Working to a theme: Cut Me Up magazine

As part of Kolaj Fest in June, I was honored to be invited to participate in a panel discussion about Cut Me Up magazine. The conversation was planned to honor the 5th anniversary of this unique publication.

Cut Me Up features work by artists who are challenged to reuse portions of imagery taken from previous issues of the magazine, combined with their own materials, to respond to a specific call/theme. Each issue is juried — I’m happy that my collages have been included in several issues.

The magazine’s website now has a great recap of the conversation with input and quotes from everyone on the panel.

“Cut Me Up: Issue 1 came into my possession during the first KolajFest. I rarely work collaboratively but this seemed like the kind of collaboration that I would be interested in and make time for.…

It’s a good read, accompanied by artworks and photos of the event. Check it out here.

Kudos to Andrea Burgay, the genius and energy behind the publication, for organizing the session. (We could easily have talked for much longer, had time allowed!)

Below is my collage, “Fore/Back: Ground,” which was selected for publication in Cut Me Up Issue 3: Tabula Rasa (July 1, 2019) — along with small images of the transition process across several issues demonstrating how elements are re-used by different artists. (Kind of like a visual version of that old game of “Telephone!”)

Left to right: “Untitled 18,” Andrea Burgay, Issue 1; “Notice. Novice,” Kristy Hughes, Issue 2; “Fore/Background,” Janice McDonald, Issue 3.

Left to right: “Notice. Novice,” Kristy Hughes, Issue 2; “Fore/Background,” Janice McDonald, Issue 3; “Bad Connection,“ Laurent Seljan, Issue 4.

Markmaking influences / part 2

More about the impetus behind the pieces in my “Gesture and Flow” exhibition (May/June 2023)...

You may've read in the previous post about how, during the pandemic, I used drawing to alter potential collage imagery. In the spring of 2022 I participated in a Poetry and Collage residency. While learning about asemic writing, I began exploring all kinds of mark-making.

My husband and I were fortunate to be able to spend significant time on the Oregon Coast that year. I used my beach walks to gather potential mark-making tools: stems of dune grasses, sticks, driftwood, shell fragments, etc. Connecting to nature was an impetus in attempting to use these "finds" as tools. I worked on paper so that the pieces would be easy to move back and forth to the studio in Denver.

Natural tools: driftwood, sticks, and grasses — before they were darkened with ink

My favorite markmaking tools were the spiral structures from broken shells. They hold a pretty good quantity of ink and make lovely, blob-ular strokes that fade off into feathery wisps. There's a lot of chance and variation involved in how the ink flows and I enjoy working with that dynamic. Found papers, found words, found tools just seem to go together.

Marks made with the interior spiral structure of a found broken seashell.

During the residency, I used a page of asemic writing, made with the end of a stick as my pen, to support a few words of almost-hidden text. All the found words are tucked in to the right side so that they’re barely noticeable. It takes some study to discover the message. It reads: 

shadow 
evening wraps me, steady
How slowly dark
comes
down
be still

“Shadow,” asemic writing created with driftwood tool and ink with added collage poetry, 14 x 11”, 2022.

Over the last year, I've made marks on stacks of 14 x 11" watercolor papers. Some of the resulting designs were intriguing enough that I decided to add collage elements to emphasize the curving shapes, extend the lines, and punctuate the movement. It was a joy to discover paper elements that contained imagery (lines and curves) that matched up with the linework or otherwise enhanced the composition. Responding to the marks (and learning when to stop) was an engaging and time-consuming process. I worked on several at a time so that when I got “stuck”, I could work on another. Somehow the appropriate imagery would eventually be found and I could then return to add the needed element(s). And the back and forth cycle of developing the final works would continue.

“Pivot,” collage and ink on watercolor paper, 14 x 11”, 2023.

“Buoyancy,” collage and ink on watercolor paper, 14 x 11”, 2023.

The resulting collages make up the bulk of the work in the Gesture and Flow exhibition. They are very different from anything I've created in the past. I'm learning a lot by talking about the collages with people who visit the show. I’m getting feedback about their being quite joyous and especially captivating upon close inspection. I loved hearing a couple of people reference Calder’s work while looking at them, a correlation that hadn’t occurred to me, although I’ve always resonated with his works. (And have a Calder-esque mobile over my desk!)

Hanging the work on the gallery walls allows me to gain further perspective by studying the pieces as a related group — I think this work will form the basis for an ongoing series of collages.

Gallery installation of Gesture and Flow exhibition, 2023. Each collage is framed, 20 x 16”, and was made in 2022-23.

This concept may work best on an intimate scale, but I'd also like to try working on larger versions. Perhaps by working with bigger brushes or tools and responding with appropriately-sized collage elements. Another option is to continue to work with the current tools by scanning and enlarging the marks, printing them out, and then adding larger collage elements. Not sure where all this is going but I'm enjoying the process!

Markmaking influences / how I got here

The pieces in my upcoming “Gesture and Flow” exhibition (May/June 2023) make my interest in line and type more apparent than in any body of work I’ve produced before. The backstory that got me here seems worthy of exploring.

As a graphic design student at Oregon State University, an incredibly thorough understanding of typography was demanded. This was pre-computer so we were drawing letterforms and roughing in text blocks by hand for our projects. The curriculum also included a full year of calligraphy courses (thank you, Allen Wong). By senior year we were able to access and incorporate rub-on (Letraset) type. We also learned how to mark up text and specify typesetting so it could be ordered from actual typographers.

As a senior, I had an internship in the campus Office of Publications under the amazing mentorship of Marilyn Holsinger (both an ace designer and a talented calligrapher).

Shown here is the outside spread from one of my first projects under Marilyn’s influence. It incorporates wave forms that I designed, then carefully inked by hand onto mylar.

Brochure spread measures 11 x 11”, folds to 5.5” x 11”, circa 1978 (!)

Although most of the University’s materials were photo-typeset, the class catalog (about the size of a phonebook) was still being set with hot metal on Linotype machines which made a distinctive and impressive racket. It was amazing to witness the whirlwind of change that eventually ushered in digital typesetting. The campus print shop had a full range of printing equipment too.

I consider it a gift to have seen all of the processes and machinery in action. I learned so much about the evolution of typesetting and printing practices from a hands-on perspective. (During the internship Marilyn also used me as an occasional model for campus promotional materials — that’s me back in the day.)

This background always informed my design work and 40+ year career. I occasionally developed gestural calligraphic and strongly-lined woodblock illustrations to use in client projects. And all the while, I was also pursuing my interest in collage, at first in a limited way, but by the late 1990’s I was very focused on collage as a complement (and antidote) to my computer-based design work.

Hand-carved woodblock print made to illustrate a client brochure, approximately 10 x 8”, circa 2003.

When the Covid lock-downs began in 2020, while on extra-long Zoom calls, I began altering magazine photos with marks, patterns, and asemic writing. I have used fragments from some of those images in a few collages, like these, made in response to a call for art sponsored by the Doug + Laurie Kanyer Art Collection. I still have a big folder of patterned elements that may come into play in future collages.

Small collages, each just 1” square, using some elements that were altered with white ink, 2020

A small pile of my inked-upon collage elements. I usually make the marks while the imagery is still in the magazine, and them rip pieces out to get the shapes/bits I want for a project.

As you might imagine, there is more to the story of incorporating markmaking with collage — so this is the first of one (or a few?) more post/s to come.

The no-scissor zone

You’ve probably noticed that the papers used in my collages are torn, instead of cut out. Any straight lines in my work are the included edge of a piece of paper or a graphic element within the image I've selected. Because I work most often with non-identifiable, somewhat nebulous, imagery (color, textures, blurred backgrounds), cropping those elements to produce a rough edge usually seems more appropriate to me.

Tearing has become a creative gesture akin to drawing. The process creates the lines that define areas in the collages. Over time I’ve even taught myself how to rip pretty decent circles out of paper — and it’s actually become a kind of meditative moment.

An example of directional tearing.

My work process is not as random as it might seem at first glance. Every aspect is intentional. I try to use the torn edges to my advantage. If you rip a magazine photo, you typically end up with a white edge on one side of the tear. On the other side, the ink usually extends to the paper's edge. I often use “directional tearing” to create a white edge as a highlight or a bridge to another element. If I want the edges to blend in to a compositions, I will make the tear in the other direction.

I love the feathery character of the paper fibers that are exposed when tearing. The torn edges help to meld and blend adjacent paper fragments together. I have the impression that those little fiber fingers around the edges help keep papers adhered better (maybe?)!

I love the portability of collage! This one includes some torn circles and other elements culled from a magazine while in flight.

Tearing allows me to crop the paper elements that I want to use in the same way that scissors would, but the result has a softer, more organic feel. I also can gather materials while traveling, and in almost any situation, with ease — and no worries about what scissors are acceptable to carry through security to board an airplane. (I have to admit that I miss the pre-pandemic airline magazines from which I would harvest ingredients for collage projects, while my bemused fellow passengers looked on!)

I adore oh-so-many collage works that incorporate cut elements, yet somehow the ripped edges resonate most with me for my own work.

Caveat: In occasional situations (such as my ThroughLines series), I rip papers against the edge of a ruler as a compromise to achieve a roughly straight edge. I’ve cut a few images in the case of a specific commission where it was appropriate. And somewhere out in the ether are a few early collages with straight edges — made before I discovered the aptness of a rip/tear approach!