Healing Through Collages
What I learned from creating stories out of snippets and scraps
I fell in love with collages back in 2015, during my Landscape Architecture studies. The major didn’t particularly appeal to me, but part of the four-year program required learning graphic skills like Photoshop, sketching, and photomontaging. Naturally, my inner child squealed with delight, remembering the coloring pencils, paintbrushes, sketchbooks, and smudgy fingers that filled my days as a little introvert.
While I did enjoy re-cultivating my love for drawing, I focused on honing my Photoshop skills to create digital photomontages — something I was always curious about but never fully dived into.
In 2018, I set up a page on Instagram dedicated to my architectural artworks. It felt great and I got a lot of praise, but something was still missing; I realized that using a laptop as my only medium inevitably made the creative process feel a little distant and not as satisfying as I’d hoped.
So, in 2020 I decided to switch things around and return to basics: handmade collages.
I had plenty of magazines lying around in my childhood home; a rich mix of home decor and weekly news content. I took the first pile, spread it on a desk, scissors and paper ready, and began creating for hours straight. I kept going through the magazine piles, day after day, month after month. I got pleasantly hooked.
Eventually, I ventured into mixed-media art — pairing the crafty, manual labor with the wonders of digital edits, a combination that made something in me 'click'.
To that end, here are three lessons I’ve embraced from collaging, each one healing in its way.
The freedom of creating as you go
There’s something incredibly soothing and joyful about composing meaning out of snippets and scraps. For me, at least.
Collaging means diving into total free-form; it's not about coloring inside the lines, following a template, or sticking to a formula; there's no right or wrong way of doing it.
I can shred, tear, crumble up, and cut any way I want. I can erect new and curious worlds without worrying if the proportions or context make sense. It's unfiltered daydreaming being poured onto paper.
In a sense, every collage requires improvisation. I don't need to define the outcome; I can watch it unfold before my eyes as I layer and combine different pieces, cocking my head to the side, assessing, then switching things around until the picture feels right.
At one point, though, that gentle flow gradually got interrupted by self-criticism— making it harder to honor the process without justifying, getting frustrated, or giving up.
The joy of unconditional play
From self-criticism emerged self-confrontation. This simple pastime triggered my most deep-seated beliefs and behaviors, especially once I began promoting my artwork on social media.
I had to fight the urge to turn collaging into an end game, into a task to tick off a checklist. I was putting that pressure on myself because I was worried about the art page dying out. It turned into a marketing project, making me forget why I started creating in the first place.
I wasn’t allowing myself to create for the sake of creating. I had to sprinkle some ‘productive’ seasoning on the hobby (i.e., make money out of it) — otherwise, it’d be a waste of time. Terrible thinking, I know.
Part of that pressure also came from noticing the childlike qualities of collaging. People were out there making $10K a month, working in consultancy or setting up a company, and here I was cutting out pictures from magazines, gluing them together, just for the fun of it.
Of course, I got mad for tainting such a joyful ritual and eventually called myself out on my bullsh*t: I slowly began unlearning years of conditioning and re-engaging in unconditional play — stripping away any ulterior motives, any expectations, and any negative chatter.
The courage of honoring our Inner Child
Once I surrendered again to play, Little Léa returned just like she did back in college, squealing even more with delight. When she was happy, I was at peace.
We all have a ‘Little One’ tucked inside us, exuding a sweet innocence that makes our heart flutter whenever we grab a paintbrush, play the piano, sing a song, or spread out magazines to cut out from. They’re the ones who 'light up' when we end a meeting and get ready for a dance class or pottery workshop; when we run our fingers through the sand and carve out random shapes; when we're rolling out the dough to bake a pastry; when we Bullet Journal or doodle on the side of our notebooks; when we play dress up before a night out. Every moment of innocent delight brings us closer to feeling whole.
Many of us, though, we're taught to tame our Inner Child with corporate grayness and delusional pursuits of pleasure and money. That's why breaking out of those beliefs is, in itself, an act of courage.
It's the courage to choose gentleness in the face of a ruthless world. The courage to heal from years of forcing ourselves into a particular lifestyle; to heal from the fear of failure and embarrasment, from the fear of not knowing what the outcome will look like; to heal from self-judgment and self-doubt.
It's the courage to heal by celebrating our Little One's unequivocal love for seeking wonder and joy.
