Testing, Testing. . .Is This Thing On?

    

I adore creativity--it's proof positive of magic.  I grew up in a very imagination-stressed household (my father went to film school; my mother worked in stained glass). Expression was vital, whether that be in playtime, doodling, writing--you name it.  Cinema--as a viewer, as an actor, as a movie maker--was one of my favorite genres of expression.  

My fascination with movies was based on image.  I couldn't quite explain it well as a kid.  I knew movies were fun to watch, everybody like them, but there was this warmth in the middle of my chest.  It was too complex for me to put a name to, but it made me feel. 

The first time I experienced this giddiness I was 6.  I watched Empire Strikes Back for the first time.  Our rag-tag heroes were in Cloud City.  A heavenly white cascaded across the setting; Han Solo and Princess Leia were obviously in love; Lando Calrissian's help seemed too good to be true, and C-3PO was shot into pieces, but it didn't matter because it was ethereal.  I remember standing in front of the television and reaching my hand towards the screen, believing that with enough determination, my tiny palm would seep into their marbled utopia (believe it or not, I did this frequently as a child--there was no poltergeist, I was just always incredibly moved).  So when Lando betrayed his friends? When Darth Vader appeared and suddenly the celestial white of Cloud City became a doomed blue? I felt their betrayal.  Because of this, I knew the blue in Cloud City was different than the blue in outer space at the end of the film, where Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia stare out into the galaxy.  I knew it was different, I just didn't know what to call it.  

My knowledge in image--the way it toys with our emotions, especially juxtaposed with language--has (thankfully) grown since the age of 6.  One of my favorite hobbies is collaging.  It was a joy I picked up during the gloom of quarantine.  As a frequent diarist, I was angry that the pandemic stunted me from writing in my journal.  Enter: Pinterest (in my opinion, the holy grail of the internet).  Collage ideas were left and right and suddenly I found myself describing my feelings in ways I couldn't get onto paper.  And there it was--that same feeling from when I was 6.  It was the power of image.  Present day, thankfully, I can write in my diary again, but I do collage in it as well.  Myself, in its rawest, current form, is aptly expressed in both words and image in my journal.  The latest collage I made (I'll spare you of my personal writings--that may be too vulnerable for here) is the image seen above.  I also particularly enjoy image as a form of narrative because what I see in this collage may be different than what others perceive.  There is greater room for interpretation, insight, and critique.  

Fun fact: my style of creative writing is also something my friend Emma likes to call "collage." Go figure.