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Unsurprisingly my wife and I had a discussion about this post. Whenever I show her a new collage (every day), she is taken aback, sometimes alarmed.
I: But darling, what’s wrong with my collage? Why do you react like this?
She: They are so violent.
I: But look at this picture of Dave McKean , he does the same .
She: It’s not the same, because he makes a picture, you break it. That’s much more violent.
I: But darling, listen to those horrible news on broadcast or watch those videos on TVv…What are my poor collages against that?
She: It’s not the same. I mean the impression I get from a picture whatever it is.
I: Where do you see the difference?
She: You force the spectator not only to perceive everything as fragmented, you arrange the fragments in a way that thwarts systematically basic perceptual expectations.
I: Wow! So you feel that my collages are messing things up in order to disturb?
She: Yes, but more than that. You always go to the extreme, that’s violent.
I: Caravaggio too, think of some of his most violent paintings.
She: Yes, but I am not concerned with content per se, but with the use of the formal means of expression. Caravaggio’s picture remains within the bounds of familiar visual experience. Your collages don’t, not even to a certain degree, and this is what hurts me. I: Now I understand. I have lived with the collage, you not. It’s familiar to me because it came by and by, but you see the whole in one glance, that’s why you are shocked.
She: Exactly. And I am not the only one.
I: And I thought that everybody would enjoy them, like me. I guess I have to admit the fact that my collage can have a huge effect on others. But I thought that you were like me, darling.
She: Oh, men! They are so childish. And artists even more.
(inspired from a real conversation, with some adaptations)
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