Why Artists Still Turn to Collage When They Feel Stuck

Late morning

There's a torn corner of paper on the desk. From an old folder, I think, some kind of receipt. The edges have gone soft. I don't know why I kept it, but I did, and now it's the thing I keep looking at instead of the blank paper next to it.

It's March. Grey outside, not much light coming through the window even though it's past ten. The watercolor pans are still out from yesterday, dried up, I haven't touched them.

There's a stack of old magazines under the desk I keep meaning to go through. I pulled two pages out of one this morning, a photo of a hand and part of an advert for something in Danish I didn't recognize. Both are sitting next to the cutting mat now, not glued down yet.

I glued the paper corner down about twenty minutes ago. Rust colored, faded in one spot where the sun must have hit it at some point before it ended up in my drawer. Now I'm looking at it, deciding whether to add anything else or leave it as is.

There's a strip of packaging cardboard next to the glue. Tape gone yellow along one edge, off a box from before Christmas maybe. I opened that drawer to throw it out and used it instead.

I sat down to tidy the desk. Forty minutes ago. The desk isn't tidy.

The cat came in about ten minutes ago and sat down on the corner of the desk where I usually keep my scissors. I moved the scissors. She didn't move.

There's a corner where the paper's crooked, glue showing through a little where I pressed too hard. I looked at it for a while, thought about trimming it straight, and didn't.

The chair's cold. I haven't turned the heat up in this room yet today. There's coffee next to the cutting mat, gone cold too, half finished. I keep picking it up and putting it back down without drinking any.

Around noon

Somewhere in the pile there's a piece of blue paper I was sure I'd used already. I found it again under the magazine page with the hand on it. It doesn't match anything else on the desk right now. I put it to one side instead of throwing it away.

The photo of the hand is face down now. I turned it over twice and left it that way.

My phone buzzed twice on the shelf behind me. I didn't look at it either time.

I tried the blue paper against the rust corner. Didn't like it. Moved it three centimeters to the left. Still didn't like it. Put it back where it was originally, which somehow looked better than either of the other two spots.

There's a second piece of cardboard in the pile that's the wrong shade of brown for anything I'm doing today. I keep it on the desk anyway, off to the side, in case that changes in twenty minutes.

I cut a strip off the edge of the advert page, about a centimeter wide. Too thin to use for anything, really, but I kept it instead of throwing the offcut away. It's sitting next to the red thread now.

The tape on the cardboard doesn't want to lie flat. I pressed it down three times. It's still lifting slightly at one corner.

Around eleven the light outside got a little brighter, then went back to grey within a few minutes. I noticed because the desk lamp switched from useful to pointless and back again.

The cat moved, finally, from the scissors corner to the middle of a stack of paper I hadn't sorted yet. I let her stay there.

I've been at this an hour and a half now and the piece is maybe a third glued down. The rest is still loose, shifting slightly every time I lean over the desk.

Afternoon

I keep coming back to the photo of the hand. Face down, then up, then down again. I haven't decided what to do with it.

The coffee's fully cold now. I drink half of it anyway, out of habit more than wanting it.

Outside a car goes past. Then it's quiet again, just the sound of the scissors when I pick them back up. The cat's still on the corner of the desk. I work around her.

The rust corner still isn't fully dry. I tested it with one finger, lightly, and it left the faintest print. I left it alone after that.

The cat stretched once, resettled, and is now taking up more of the paper stack than before. I've stopped trying to reclaim that corner of the desk.

There's a second cup of coffee now, a fresh one, next to the cold one I never finished. I don't remember deciding to make it.

The piece is more than half glued down now. Enough that it would hold together if I stopped here.

I moved the second piece of cardboard, the wrong shade of brown, off the desk entirely and onto the windowsill. Twenty minutes ago I thought I'd need it. I don't think I do anymore, but I'm not throwing it away either.

Outside the car noise has picked up a bit, more of them passing now than earlier. Someone's radio, briefly, through a rolled-down window, then gone. The cat hasn't moved in a while. Neither have I, really, except for my hands.