and other stuff, too.  does this make me an artist?  fuck if i know.  i figure, like paul westerberg sang it, i'm "kinda like an artist."  but when i think about what a true artist is to me, i think of my Grandpa Joe.  he was an artist and i basically grew up in his studio, sitting next to him at this gorgeous hardwood drafting table that was covered in ink splotches.  he always had these holes in the elbows of his sweaters from where he leaned on the desk while he was working.  everything he made was meticulous and beautiful, but he almost never signed anything.  he just had this stamp with his initials, JPW, and the latin phrase "plus pulchritudinis invenire," which translates loosely to "more beauty to discover".  i always loved that - not just the phrase, but that he didn't feel the need to sign shit.  no ego.  no pretense.  he just made stuff.  discovered beauty.

so anyhow, i always made things, but it wasn't until i was about to finish college that the collages started happening.  i was about to graduate from the University of Colorado, and i realized i'd destroyed most of my body of work - leaving me with nothing to present at my final portfolio review.  i had a vague interest in mail art, so i started making collaged postcards - mostly because small stuff would be faster to make... meaning i could get enough together to get my ass through my review and get ME the hell out of school.  i had this great pair of orange-handled scissors i'd stolen from my mum in like 1986, so i grabbed those and just started cutting up everything in sight.

well, i passed my review, i got out of college, out of Colorado, and basically let the collages fall by the wayside.  over the years, i'd pull out the scissors every now and again when inspiration struck.  but i guess i only just started taking the whole thing more seriously a couple years ago after a less than gentle 'push' from this grumpy weirdo who turned out to be the love of my life.

now, if you are reading all this wordy, wordy crap looking for an explanation, a meaning, or some sort of "artist's statement," you're not going to find it.  i'm not going to tell you what they mean or why i do it.  not because they are terribly private or personal, though perhaps they are.  i don't want to tell you because i want you to find your own meaning in them.  everyone has different lives, filled with their own experiences, their specific memories.  we can all look at the same thing, listen to the same song, or smell the same smell, and we will each have those things mean something to us that is completely unlike what they mean to everyone else.  we're all unique.  our experiences are all unique.  our definitions of beauty are all unique.  our reasons for doing what we do and our inspirations are unique.

and i will tell you this.  me, i never start or finish a piece without thinking about three people...  ryan foltz, for giving me that kick in the ass to make something of my art, joseph paul wilson, for giving me the desire to find more beauty in the world (even if i have to put it there myself), and my mother, nan wilson, for never noticing her scissors were gone, and for always always ALWAYS supporting me - through every gluey mess i ever made.