The last two collages uploaded seem to complete the range of work I've done the last few years and am doing right now. (Except for a secret project I won't share on this blog--at least not yet!)

The below image comes from a box collage I call, unimaginatively, "Kitchen Collage," mostly because I kept putting it over the stove in our kitchen. None of the 3D elements of the work get captured here. Nor is the whole image captured by the scanner. I include it now because, beside being a personal favorite, it was the biggest breakthrough for me as a collage artist since starting postal work with Charles back in the day. With this one, I let pieces fall down onto the sticky glue, included some of pieces my son Avery cut and made collage moves as fast as I could, in hopes of outpacing my logical decision-making process.

 "Glyph" is another Ray Johnson inspired experiment. The grey shape on top comes from packaging for an IBM Seletric type ball (which looks like a cross between a geodesic dome, one of a pair of monster dice and a miniature planet). It came from my father's desk, circa 1995.

I have this theory about art in general--and poetry and collage in particular--that it tends to become obsessed with perfection. Mistakes erased, uneven rhythm smoothed out, missed notes corrected, sloppy grammar dressed up and ironed out, errant line rubbed out and redone. Nothing bad about any of that, really, but I keep wondering why so many of us insist (of our own work, of others' work) that our art pieces need to be perfect seeming. Collage leaves tons of room for imperfection, a lot like jazz or improvised theater or drawing. The process shows through; spontaneity captured in all its ephemeral glory.  

More on this. Time to bring my boy to school. Walk the dog.