Now especially, collage is being construed as a practical mode, an approach to things. In our inundated, saturated media state, we craft our outlooks from a variety of sources. Perhaps this has always been the case, but now it's particularly undeniable.
But I'm less interested in this permeation. I'm interested in the base artistic practice of taking different things from their surroundings and placing them together on a new surface.
In the reliance on surroundings, I find great value. Art can mediate our circumstances with our ideals. I don't have a large studio with ventilation and natural light. What I do have, is a constant stream of paper images, mostly for free. Glue is cheap enough, and an exact-o knife is a worthy expense (although tearing is an art unto itself).
We live in a culture of visual detritus. In New York especially, flyers, post-cards, menus, ads, cards, pamphlets, and periodicals are omnipresent, to the point of their invisibility. They're part of the landscape, into which any other piece of promotional paper fades into.
From this visual miasma, we can extract and recreate. Drawing onto a blank surface casts us as a creator in a void--an intimidating proposition. The first step of collaging, on the other hand, is an act of severing. Instead of the burden of the initial envisioning an artwork, collagists are tasked with observing and choosing. One is not easier than the other, but the latter is by far a more approachable process.
I return to surroundings and accessibility. Once we grow out of elementary school arts-and-crafts (if we're lucky enough to have them) we rarely return to a visual creative pastime. Although many are quick to acknowledge their artistic desires, most balk at the suggestion of pursuing them, growing bashful about an inability to draw, or not knowing where to start.
The remedy to such a stalemate lies in collage. If you admire the artistic pursuit, then you are practiced (at least somewhat) in the art of seeing. If you are practiced in the art of seeing, then you know what you do and do not find visually interesting. That's the starting point.
From there, the muscle builds itself. Once we cull the objects we find appealing, it's instinctual to arrange them. And once they're tentatively arranged, we grow again hungry for more images: to play with and continue arranging.
So while our rendering skills may be nowhere near ideal, while we have no idea where we find the "proper" materials to make an artwork, we are in fact capable of creating, no matter our circumstance.