Things began to just come her way, and not only the flotsam and jetsam of stuff you somehow find yourself stumbling upon but also the really good things like people, books, intuition, Dick Taylor chocolate, and those funny serendipitous occurrences.
Who knows why this occurs, it simply happens as you are walking your dog.
None, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none, none .... be respectful.
The classroom for this work is the kindergarten room where there are scissors, glue, colored paper, paint, drawing and writing materials, words on the walls, singing circles, a napping mat, and most important, freedom. In this instance, life is her teacher with the resources of a universe to support her experiments.
It’s not about following someone’s precise idea of how to do things. Collagers pay attention to the brilliance they trip over, other’s trash, beauty of the forgotten, collaboration with junk. Sort of an anti-discipline that makes the most of mistakes, downfalls, misfits, castoffs, stains, strains, mildew, rust, and grunge.
Midori is an inspiration and a completely different Way, achieving perfection through laser focus. Mira adores her music and appreciates her disciplinary ways ♪
She has a persistent allergy to Teachers who profess a knowing and want to squeeze her impossible shape into their perfect boxes.
She simply does not fit and the process gives her hives. So she avoids such types preferring the playground inhabitants and their cacophonous collaging ways.
Of course the glue is a sticky mess, and some is so hard to remove from fingers that she can barely use a keyboard afterwards with her immobile mouse and tacky keys.
This is a small price to pay for the privilege of cementing the composed connections, and constituted concretions into contrivances of corporeality ... or something like that.
Not being a good note taker or rememberer, her discoveries recede quickly so that when a future similar need arrives - voila, she gets to reinvent the process, or better yet find a new alternative.
If she’d written it down, filed it, been able to find it, she would be denied a possible new discovery.
They came together only to sing, maybe make a joyful noise, who knows, but she was tickled to blend her tiny, timid, tuneless voice with strangers as if she had just discovered a secret … and they pretended not to notice her faltering and treated her as if her voice mattered. Choral collage.
are endless repetitive mind monotony when they are buried in the past. A day on the Way goes better without limiting stories she tells herself. There lies fresh possibility, inspiration, unhinged from old habit. If it’s already imagined, it's old news.