My Passion for Making Collages

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I have never felt like I have been a part of any sort of social order, be it a school, church, neighborhood, club, a group of friends, or even my own family. Perhaps this is because, not only am I anti-social, but I am a collector: a collector of ideas and passions. My collection is ever changing and ever contradictory. My interests are to varying and eclectic to fit into one synonymous, orderly whole that can slide nicely into one clique's stereotype. I am always adding to my collection and always pealing and shedding overused/underused or unneeded skins. My collection is and never will be complete; for I have yet to even give it a name and a central theme is definitely lacking. I cannot even begin to recognize any synergism that may be possibly approaching. I cannot even recognize any in this essay. That is what I get for making one of my greater passions, writing, vestigial for so long and trading it in for a drawn out passion of making collages.

This "passion" began about the same time that I started high school. On weekends I would visit my dad, and in my search for acceptance through fashion, I found amusement only in visiting the fantasy worlds of magazines... for my Dad's farming abode was oh so unglamorous. As I amassed a collection of these magazines, I began cutting pictures out of them and taping them to my bedroom wall. It was not long before I had created my first collage: it was my wallpaper.

Eventually, as the year passed, I grew tired of the dark and overbearing distraction on my wall. I pealed off the clippings, exposing the fresh nudity of my wall's long forgotten whiteness. Unfortunately as I did this, strands of paint were ripped away along with the tape, leaving this whiteness a ...

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...thing when I am feeling stale and like my existence is unfruitful. It makes me feel like I have accomplished something worth while. I feel a sense of relief afterwards, for it drains me of any thoughts that I may be having as I search and make tedious incisions and arrange. I look on my wall at what I have done and I can visit myself feeling amorous or tense or full of rage... and I realize that my primordial soap of emotions was not churned in vain.

Everyone has moments of insecurity, when they question their place within the collaborative whole that is a society and have moments of uncreativity. Humans are social creatures weather they like it or not and even if they feel awkward as hell, if they keep browsing, sampling, and collecting life's varying images, eventually they will find the ones that compliment who they are and find synergism.
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