Bev's Artblog
March 22, 2009
This was one of my first collages and so far my favorite. It's special for a variety of reasons, but most important, because it sort of immortalizes my Mom. I know that sounds sort of heavy, but it simply means that this collage will forever remind me of her. I want the story behind Blue Heaven to be my first post because it seems to demonstrate how a work of art can speak.
When I started this collage I had no idea where I wanted to go with it. It all just sort of happened. That is what art is all about at times, and why art is such a powerful form of communication.
Just over two years ago, my mother passed away. Being a very emotional person (my father was Italian), I was pretty sad and needed to do something therapeutic: I needed to spend time in my studio. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew I needed to pick up some art materials and see where it went. I had only made one collage beforehand (unless you want to count grade school). But I had bought several books on collages and had been wanting to do more of it. I needed to do something more spontaneous, more freeing than the rather tight watercolors I had been doing of late.
I loved the way collage artists tore up papers and made beautiful abstract designs. It also looked like a great way to put together color groups, to learn more about how color works. An artist learns a lot about the interplay of color as she paints, but collaging would prove to be a wonderful way to expand on that knowledge.
Soon I realized I couldn't find enough magazines with the colors I had decided to use for this collage so I started making my own colored papers. I painted on all kinds of papers. I used watercolors on some, acrylics on others. Then I found I could get some nice textured papers by using colored pencils, crayons, and oil pastels. My studio looked like a bomb had hit it. Art supplies and papers all over my three long tables. Torn papers and cut papers. I bought a brayer in order to layer on a certain rolled effect over gesso-coated art tissue. More mess. I had to leave things to dry at times, and found myself just cleaning my brushes and closing the door when I was done. This went on for several weeks. My wonderful husband never said a word. He knew I needed to be left alone.
It suddenly dawned on me one day that a critique class I had signed up for months earlier was upon me. I needed to gather some of my artwork together to bring to it. If this collage got done in time, I wondered, would it be something worth bringing. I wasn't used to working in abstract. I had paid good money for this class and had planned on bringing my watercolors.
I was totally absorbed, fascinated with the home-made papers and the designing process. Toward the end, I found the center part of the collage to be the hardest to figure out. I started cutting up small pieces of paper and arranging them next to one another, to get ideas. Then, mindlessly, I started watercoloring on thin paper and making cut snowflakes with it. Wow! When I placed one in the center of the collage, it was perfect.
This story does have an ending. There is a point, I promise! I brought the collage to the class, along with my more traditional watercolors. It had been three weeks since my mother's funeral. I was feeling very raw, and it seemed like the worst possible time in my life to go through the critiquing process. But I figured I would just get through it, and then the second class wouldn't be for another three weeks, and I would be in a better mental state by then. The class was headed by an amazing Worcester artist, Susan Swinard. When it was my turn to present, she quickly zeroed in on my Blue Heaven collage. The other members of the class seemed delighted with it. Then I sat there in total awe at what Susan said, and it slowly sank into my brain what I had done.
Her first remark was that it had a "celestial" look about it. Yes, I thought, I guess I have been subconsciously thinking about the world lately in a spiritual way. If there was a heaven, my Mom is up there looking down with her knowing smile. Then Susan said, "there is a feminine quality to it." Hmm, I thought, perhaps it does. It was so intriguing to have her look at my abstract collage and see characteristics that I hadn't realized I was processing!
Her next comment floored me. She stared a bit, then said, "There is something gentle about it." She had used the one word people have used to sum up my mother time and time again. She was known for her gentle ways. I was speechless. Susan Swinard had had no idea I had recently lost my mother, nor what my mother was like.
I drove home that night with a renewed appreciation for the process of art...how it can reflect our thoughts and feelings. Making that collage had been not only therapeutic, but a way of creating something that will always remind me of my mother's personality, her way.