Pictures of me, family, and friends having a wonderful time doing numerous activities. I miss some of these great activities with the family as some of them have died and some friends have moved to other states.
I was to create tonight. Wine and boredom and poverty my muses. Who knew it would end up the way it did. But one thing led to another that led to you inside me. And I didn’t say no because I knew it was written long before I began today’s chapter. Somehow our pieces formed a sexual mosaic that was slammed against my walls.
The wall looked like a collage of her entire life. Photos she had no idea had even been taken, all dated, locations noted in the bottom corner. She knew her dad was a photography buff, but this was going too far…
Collage? How about life. That’s enough, isn’t it? May be shit, may be a collection or series of wonderful events. Whatever it is, it’s personal. It’s something we could never completely share with anyone. Make it pretty.
She took bits and pieces of her hair, collected over a decade, and collaged them to the wall. Adding bits of ceramic, plates, glass and random plastic collections, she continued to tell her life story. Without words, the world could hear her screaming.
If I could meld my thoughts together, into a mosaic of pictures and thoughts and sounds, would they form a shape? What kind of form would a reflection of my mind take on?
a collage;
a million memories,
into a place of one.
a reminder of solitude,
a reminder of lost love.
of friends,
of enemies;
a fraction of life,
displayed in a collage of one
A collage of my memories in emotions are stamped on the white wall underneath my skin, my mind. It’s glowing, it’s tiring and I can’t turn off this spotlight, heat lamp that forces itself inside my bones. It’s glowing, toxic.
I started making this new collage today as a memory of all my high school years. It was bittersweet to look at because I knew I would be moving on to greater things, but I would also dearly miss these people.
I made my first collage when I was in girl scouts, and my second collage right out of college. I loved the seemingly random assortment of pictures, words, phrases and colors. Independent of one another they meant nothing, but arranged togehter they comprised the sum total of whom I was. I made a collage last winter–it’s now a vase that holds flowers in my living room. I love the connected disconnectedness–that’s the way I view the human condition. Connected disconnectedness.
Somewhere to find your career for the rest of your life. It costs too much though but thats only because their getting you ready for the future and your future career!!
often confused with college. i even misspelled it there, wasted time to autocorrect it. human waste so much time trying to be perfect. something impossible, the one thing you can’t put you mind to being. wasted time so much time wasted i wish i could have back. i’d be in college if i had that time back. so much time waiting too. haha, i went back and it gave me another minute i wonder if it will let me post more only time will tell me, not you if it doesn’t post this. i enjoy being sober. i used to shoot a lot of herion and never had time or inspiration for thes things. still slowly getting inspired as you can tell. i’ll get my seretonin back soon enogh
by icouldhavewrittenmorebutmybfisanidiot on 06.05.2013
“So.” Chad pursed his lips. “You make collages.”
“Hmmm? Oh, yeah. I love ’em.”
“Collages of what?”
Grey rubbed the scruff on his chin. “Photographs, mostly. Nature stuff I’ve taken pictures of. I sometimes frame my work and try to sell it.”
“Is it any good?” asked Chad, already knowing it was a stupid question when he opened his mouth.
Splashes of paint dotted the walls, but mostly it was filled with pictures. Paintings of a red headed woman, smiling, frowning, thinking, laughing, walking, talking… doing anything and everything. She sat in the sunlight, she stood in the shade, she gesticulated with one hand or ate an apple.
She was everywhere, all over the room… behind doors and underneath tables.
She was everything, on the ceiling and on the floor.
I ALREADY GOT THIS ONE. Jesus Christ. That’s what I get for refreshing the page when it got stuck. Well, college is a bit like a collage, right? Trying to throw together the right mix of people for a party. Pasting together classes to get the required credits. Even when you’re moving in, trying to put together you and your roommate’s tastes into a room that doesn’t totally clash.
Collage? I could never understand them. I never really could do them either, I usually would just put two or three pictures on a page and then color in the rest, thinking that was a “collage”. I thought it looked prettier that way, which probably says something about my creative ability and taste.
More about the ability. Which let’s be real, is severely limited. I’m not exactly amazing. I never have been, even when I tried. Like, in art class.
A collage! WHAT? what could I possibly write about this word is such a long time?! well let’s see I’m very creative, so I’m sure I could think of lots and lots. 1st I like them to have bright colours, with a hint of pastels! Definitely pastels should be in there.
Collage, what can I say really? A collectoon of pictures, I used to love doing them so much with magazine pictures and i used to love all the colours pastels pink bright and i love making them about my life and things i like
If I were to make a collage of the most important events of my life you would be there. Not that you were actually there in the physical but I always carry a little bit of you in my heart. On the good days, the bad days and the in between days.
