. Paddling for your life. Desperate to survive. Praying you don’t die. Not now. Not like this. Not this soon…Maybe it’s not that dramatic, but it’s close. I came to collage because I needed to learn to doggy-paddle. I needed to stay afloat. I needed a way to breathe.
I can’t tell you about “my-overall-process” (oh, that one never gets old), but I can tell you about the process of making this one:
Carolyn Jones from
sent me one of her poems. And, like everything she writes, it’s exquisite. I wanted to make a collage for it. Like when I make collages to sit alongside my own writing, it starts with a search for words. Words and phrases that stand out, that cling to something, that grasp at me. She writes of “ripples of regret”, “darkened water”, “depths of…love”, “the abyss of…memory”, “winsome waves”. I wanted to communicate something vast and oceanic in something subtle and tumultuous. Something posed while falling apart. “Regret in Waves”, perhaps. “Darkness in Waves”, maybe. “Waves of Memory”. I settled on simplicity. “In Waves”, alone, has a kind of ominous subtlety.I did something I don’t normally do. Actually, it’s something I’ve never done before. I sketched out the lettering in Procreate beforehand. Turns out planning ahead is a good idea, who knew?
I chose the font. Arranged the type. Then printed it.
And from there, all hell breaks loose. I wanted there to be aquatic elements, darkness, a sense of motion, touches of sunset. A fragile structure shifting in musicality. I added bits of tape, magazines, and paper. Added ink and paint. Watched them dry. Cut up letters and then thought better of it.
I was panicking through most of this. I was close to something but kept missing it. Everything meant to fix it only worsened it. I came to collage because patience is not a virtue I’m familiar with.
There is “a time when you have to swim against the tide of your life”, John O’ Donohue says. And there is a time to let it carry you home. To let it rise and roar. Crash, fall, and resolve. Like music. Like water. Like a song. Or, to put it more accurately, sometimes you say “fuck it” and call it done. I came to collage to open up, to let whatever shows up be what it is.
I came to collage because I was shit at every other art form I tried. To be fair, I’m pretty shit at collage too. But. it’s a shitiness that I find some value in. That finds some value within the shitiness of me. Maybe that’s the secret to artistry. To mastery. To progress. To happiness. Hell, maybe even the answer to life, the universe, and everything. It’s learning to find beauty in shitty things.
I don't know if I came to collage to learn that, but that’s what it teaches me.
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I collage sometimes as a means to warm up. It allows me to get my hands moving and to stop over thinking.
You have as much authority as any other artist and deeper humility.