Collage of Dreams

A gnome postcard, artwork by Yoshimoto Nara, a photograph of a claymation mock-up of Matisse’s studio, a card from the Juan Miro exhibit I went to in Barcelona this past summer, an editorial from Anna Wintour’s inaugural issue at Vogue, a series of Andy Warhol prints and quotes (including one of the original smizer, my girl, Mona Lisa), a fashion editorial that reminds me of Edward Scissorhands, a photo of Kim Gordon, of Sonic Youth's yellow house, and images of Eloise are just some of the things I've hidden atop my wall. When I am bored it is really fun to play I Spy to remind myself of what I've posted.

This Teen Angst print is one of my personal art additions to the wall. There are a few, but this is the only one that seemed to be captured in photographs. It's a replica of t-shirts I make. 

In sixth grade I started collaging my wall. It began as a strategic means of posting pictures of things to inspire my wardrobe but it was also just a way to decorate my mundane white walls. Back then the cast of Gossip Girl and Audrey Hepburn were at the floodgate of my dreams. But as I progressed through middle school, so began the trials and tribulations of the 7^th grade. Cliques began to come into play, throwing off our elementary school dynamics. It meant that we could no longer all be just friends; we were separated and dominated by superiors. Our similar taste in Lizzie McGuire was no longer enough to base our friendships off of. All the while, my wall became more of a safe haven for the people that I aspired to be like in some way, and the people that filled my middle school could never measure up to. Each day when I would come home from school and want to cry about how “so and so” ripped my bow from my hair and told me I couldn’t wear it, instead, I did things like going through every magazine I could get my hands on and take out pictures that I felt best represented me. I remember this one editorial from an April 2008 issue of Teen Vogue, with Willa Holland on the cover (one photo from it is pictured in the first photo above), in which models pranced around in prom dresses in an amusement park was extremely formative for me because it's one of the few editorials that doesn't look posed and I want to, like, live in inside it. 

An old photo of me with one of my collage walls (I still had bangs here. See if you can spot some other differences!)

I aspire to be a fashion journalist and my wall is almost like an editorialized version of another girl’s diary; it’s my own way of expressing my angst and joy and is a living and ever-changing piece of art that I get to wake up and fall asleep to every morning. The only thing different about my room now in contrast to in sixth grade is that my collage wall has expanded much higher up to the molding and completely fills my entire bedroom. Although it still serves its founding purposes, to help inspire quirky outfit combinations, and to put a splash of color in my room, it has a more profound meaning to me then just that. I put up some of my own art and things from some of my favorites like Barbara Kruger and quotes by Angela Chase from My So-Called Life. Plus, I like to think I’ve matured somewhat since then. I’ve taken down any and all homages to substance-less boys and replaced them with the likes of The Kinks, John Lennon, Andy Warhol, Fred Armisen, and Bill Cunningham. As I get closer to graduating high school, I fear what will happen to my beloved collage wall. Truth be told, I might just have to take it with me.

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