**“boundary-free creation”**

Collage, cut *New Yorker* magazine, 12” x 9”

I’m wondering if there even is such a thing as boundary-free creation.

Aren’t we bound by our given circumstances? Am I bound by my art supply budget? Or am I only bound by my imagination?

Because I’m feeling winterish, I knew I wanted to choose a December New Yorker issue. This one comes from 2019. I was drawn to the lovely cover art by Tom Gauld. And when I opened it to the fiction piece, there was a photo of a torn paper collage. That sealed it.

“Rooftop Astronomy” by Tom Gauld @tomgauldThe New Yorker, December 9, 2019 — “Rooftop Astronomy” by Tom Gauld @tomgauld
*The New Yorker*, December 9, 2019

I thought I would end up using that image in my own collage, but I didn’t. I was drawn to the oranges and blue-purples that were elsewhere in this issue. So color helped drive the creation process.

I also found inspiration from my fellow Atlanta Collage Society members. I am participating in my first juried exhibit with ACS—“See is for Collage: Looking Closely at Art Works from the Atlanta Collage Society”—on view through January 23, 2021, at the Hudgens Center for Art & Learning in Duluth, GA.

There are so many inspiring pieces in this show. I was especially taken with several that were segmented into squares. And with this being the Christmas season, I had visions of advent calendars in my head. But it’s too late for an actual advent calendar with 25 squares, so I went with twelve for the twelve days of Christmas. And that’s where the religiosity ends.

When I found the title words I thought—well, the collage shows you what I thought.

It was fun to come up with twelve tiny collages that work both individually and as a cohesive group. It was tempting to add more detail, but tick-tock, tick-tock. I was bound by my self-imposed rules.

And so, while putting this collage together, I pondered “boundary-free creation.” In my before-times, “boundary-free” meant “the sky’s the limit” meant “there’s so much I want to create” meant “where do I even start” meant “I think I’ll just watch tv.”

And so I’ve spent a lot of time watching other people’s art. Reading how-to books, watching video tutorials, socking away ideas for…when? When I have the perfect studio? When I have more time? When Santa brings me the latest iPad and Procreate software? When I retire? Will I ever even retire???

It’s the boundaries of this challenge that spur me on. Almost like the pressure that a seed needs from the dirt so it can sprout.

But now that this challenge is over half-way done, I’m starting to chomp at the bit to bust out of these boundaries.

But what will actually happen when I do complete these fifty-two collages? Will I still maintain a regular art practice? Will I ever go back into a theater? Will I ever finish editing that documentary about two besties road-tripping to Connecticut to wish a happy 94th birthday to Katharine Hepburn???

INNER CRITIC URSULA: Kate’s been dead for seventeen years.

ME: Thanks for that math.

URSULA: (Tips imaginary hat)

See? That should give you an idea of my creative patterns. I need boundaries. Or else I’m flailing around in the Sea of Infinite Possibilities.

Still, the notion of creating whatever the hell I want is appealing. No one else to answer to. Be free! Be boundary-free!

URSULA: But what about money? You need to do something that will make money.

ME: Yes, thank you for that reminder about scarcity and the productivity hamster wheel. So helpful.

URSULA: I live to serve. Your inner fears.

ME: Obvy.

Psst—don’t tell her I said so, but Ursula does bring up a valid point.

I am blessed and privileged and grateful to have a full time job that I love, to have a just-big-enough home that I share with a loving, supportive partner. These are my current given circumstances. My creations are bound by them. And by my imagination.

So I work with what I have. I find time for collage when I’m not at work. I use the living room floor as a studio. And I give myself some incentive to sprout—a little pressure in the form of a problem to solve: one New Yorker, one collage, one week.

And that’s freeing.