The Way of Collage Blook
The Way of Collage Blook
In which a way of life is exposed, pieced together, layered, fused, explored and loved…
Hello, my name is Rebecca and I am a collagoholic. I use scissors, glue, and curiosity to bring improbables dangerously close, let them loose to play – and I cannot control this compulsion. It is a way of being that touches everything. It may be that others so afflicted will benefit by exposing this condition.
Mira is fictional, and everyone else is impossibly real in their beauty.
The art and photography included are mostly my configurations (unless noted) and the poetry is scissors and glue applied to other people's poetry phrases, much of it children's. On this Way everything is repurposed, resurrected, reclaimed, resuscitated, rectified, renewed, and reconfigured.
Collage found Mira in the studio one day as she moved torn pieces of failed paintings around a blank page. No art resulted but in the stretching of time was joy.
She began to notice that what might look like chaos was really her way of being, that she had been living as Collage, incorporating the bits and bobs of a world into who she was, twisting and morphing as days came and went, people populating and moving on, ideas marching by, all of it shape shifting her very substance.
This notion would not let go of her as she saw how decades of life layered, patterned, sculpted, twizzled, and fooled with her being, such that she began to grasp that she wasn't just a “who” but also a “when” and a “where” depending on the context. She calls it The Way of Collage.
Accused of being superficial and lacking in depth because of her broad interests, she chooses to go deep in being shallow.
And this is what she notices as her life of Collage composes itself.
There is no map for this territory, excepting an occasional found one for temporary use that might have just the right shade of green, or movement of contour lines. And besides it’s not really territory anyway so isn't accessible to flatland maps. Then there’s the time aspect too, but it’s not chrono or logical.
She had been on those big fat archeological digs excavating the past, but it was like trying to remove acrylic paint and images and it wasn't happening.
She preferred the move-forward-and-keep-adding-methodology. So as she laminated the paste, poetry, ink, scratches, paint, imprints, stencils, pencils, and texture, she noticed that it really did have depth, in a building up sort of way rather than a tearing down and uncovering way. She was fine with that.
Reaping the benefits of aging, such as a certain invisibility, she morphed into one of those dusty grey potato shaped geode rocks you find languishing in the desert, that inside are dazzling crystal fire ... a sparkling party. This carousing is what happens when ideas, explorations, imaginings, and curiosities occupy a small space. Ba da Boom, whoopee!
So, on this Way, the way forward is ….. ahem, Forward. There are no backsies, only next, then Next, and finally and always NEXT. Which also means a lot of new, and most of all huge territory of I don’t know and what the !*&^?
This might appear to contradict the NOW Hypothesis, which she would never do, so instead she holds these NOW and NEXT inconsistencies in the way that opposing images are allowed to frolic in the midst of a collage painting, right under her nose, hamming it up together, teasing with their inconsistencies ... while she chooses a response.
She learned the hard way that the only speed on The Way that feels the substance of the moments as the palpable weight of a sleeping infant is slow and slower. The old sands-of-distraction-slipping-through-fingers pace leaves her hands longing and a mess on the floor.
She had long ago abandoned living as a noun since the way she unravels is more like verb or gerund - those tricky verb sounding nounish, subject/object, participle movement implying things. She is gerunding . This is most excellent, as it begins with the home base, “I am," core of the deep contemplative practices. Now she is getting carried away with amming. How could she not?
This I am recognition was a small Colliphany, her collage related epiphany. For instance, when people ask if she is an artist or painter, she says, “no, I paint” but really a better description is “I am painting." She is process. That is exactly what The Way feels like. She loses herself in the enterprise, her zone of happy. The core of this Way.
With no apology she feels the green fuse of beauty that feeds her motivation, connects her with a sense of wholeness, and bursts into song that can’t be contained.
No problem with putting in the time to learn a skill, she thought. Her only challenge is the fact that the hours are spread over a dozen disciplines. Collage of non-expertise, sampling from life’s offerings in a temporary body, one that can’t settle on a singular activity.
It’s Show Up Time on The Way! Everything counts. No rehearsals. No waiting for opening night, it’s all real. Might as well enjoy all those hours of learning. What a sweet relief!