✂︎ Collage Guide: in Conversation with the poem, ‘Wading.’

Introduction: 

Pull out a sheet of paper. It could be from a journal, a book, or a simple piece of copy paper curtesy of your printer. I consider this first layer to be white space. It’s the base of your collage. And it sets the tone for the pieces of paper yet to come. For this collage, I started with a picture of red sandstone from a local magazine with a clear blue sky.

But before we start pasting and cutting, let’s reflect a little bit about photograph, memory and tradition. Here are some questions as you start thinking about your collage:

What images are you drawn to from your past? What motifs or symbols do you feel represent your relationship to “resilience,” culture, tradition, and memory? Are there phrases or words that invoke significant emotions tied to “endings” and/or patriotism? How do you see different images conversing with each other on the page—or, conversely, what makes each image stand out? How can you translate memory, culture and tradition from a poem and into a collage? 

Discussion:

And what’s in my collage? Paper. No fancy paints or markers. And it honestly doesn’t matter what you use in your collage, anyone can do it! What matters is the conversation your collage ignites. 

My collage carries motifs of Diné culture, traditions, and language. In conversation with my poem, ‘Wading,’ I wanted to convey a blue sky, clouded by the heavy weight of U.S. patriotism and colonialism, enough that the torn rocks in the corners start to feel like rough borders, set to close in. But I also wanted to show how Diné culture (represented by the matrilineal weaver pair) will manage to break through, even if “resilience” feels like it’s broken and it’s reached an end. This is further demonstrated by the torn rocks patched by the masaní scarves. 

Now, everything in your collage doesn’t need to be symbolic. But it should either gesture towards some kind of unity—a togetherness with each other, that’s either critically contrastive or evokes cohesion. I will say, though, sometimes we just want to cut and glue things without thinking about all of this, and in those times, images can synchronize together subconsciously. This is all to say, there is no such thing as a “bad” collage. Paste and tear what you want. I don’t know why I’m drawn to tearing paper down the sides and rearranging the stripes like flashes. But it feels right, especially as I explore how archive, memory, culture, and healing present themselves as living images in both my writing and collage pieces. 

As you figure out what you’re drawn to, here are some suggested places for collage material: 

Go through old photographs of family members (be sure to scan and print them, so the originals stay safe). Collect local newspapers and magazines. Save brochures and take out menus. Take pictures of your hometown and print them out. Those annoying junk mail credit unions, most are on durable paper! Old books from your local antique or thrift store. Online library archives have all kinds of photographs, including landscapes and historic portraits. 

Once you have two or three of these, you just need glue and scissors (unless you like the torn-paper-look, like me). How much of the white space from your base do you want to cover? Do you want clear blue skies? Or a little cluttered and cloudy. I suggest picking a word or phrase. Maybe you see it on a magazine, large, bold, and staring right at you. Or maybe you see it in snippets, from smaller words across a table of flyers.

You’ve read all this way, and now you want to start the collage. How do you do it? I work by layer. 

My base layer holds the background, something that gestures towards a bigger picture (in this case, sandstone surrounded by a clear blue sky). 

My main layer holds a central image, what I want to focus on as the comfort (the matrilineal weaving pair). It’s what I go back to as I figure out the rest of the collage material. 

And then the top layer rests as either a strengthening of my comfort/central image (the magenta masaní scarves) and/or it creates a sense of juxtaposition (the rocks closing in, the word resilience in pieces). 

Activity: 

My collages generally work in three parts, sometimes I add additional small details after I glue down central/comfort image and the top layer. Now let’s build your collage:

• Choose a base layer. What’s the bigger picture of your collage? What are you drawn to? An open sky. A forest. A book page (it doesn’t have to be a landscape, I just generally like landscapes as my base).

• Now pick out a central image. What do you want to focus on that brings comfort? What do you want to go back to as your kindling? An image of your siblings. A grandparent. A photo from a history book. How do you want it displayed? Is it torn? Cut out perfectly? 

• With the top layer, choose a variety of strengthening and/or juxtaposing pieces. How do you want to invite the comfort/central image into conversation? Do you include flowers? A word. Pieces of words. Gestures towards your bigger picture. Handwriting. On this part, after gluing down the first layers, consider sprinkling in some smaller details you find enticing!

Below, you can submit your collage to be displayed in our upcoming blog featuring works in conversation with this anthology.