I never knew that I could be my own collage. Taking bits from my life and recreating a new picture. Making a simple event of negativity into a beautiful working of something that never would have existed.
The remnants of the girl she used to be was wrapped into a collage of broken hearts, uncomfortable memories and splintered friendships. And yet, her face was that of a stranger. She breathed on the glass and drew herself a new face. That is who she would be today.
It was a collage of blood and broken bones. An entire village of 79 people, dead. My stomach turned as I made out the frightened and charred face of a child in the remains of a burnt down home.
“I never meant for this to happen.”
“You were warned.”
“I know…I regret fighting. I feel more beaten now than I would had I lost.”
The college is very beautiful. I have some great friends to work with. They are kind and I hope to get to know them better over the next eight years we will be spending together
PICTURE OF ALL THE FUN MEMORIES YOU’VE EVER HAD. ENJOYING THOSE LONG SUMMER NIGHTS AND THOSE FARRIS WHEEL RIDES. THE PICTURES ARE ALL YOU HAVE LEFT AT THE END BUT YOU KNOW ITS TO COME AGAIN.
Collages are very nice. They allow you to have a collection of all your favourite pictures in one place. I have made uite a few collages as school projects in Art class. It was always fun. It’s very fun collecting pictures for your collages. Collages can be of various kinds. I love collages that contain small pictures and make one big picture.
I actually have a huge collage in my room. I started it about two years ago and it now takes up 4 of my 5 walls. All of the pictures are made up of cut outs from Rolling stone magazines. Interesting, right?
I cut out pictures from the magazine for my collage. Snip, snip. It was like cutting out someone else’s memories, but not quite as gruesome or painful. I glued the images down carefully, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle.
Pictures of me, family, and friends having a wonderful time doing numerous activities. I miss some of these great activities with the family as some of them have died and some friends have moved to other states.
I was to create tonight. Wine and boredom and poverty my muses. Who knew it would end up the way it did. But one thing led to another that led to you inside me. And I didn’t say no because I knew it was written long before I began today’s chapter. Somehow our pieces formed a sexual mosaic that was slammed against my walls.
The wall looked like a collage of her entire life. Photos she had no idea had even been taken, all dated, locations noted in the bottom corner. She knew her dad was a photography buff, but this was going too far…
Collage? How about life. That’s enough, isn’t it? May be shit, may be a collection or series of wonderful events. Whatever it is, it’s personal. It’s something we could never completely share with anyone. Make it pretty.
I make and cut and paste. To put ideas together into a single thing, a single artwork. I use it to convey ideas, to convey a part of myself.
She took bits and pieces of her hair, collected over a decade, and collaged them to the wall. Adding bits of ceramic, plates, glass and random plastic collections, she continued to tell her life story. Without words, the world could hear her screaming.
We drove up in the car, boxes of stuff around me.
“You’re here!” He said excitedly
“I know” I said terrified
If I could meld my thoughts together, into a mosaic of pictures and thoughts and sounds, would they form a shape? What kind of form would a reflection of my mind take on?
a collage;
a million memories,
into a place of one.
a reminder of solitude,
a reminder of lost love.
of friends,
of enemies;
a fraction of life,
displayed in a collage of one
A collage of my memories in emotions are stamped on the white wall underneath my skin, my mind. It’s glowing, it’s tiring and I can’t turn off this spotlight, heat lamp that forces itself inside my bones. It’s glowing, toxic.
I started making this new collage today as a memory of all my high school years. It was bittersweet to look at because I knew I would be moving on to greater things, but I would also dearly miss these people.
I made my first collage when I was in girl scouts, and my second collage right out of college. I loved the seemingly random assortment of pictures, words, phrases and colors. Independent of one another they meant nothing, but arranged togehter they comprised the sum total of whom I was. I made a collage last winter–it’s now a vase that holds flowers in my living room. I love the connected disconnectedness–that’s the way I view the human condition. Connected disconnectedness.
Somewhere to find your career for the rest of your life. It costs too much though but thats only because their getting you ready for the future and your future career!!
often confused with college. i even misspelled it there, wasted time to autocorrect it. human waste so much time trying to be perfect. something impossible, the one thing you can’t put you mind to being. wasted time so much time wasted i wish i could have back. i’d be in college if i had that time back. so much time waiting too. haha, i went back and it gave me another minute i wonder if it will let me post more only time will tell me, not you if it doesn’t post this. i enjoy being sober. i used to shoot a lot of herion and never had time or inspiration for thes things. still slowly getting inspired as you can tell. i’ll get my seretonin back soon enogh
“So.” Chad pursed his lips. “You make collages.”
