The collective unconsciousness of a subway car, or an airplane cabin.
A waking dream.
Leaves leftover from last season tangled in spring.
Simultaneous tabbed web browsing, emailing and IMing.
Spontaneous decisions.
Mismatched sheets.
May involve paper, scissors and glue.
However, any source material will do. (rhyme!)
— Always pieced together to make one new thing.
There is an eye which sees,
Like how a photographer frames X for desired effect (only with more imprecise edges).
There's a thought there, to tease out. Call it inspiration, idea, inquiry.
It's a nudge. of Life's pieces. Some make sense. Others don't (until you tilt your head). (And then still maybe not).
A shattered mirror's fragmented views is still always a reflection.
An different perception, perhaps?
Always a labor of love, inherent opinion.
Perceived as a Frankenstein to some,
A celebration of living, in the best case scenario.
Always a public record. And art, entangled.
Post script: From where, oh where, did I get my love of collage?
Junking (garage sale scavenging) with Grandma. Loosing oneself in the layers of beats and vocals, looped—hallmarks of the music defining my generation. A result of living amid the ebb and flow of city life. Three instances of how collage inspires life—this one, at least.
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