Bonnie Tharp Books
Collage (From the French: coller , to glue) is a technique of an art production, primarily used in the visual arts, where the artwork is made from an assemblage of different forms, thus creating a new whole.
If life imitates art and a collage is art, then it must be that life is a collage. We see it in crowds, the diverse colors of clothing, the abundant sizes and shapes of people, the unique expressions on their faces. Individually they are unique. Collectively they are a beautiful bit of art frozen in a snapshot in your camera or in your mind.
No two collages are ever the same and neither are any two lives. The picture we see is filtered not only by the light, or lack of it, but by what draws us. The color. The shapes. The feelings. Our reaction to what we are experiencing. Personally, I think the collage is an excellent way to express oneself. You can mix media and genre and each of the pieces make an entirely different whole.
Up close each image or object is independent and yet when you add it to a collage it becomes one part of a new whole. A perfect example is the cover of Time, the larger portrait and title is recognizable. It was cleverly created by many tiny images of just the right shade of color or shape to create it. Truly this is art.
As are quilts of mismatched pieces of cloth, buttons, ribbons, and thread. Such is the story of our lives. It is the sum total of tiny little events, people, places and things that have touched us. Many of our grandmothers and great-grandmothers made quilts from our baby clothes, re-purposing items that had been handed down and wore as many times as the seams could withstand. Sewing all these lovingly warn, played in items created a much stronger, more interesting object of art and function.
While I like things orderly, I’m intrigued by the randomness of things on my desk. There are keepsakes from when my son was small, a god’s eye he made with yarn and sticks, a tiny photo of his child, the bookmark he gave me when he was eight. Photos, greeting cards, a red ribbon from the fair, a Monopoly ‘get out of jail free’ card, a peace symbol pin, a crocheted lace heart. All of these things remind me of stories, of moments in my life. If I put them in a drawer they will be forgotten, so they remain on my desk, being rearranged as the mood strikes, and I remember: Who gave me each one. When. Why. And most especially I remember how I felt when I received them. Some of the stories are a bit fuzzy, but the feelings are good ones and I smile at the beauty in my life.