Using What I Have A Sketchbook Study in Collage Contrast and Composition

Every so often I realize that my studio contains an extraordinary number of things I have saved because I was certain I would eventually find a use for them.

Old photographs. Postage stamps. Pieces of patterned paper. Bits of correspondence. Marks and impressions from rubber stamps. Scraps that weren't quite important enough to organize but were much too interesting to throw away.

I'm currently trying to clean up some of those odds and ends that have been squirreled away around my studio, and instead of simply rearranging them into yet another container, I decided to put some of them to work.

These six pieces are sketchbook studies, rather than finished works intended for exhibition or sale. That's an important distinction for me. A sketchbook gives me permission to experiment, make decisions quickly, discover what works — and, perhaps more importantly, discover what I might do differently next time.

Choosing the Materials

I didn't want these pages to become collections of similar-looking scraps. I wanted differences in color, texture, age, shape and visual character.

I combined old photographs with postage stamps, pieces of correspondence and other found papers. Some elements are crisp and graphic while others are faded and worn. The old photographs bring their own histories and tonal qualities, while the stamps and printed fragments introduce tiny areas of intricate detail.

I also incorporated pieces of dark floral paper. Repeating that paper throughout several of the studies became one way of visually connecting the pages.

Over and around these materials I used paint markers, rubber stamps and splattered alcohol ink.

The alcohol ink was particularly useful because it behaved so differently from the cut paper. The collage elements have definite edges and predetermined shapes. The ink does something else entirely — it pools, spreads, splatters and creates irregular organic forms that I can't completely control.

That contrast between controlled and uncontrolled marks became one of the things I found most interesting about the experiment.

Creating a Visual Language Across the Pages

As I worked through the six studies, certain elements began repeating.

Red became the dominant active color. Blue became more structural, frequently appearing as vertical lines and blocks. The floral paper introduced pattern and smaller bursts of color. Old photographs provided neutral areas and recognizable imagery, while postage stamps and fragments of handwriting added another level of visual information.

I also repeatedly used pale blue rubber-stamped impressions. Some are immediately noticeable and others almost disappear into the background.

Without consciously setting out to create a formal series, I had begun developing a vocabulary:

red organic shapes + blue structural marks + vintage photographs + postage + pattern + fragments of text + faded stamped impressions.

Changing the arrangement of those same ingredients produced surprisingly different compositions.

And Then Comes the Self Critique

This is, after all, a sketchbook. The point isn't simply to admire what worked.

Looking at the six pages together, I think I could have pushed the value contrast further.

The red and blue provide strong color contrast, but color contrast and value contrast aren't the same thing. Some stronger black marks — perhaps using a black paint marker — could have provided deeper darks and given the eye a few more decisive places to land.

The vintage photographs provide dark areas, but those darks are contained within the photographs. A few black marks integrated into the larger composition might have connected those photographic elements more strongly to the rest of the page.

I also think I could have experimented more aggressively with scale.

Many of the collage fragments occupy a relatively similar visual range. What would happen if one piece became enormous while another was reduced to something almost insignificant? A much larger fragment of typography, an oversized piece of patterned paper or a tiny isolated postage stamp might have created a stronger hierarchy.

There are also places where I could have allowed elements to overlap even more aggressively. Some of my favorite passages occur where paint, paper, stamps and photographs interfere with one another rather than politely occupying separate territories.

Those are things I might deliberately push in the next group.

But Self Critique Can Be a Dangerous Thing

There comes a point when analyzing an experiment can turn into explaining why you should have made an entirely different piece.

That's not particularly useful.

These pages weren't supposed to provide all the answers. They were supposed to generate questions.

What happens when I repeat one patterned paper throughout several compositions?

How much black does a composition need before it becomes too dominant?

How different do the sizes of collage elements need to be before a clear hierarchy develops?

When does a faded rubber stamp become too faint — and when does that barely visible quality make it more interesting?

How much control should I give up when working with something unpredictable like alcohol ink?

Those questions are considerably more valuable to me than deciding whether any individual page is "successful."

The Value of the Sketchbook

That's ultimately why I continue to make studies like these.

There is freedom in making something that doesn't have to become a finished piece of art.

I can use the strange little things I've accumulated. I can combine materials that might never have met otherwise. I can discover that something doesn't work particularly well and not consider that a failure.

And occasionally I discover a combination, mark, color relationship or compositional idea that I want to carry into a larger piece.

For now, these six pages are staying exactly what they were intended to be: experiments, observations and records of learning.

And my studio has six fewer piles of interesting things waiting for "someday."