COLLAGE: WHERE TO TURN WHEN YOU GET STUCK
Monday, April 9th, 2007 | Permalink“I remember great pleasure in cutting out Andy Cap and Flo with manicure scissors, and then cutting little slits in a magazine picture of a big bowl of Beef-a-Roni, and fitting Andy and Flo into them so it looked like they were rising out of the Beef-a-Roni. I remember laughing my head off at that one. I still love collage and I’ve always turned to it when I get stuck writing or drawing.”—Lynda Barry
Today, obviously, I got stuck.
April 9th, 2007 at 10:29 pm
If you do get a dog, do get a doxie. They are great.
Beautiful page, as always.
April 10th, 2007 at 8:12 am
liza, i don’t think i have a choice: my wife DEMANDS a female doxie for her 25th birthday! hehe.
April 10th, 2007 at 6:56 pm
Sorry to drop in so late, but the Austin Dachshund is awaiting your arrival. You will have to spend serious time at chez McHugh until you get your bearings and maybe even after.
And maybe we’ll start a writer’s group or something.
April 10th, 2007 at 7:06 pm
yeah we need to seriously hook up that cleveland writer ex-pats group
April 14th, 2007 at 3:16 pm
I got reco’d your site by Liza Cowan of Pine Street Art Works, and wowza. Read this one first because I live in Austin. I too am a lifelong devotee of doxies.
Oh, wait, you mean the dogs?
The Gasoline Alley strip was stunning, thanks for sharing it and in a format where I could enlarge it to read. My father called me Skeezix as a kid — now, at least, I know where that nickname came from. Also, synchronistically, today’s poem offering from the Writer’s Almanac has 12 lines by Philip Larkin that completely complement the Gasoline Alley strip. Taking the liberty to copy it in below. I’ll be back.
The Trees
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
April 15th, 2007 at 2:14 pm
hey maggie,
thanks for the good words and the larkin poem!