What is it about collages that is so seductive? Is it the hunt for images one can’t let go of? The collecting of them in small boxes? The cutting and tearing of the images into intimate shapes? Is it the love of paper, so soft and pliable? Or is it all about taking those scraps and recreating the world? The Surrealists would say that collages express the unconscious. I only know that as a poet I often tire of words, of their limitations, of their endless appeal to reason and logic, even when the words seem irrational. The brain still tries to impose order and meaning on all languages. But with collages, there are no words, or perhaps only random pieces of words that might fall into a collage. Collages seem to speak without language. Or with a language all their own.
