Life turns out to be a collage. I used to have tremendous difficulty switching gears, closing doors, saying goodbye, walking into the next room. Interruptions were unbearable, holding onto relationships wearying. A life of not feeling a part of. We call it being compartmentalized. I couldn't merge my diverse parts of myself and would inhabit them one at a time, needing a break to be alone before moving from one to another. Not so unusual really. I'm sure some readers can relate to this phenomenon. It's a learned behavior. It makes for a very uncomfortable existence.
Then I started to make collages, both artistically and intra-psychically. To decide how the pieces make sense, how they layer upon one another, how they work to make a whole. Most importantly, how small pieces become part of a larger fabric. The gradual process of self-integration, starting in my fifties, has finally become a new normal. I carry my portable self with me wherever I go now.
The collage shown here is only a portion of a much larger one I made for my son, to portray his birth journey. He was born in Kabul, Afghanistan in 1969, during an overland trek across Europe and into India and Nepal. My current project is to take all the bits and pieces, papers and pictures I have strewn in boxes and piles around my life and make collages of them, not leave them behind in tiny compartments that no one can make sense of. Life turns out to be a collage. Make it so.