Art practice
When I found myself at Michael’s arguing with Claude about glue and finishing spray, I knew I was in deep. What’s the right adhesive for wrapping paper? Will it also work with printer paper? And do I paint it over the entire thing when I’m done? When I’m not sure of myself, I tend to want a guide, and Claude is very certain. Mod Podge it was, with satin acrylic finishing spray.
What drew me into this project was permission to not know the answers. With writing, I typically go in with a topic and an opinion about what’s good. But over the next week, I found myself pulled in by scraps from magazines, notecards, stickers, and even an old typewriter manual. Cuttings quickly covered my office floor. I’d select one image that called to me and intuitively reject or pair others with it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was moving with certainty.
Also surprising were the words that arose through this slow process. No mad tapping away at my keyboard. Glue down a layer. Wait for it to dry. Press it flat between wax paper under books overnight. Come back for the next layer. Slowly, words began walking around corners and tapping me on the shoulder. As they arrived, I penciled them in.
After seven vignettes, I surfaced. I was learning to trust what arose inside me before I understood it. And as I paged through my work, this knowing rushed up through my chest. I felt overtaken by it. I’d made a series about alchemy, giving something undesirable new life. This had been somewhere inside me wanting to be known. I’d just been playing, and that mystery feels like its own kind of spiritual practice.
“The Plunge,” from my Alchemy collage series. You can find my full collage gallery here.
Going deeper
I’m fascinated by the power of art to get my body’s full engagement, the kind that quiets everything else. I often need an excuse to dabble in a new creative form or to visit the museum, and “Your Brain on Art” by Susan Magsamen and Ivy Ross is a breath of permission. (The website alone is an experience of beauty and curiosity). My favorite part: you don’t have to be good at it. Thank you to Starla J. King, who gifted me a copy and writes the Just a Moment Substack where you’ll get a dose of beauty every time you stop by.