Yesterday, after my ridiculously hard yoga class, I came home and hydrated and electrolyzed myself because I was invited off-cape for lunch at a writer friend’s house. My friend is a counselor and is putting together a collage class for women in recovery. I found it fascinating when she told me about it last week. I volunteered to have her practice on me because I had never done collage before.
She told me to bring a board and a bag of stuff. I asked her what kind of stuff. She said anything – anything I like. So I spent Sunday rummaging around the house collecting things. I threw in my art pencils and some crayons for good measure. I brought some small paintings I had done, a bookmark I liked, small pictures I liked, and some pretty colored papers I’d been saving just because I liked them.
Lunch was great and then we went into her workroom in the basement. It was very cool. It had a table with cutting mats on it made out of an old door and rows of shelves filled with art stuff. I immediately knew I want a room or a space like this in my basement. I took out my 18×24 black board. She took out an 8×10 piece of cardboard. I took out all my pictures and bright colored papers. She took out beautiful old looking dark colored pieces of pictures of fabric. I began gluing my things all over my board. She began cutting squares and rectangles and gluing them on top of one another. Hers looked like a beautiful tapestry. Mine looked, well, like pieces of my life artfully arranged.
Since it really was my birthday, I knew it was supposed to be a collage of my life. When I was done, she asked me to explain it. I put folded back paper on each corner and said that it was ripped open and folded back. The one thing that stood out for me was that 25% of the board was taken up with an ugly drawing I drew when I was in extreme pain. I glued strips of black tissue paper over it to show it was almost covered over, but still peeks out. The rest of the board was filled with the bright things of my life.
What did this say? Without me even planning that that picture should take up so much room, it certainly stood out that my last year and a half of pain still occupies a huge part of my life. I didn’t know that. I’d been so much better these last few months, but, yes, it lurks in the background.
The art of collage is very freeing and very telling. It tells the true story that even you aren’t aware of during the fun you have while making it. I learned about me and my friend learned more about how to structure her course. It was a win-win.
I loved the way my friend made her collage and it told me a lot about her. She’s very literary and likes history and artifacts. Her colors are muted and her work looks aged. I was the complete opposite. I love bright colors contrasted with black. I like contemporary and pop art. I like modern day domestic fiction. Amazing the way two stories and two personalities were exhibited in a few hours of fun with a friend. It was a great way to spend a birthday.
And so, as another day goes by, this year I’m going to try some collages with just paper, I’m going to make a very cool workspace like that, and….I have written.
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