THE PROCESS
How does a collage come into being? Like all of my work, each collage starts with an idea, which I then transmute into visual form. Some of the process is linear and analytical (the R&D phase, when I’m uploading everything I can find about the issue, cause, concept). For example, in my recent collage for The Boston Harbor Association, I had to learn about the organization’s dual challenges:
- protecting and preserving the many miles of Boston waterfront they have guided toward public use and enjoyment
- grappling with the scary data on seal-level rise, which threatens to submerge large areas of Boston, waterfront and all!
So, I did my homework, trolled the TBHA website for facts and figures but also for method and mission (every organization is unique). Simultaneously, my right brain was taking in photos, images, and maps that would help translate the above into form.
The rest is pretty nonlinear. What got me going this time was a photo sent by THBA of a waterfront walkway with a fence made of short pillars linked by a scalloped metal chain. Don’t know why that detail stuck, but it became the launchpad for the final work. What I pictured was actually installing such fences, woven in and through Boston’s city streets, mapping out the receding shoreline as our waters heat up and engulf our coastal cities. Knowing this might be a bit expensive and complicated to produce, I thought the least I could do was render my inspiration in graphic form.
There are funny moments in every artistic endeavor. This one was haggling with the local costume-jewelry shop for silver chains (actually necklaces, which I then cut up using needle-nose pliers (Thanks for the training, Dad!)). It took a while to explain their intended use (for an artwork, for a nonprofit dedicated to urban/waterfront issues), but by the end the salesman was as enthusiastic as I—and gave me a 50% discount! I later returned the favor by delivering a printout of the collage.
Along the way, it’s just one decision after another. Do this, try that, test it out. Let it sit for a few hours, days or weeks until the next step becomes more clear (or until I have the courage to take another stab at an unfinished piece).
Then there’s the somewhat awkward moment when I share what I’ve created with others. I watch and listen carefully—are they attracted to the piece? Intrigued? Enthusiastic? Perplexed? Because there’s definitely a part of me that doesn’t know if a work is “good” until other people respond to it. I have a few regulars who vet almost everything I do; these are the individuals/organizations that have commissioned the work. Beyond that it can be kind of random—a housemate, a student who comes by for a lesson, my housekeeper, the physical therapist who worked on my new hip, the assistant at the upscale photo-repro place that scans and prints my works. When eyes light up, I know I’ve scored. When response is lackluster, I know it’s time to move in a different direction.
I’m pretty careful and methodical about how I spend my time, but the creative process refuses to be bowed by the clock or the calendar. Things like getting those silver chains to stay stuck on the paper or searching Manhattan for grey tissue paper (had to settle for silver) can gobble up a day. On the other hand, making art is one of the few activities that frees me entirely from clock-watching and allows me to fully immerse myself in the moment.