By Yvette J. Green
Recently, having finished my manuscript and starting the submission process, I felt lost. There were no images with Joan Didion shimmers around them propelling me towards my notebook. I sat at my desk and sifted through memories, hoping one would step forward and connect itself to the present. I thumbed through my thoughts, but no intense emotions requested interrogation. So I veered somewhere outside of my head, to an arts workshop sponsored by The Phillips Collection, an arts museum in Washington, D.C.
After the facilitator, Brittany Monae, shared introductory slides, discussed the layering aspect of collage, and displayed some of her own work that included pieces of wood, I was inspired. Magazines, scissors, and glue provided by the museum were already on the table in front of me. I ripped out pages splashed with seafoam, succulents, and forest greens. I embraced the land and the sea. Giraffes in the savanna stood gracefully. Communion was visible through a picture of a brown-skinned man kneeling beside a rhinoceros lying on his side. The two were engaged in a tête-à-tête as the man rested his head on the animal’s face just above its horns.
I went to the back of the room to rifle through containers of decorative accessories. I gathered brown, teal, and purple buttons, navy and layered fabric of maroons and purples in the sliver of space I had carved out in front of me. When I was ready to make my final choices, I did not overthink. An image of four women spoke sisterhood . Deep purple fabric remnants emblazoned with gold stars were luxurious. Light hitting a faraway sunset gave way to blushes and lilacs. The single cerulean butterfly in the magazine page complemented tangerine wings on the opposite page.
My arm and hand curved to follow the line of the image I excised. The kinesthetic outlet provided me with needed singular focus. I peered at the line, where it turned, and changed course. The pictures on the slick paper that distracted from the focal object were expunged.
Scraps hit the floor.
I was consumed.
For those short minutes, my eye was in charge. Lack of skill and talent were not deterrents. Harmful thoughts were on sabbatical.
I did not need to syntax words on the page for a project, nor in the air to guard someone’s feelings. I did not worry about gerunds or passive voice.
As I prepared to memorialize the moment, I was sure Elmer’s glue would fail to adhere my fabric to the craft board.
“You should use a hot glue gun to be sure that the fabric stays put,” the artist suggested.
Sure I had one at home, I mentally searched drawers and cabinets while cutting out my next image.
“You can temporarily use the glue stick. Or wait. This is for you. Don’t rush it.”
I slowed down even further, discarding images that no longer cohered with the feeling that was emerging.
I needed to finish at home. There, I found my glue gun and sticks. I also found Mardi Gras beads and doubloons, accumulated over the last three years when my college friend sent me king cakes that my sons and I quickly demolished. The purple, green, and gold beads reminded me of my friend’s love, college days, and my family.
I found Jean-Michel Basquiat cards. Shimmery violet butterflies floating against a fuchsia background were the last images I needed.
The four women I had saved from a lifetime of enclosure between covers at the back of a storage room were braiding. Two women sat on the floor, each separating the extensions to hand to her braider. The braiders sat in plastic chairs behind the women whose hair they were braiding. I had something new to fixate on: the communal act, sisterhood, and care.
***
“When we create art we are doing so in the moment. With every brush stroke, every choice of color, texture, and use of materials, we are in the present moment,” writes Wendy Meg Siegel. When writing is not working, choose a different medium to return you to the present, to quell your anxious mind.
The process of cutting images from a larger piece and letting remnants fall to the floor can be meditative. Cutting can be a kinesthetic outlet. Letting unneeded remnants fall to the floor can be literal bits of paper, intrusive thoughts, or ideas that lack energy and are taking up space blocking the way for new ideas to enter in.
Gathering knickknacks and miscellany from around your space can help you focus; a mental feng-shui clearing cobwebs and creating new energy.
Revisiting old memories or journals tucked in storage cabinets might offer a secret passageway back to the page.
Choosing images that delight the eye, instead of fretting over a precise synonym or an aggressive verb, can thwart our war with words.
Let your eye lead you. Participate in another art form where the stakes remain low. Will this new venture immediately yield words for you to arrange on the page? The Magic 8 Ball of our youth says, “The possibility is great.”
Yet, you may not need to return to the page just yet.
Collaging provides an aperture to see differently. To gather. To create connections. To create your own viewfinder. The collage can fill you with joy. Or give you space to be present. And rest.
***
A Southern girl from Nashville, Yvette J. Green holds a BA in English from Xavier University and an MA from the University of Maryland, College Park. She is an alum of Tin House’s Winter Workshop and a Periplus Collective Finalist. Yvette’s writing can be found in Salon, Slate, Viator, midnight & indigo , 45th Parallel , among others. Find out more at yvettejgreen.com .
All Rights Reserved Book Blog