“Hmmm? Oh, yeah. I love ’em.”
“Collages of what?”
Grey rubbed the scruff on his chin. “Photographs, mostly. Nature stuff I’ve taken pictures of. I sometimes frame my work and try to sell it.”
“Is it any good?” asked Chad, already knowing it was a stupid question when he opened his mouth.
Grey laughed. “Not exactly my call to say, dude.”
Splashes of paint dotted the walls, but mostly it was filled with pictures. Paintings of a red headed woman, smiling, frowning, thinking, laughing, walking, talking… doing anything and everything. She sat in the sunlight, she stood in the shade, she gesticulated with one hand or ate an apple.
She was everywhere, all over the room… behind doors and underneath tables.
She was everything, on the ceiling and on the floor.
I ALREADY GOT THIS ONE. Jesus Christ. That’s what I get for refreshing the page when it got stuck. Well, college is a bit like a collage, right? Trying to throw together the right mix of people for a party. Pasting together classes to get the required credits. Even when you’re moving in, trying to put together you and your roommate’s tastes into a room that doesn’t totally clash.
I want my life to be a collage of things that make me happy.
collage together whatever you want! strawberries, lollipops, string, lace, sprinkles, paper, pictures, leafs, twigs, paint, glitter, glue, stickers, eyeballs, hair, makeup.
Collage? I could never understand them. I never really could do them either, I usually would just put two or three pictures on a page and then color in the rest, thinking that was a “collage”. I thought it looked prettier that way, which probably says something about my creative ability and taste.
More about the ability. Which let’s be real, is severely limited. I’m not exactly amazing. I never have been, even when I tried. Like, in art class.
I went to collage but couldn’t stick at it.
a collection of items
glued together, haphazardly
overlapping, without care,
they reflect a theme.
Pictures,
taped together,
or glued with sicks,
haphazard,
made with love
by children and
family
with creative
genes
and laughter,
making art
A collage! WHAT? what could I possibly write about this word is such a long time?! well let’s see I’m very creative, so I’m sure I could think of lots and lots. 1st I like them to have bright colours, with a hint of pastels! Definitely pastels should be in there.
Collage, what can I say really? A collectoon of pictures, I used to love doing them so much with magazine pictures and i used to love all the colours pastels pink bright and i love making them about my life and things i like
The moon was high. The collage of stars reflected dead light and made me think of the years I had no fear.
If I were to make a collage of the most important events of my life you would be there. Not that you were actually there in the physical but I always carry a little bit of you in my heart. On the good days, the bad days and the in between days.
My art like that of a child
My photographs an amateur’s
My words meaningless
What do I have for a collage
Nothing but the dust and
blank expanse of paper
The colors floated by making a patch work quilt before my eyes.
I took a bunch of old photos and put them together to make a self portrait.
I never knew that I could be my own collage. Taking bits from my life and recreating a new picture. Making a simple event of negativity into a beautiful working of something that never would have existed.
scraps of paper lie scattered across the floor but I don’t notice. I can think of only one thing: cut and paste, cut and paste, cut and paste.
The remnants of the girl she used to be was wrapped into a collage of broken hearts, uncomfortable memories and splintered friendships. And yet, her face was that of a stranger. She breathed on the glass and drew herself a new face. That is who she would be today.
It was a collage of blood and broken bones. An entire village of 79 people, dead. My stomach turned as I made out the frightened and charred face of a child in the remains of a burnt down home.
“I never meant for this to happen.”
“You were warned.”
“I know…I regret fighting. I feel more beaten now than I would had I lost.”
The college is very beautiful. I have some great friends to work with. They are kind and I hope to get to know them better over the next eight years we will be spending together
PICTURE OF ALL THE FUN MEMORIES YOU’VE EVER HAD. ENJOYING THOSE LONG SUMMER NIGHTS AND THOSE FARRIS WHEEL RIDES. THE PICTURES ARE ALL YOU HAVE LEFT AT THE END BUT YOU KNOW ITS TO COME AGAIN.
Collages are very nice. They allow you to have a collection of all your favourite pictures in one place. I have made uite a few collages as school projects in Art class. It was always fun. It’s very fun collecting pictures for your collages. Collages can be of various kinds. I love collages that contain small pictures and make one big picture.
I actually have a huge collage in my room. I started it about two years ago and it now takes up 4 of my 5 walls. All of the pictures are made up of cut outs from Rolling stone magazines. Interesting, right?
pictures joined together stuff memories are valuable history to your life yhe
I cut out pictures from the magazine for my collage. Snip, snip. It was like cutting out someone else’s memories, but not quite as gruesome or painful. I glued the images down carefully, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle.