Ask any of my nearest and dearest and they will inform you that my sorry attempts at creating art will usually lead to a pile of shredded magazines, splattered ink stains and photographs strewn together upon various cork surfaces, before being nailed to a bedroom wall. These collaged squares reflect cavernous moments of my life: boy-band crushes, water-colored fairy tales, angry alt phases, mini memorials of boyfriends past, Biro scratched notes to man-friends present, amongst the photographs of smiling friendly faces of best-friends, siblings and the obligatory shot of the parents.
In no way do I call my trials at photo-montage art, these collections of clippings are merely a reflection of my questionable taste in wall decor. Can you really call a collage a piece of genuine art? Judging my own work I think not. But flip through artist/writer Sonja Ahlers’ new book titled The Selves and you can’t help but become a believer. One part diary, two part scrapbook and a dash of wit, The Sleves is an anthology of a woman’s multifaceted psyche; all chopped-up, glued back together and brought to life in dreamy technicolor illustration and sharp prose.
These pages are so beautiful and teeming with nostalgia that I have already placed my order at Ahlers’ web-shop. Plus, any fiery femme who references The Verve, will have my full support.
“I’m a million different people from one day to the next I can’t change my mold … no no no no no”
Bitter Sweet Symphony