Vision

My mother sewed and so did my grandmother before her. Curtains, slipcovers, clothing, Halloween costumes, Barbie dresses, the pair were unstoppable. I remember they had scissors for every purpose. There were scissors in the kitchen for food prep, the orange-handled Fiskars kept in my mother's desk or coupons or general use, scissors for little hands, scissors for big. long-pointed scissors for cutting hair but my mother’s most precious belonging were her dress-making shears. They were mysterious to me, shiny, silver, and sharp, I’d watch fascinated as they would glide through fabric with the slightest effort. I was not allowed to touch them and warned they were only for cloth and scolded should I dare to steal them for paper.

I do not sew, I make art. I live in one room and yet I have 4 pairs of scissors to choose from. There are the ones I use for food to snip herbs or separate a chicken breast. There are the ones I use to cut open tubes of lotion, scooping out the contents that cling to the sides so I don’t waste a drop. There is my all-purpose pair, used mostly to clip the ends off tubes of paint or glue or nip the stems of flowers, maybe lob off a too-long section of hair but the most readily available are the ones with a chartreuse handle, kept on my bedside table used primarily for paper, cutting out articles, sometimes trimming a poem or an abstract watercolor or most often called into service to clip photos from magazines for collage.

I used to bemoan the fact that I wasn't crafty like the other females in my family. I spent a lifetime running from art believing myself to be uncreative. I focused on my other gifts, working in child welfare and schools with children of high need. For 2 decades. I focused on the needs of others until a severe depression caused me to relinquish the work I loved. I tried to pass my time by teaching myself to knit and crochet but my patience waned as manual dexterity proved to be a skill I had not mastered. I took a job at a local fabric/craft store but found that the effortless glide I had watched my mother perfect was not as effortless as I'd imagined. I quit after my first day, in shame.

Then one day as I was looking for an activity to perform my artist's date as recommended in Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way", I found a quote in a magazine that cheered my weary mind and the hunt was on. I began cutting pictures and quotes from everything I could get my hands on and suddenly had the makings of something that echoed my soul, my inner life that took only the skills of reflection, cutting, and arranging placement of the items in a way that meant something to me. It didn’t matter whether it made sense to anyone else. It was a gift to myself.

I have been making collages for 10 years now. Some I keep, some I give away, some end up in the recycling bin but I find that when I'm feeling low or uncertain that they lift my spirits and help me refocus on what's important. Collage, vision board, paper art, whatever you want to call it, has brought me back from the brink of despair on many occasions. The cutting of items for my collage is an activity that takes thought and yet can happen on auto-pilot. Often, I cut while watching television or singing along to my favorite songs. The choices are instinctive. I don’t need to concentrate on them. My soul knows what to include without benefit of deep thought. The thought comes later when I am often amazed at my choices as I trim and carefully paste to have meaning to me.

As we embrace the digital age, I am fearful that print media may someday disappear but until then, I cut and paste in a traditional way that brings me joy, that allows me to look forward for one more day and use the past as a guide.