I’ve been making what I jokingly call “messy” collages lately.
Paper, glue, torn edges, gold leaf, layers that don’t politely line up. No grid. No careful planning. No undo button. Just my hands doing whatever they’re going to do—and my brain trying, sometimes failing, to stay out of the way.
Most of what I create lives in the digital world, where precision is both a gift and a trap. I can zoom in forever. I can nudge a pixel. I can tweak a curve and keep going long past the point where the piece needed anything more.
Perfectionism loves an infinite undo button. In the digital world, Command-Z can be a girl’s best friend: always there, always forgiving, always ready to pretend the last decision never happened.
But these collages don’t pretend. What’s there, stays—both the happy surprises and the gut-wrenching mistakes.
Even here, while photographing the process, I realized I was still trying to control it—framing the mess, choosing the angles, deciding what kind of chaos was acceptable. Old habits don’t disappear just because you invite them to sit quietly.
Somewhere in the middle of all this glue and paper and crooked edges, I realized this isn’t really about collages at all. It’s about learning when to stop correcting. When to stop smoothing. When to stop trying to make something behave.
Making these collages isn’t curing me of perfectionism. I still reach for control without thinking. But I’m learning to notice when that happens—and sometimes, to put the tools down and leave the mark alone.
For now, letting go feels like a good place to start. And we’ll see what it teaches the rest of my work.
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