Collage, Process, and the Hunt for Materials

Collage begins long before I enter the studio, in the ongoing hunt for objects and ephemera. None of my work is created or altered digitally. Everything is hand-cut, assembled, and built by hand.

At times, I’ve worried that this particular art form has simply given me permission to indulge my inner pack rat. Or maybe it has just given me permission to go out of my way to search thrift stores, junk “shoppes,” and, more recently, the internet. Of course, the size of my studio (and I’ve had several over the last thirty years) has always dictated how many “treasures” I can keep in my trove. There have been many moments spent searching for a remembered find, only to be met with the sad realization that it had long ago fallen to the jaws of the dumpster. This was the hungry beast that lived in the lot behind my previous studio and greedily consumed the one element that surely would have made all the difference. Haven’t we all made those kinds of decisions, especially during a move?

Lately, though, I’ve noticed a shift. It feels as though the universe has been put on alert that I’m in search of collage material. Now the finds seem to be finding me.

NOT HOME, 36 x 24 x 1.5 inches, paper collage, vintage wallpaper, acrylic paint on wood panel

It Comes a Knocking!

Not long ago, I had nearly completed a collage made from hundreds of images, but something was missing in the lower right corner. In my mind’s eye, I could see it clearly: a dog, or some feisty little creature, perched just so and directing the viewer’s eye exactly where I wanted it to go. I searched through hundreds of books and magazines, and through a myriad of drawers. Three of them are now devoted entirely to animals, an archive that might rival Noah’s. Nothing. The collage waited patiently on my tabletop for weeks.

One afternoon, my friend Sara stopped by the studio with a large box of childhood treasures she had gathered while selling her parents’ home. Naturally, I began to sift through the contents immediately. At the very bottom of the box lay a book, and inside it was exactly what I had been looking for. Within minutes, a tiny dog (who turned out to be Toto) was cut and glued into place. Finished.

Here is the piece, Not At Home. Look to the lower right-hand corner. There she is (yes, Toto was female), tail wagging.

Winds of Change and Images Fly

Over the years, I’ve often worked in series, taking a narrative such as Alice in Wonderland, fairytales, or other mythic frameworks and creating as many as thirty pieces within a theme. Some of these narratives remain close to my focus and continue to evolve over time.

When new imagery enters my studio, it feels a bit like an audition. I do, on occasion (though not often), discard collage material that shows no promise. Really, I do! But sometimes something arrives that opens an entirely new portal. It challenges me to work differently, to see afresh. In those moments, I find myself piecing together everything I’ve learned and pushing it toward unfamiliar territory.

And lately, I’ve been paying attention, trusting what arrives when it knows I’m ready.