Yes, I finally joined Tumblr. I stopped waiting for the tall, wide studio wall that I could cover with postcards, quotes, scraps of fabric, pictures torn from magazines, that glorious wall of influence. I save folders of paper, bins of scraps, but they began to feel like a burden, the kinds of things that start you on that long, slow trudge towards being featured on an episode of Hoarders. And I still work in front of a shelf covered with barnacled shells, sea urchins, Frozen Charlottes, paper cicadas, fragments of hornets nests, a wax head, feathers, pods.
In the barn doll house, in the second floor studio, I mimicked a manageable post card covered wall,
a cork board wall pinned with pictures of as many of my influences as I could think of, tiny versions of cards I kept in boxes, taped to work lamps, stuck into picture frames. My hungry eye is a glutton, it needs to eat up as many as it can, to find patterns in all these images, insist they tell me who I am, why I make things, why I need to add my own pictures to the binge.
So you can understand, the internet is an avalanche, a horror show of way-too-much, a virtual hoardfest. I get lost going from one picture to another, finding things I wasn't looking for, finding things that I didn't know I couldn't live without. Searches used to be so particular, maybe that was a good thing. I gave each object or idea I looked for its own time. Now I get snagged by other pictures in an image search, called off track by showy sirens. The common denominator is always me, so there must be a reason for that, we are what we notice, in a way. In Tumblr, all about the patterns, I get to be the denominator neatly, cleanly, one at a time. And I don't have to worry about the county workers finding my body buried under piles and piles of fallen postcards.
My favorite Tumblr pages: