‘78 Toyota Cressida
©2025 ‘78 Toyota Cressida, Maria Morris
How’s this done? Is it just a hodgepodge of pieces slapped onto a canvas with no semblance of order? Is there a method to the madness? Let’s break it down.
The Inspiration
The Indiana Statehouse—a beautiful example of classical Renaissance Revival architecture with a loaded meaning in this politically charged climate of 2025. If you guessed that this image entered my mailbox as campaign propaganda, you’d be correct.
Original canvas: 9" X 12"
I needed a bigger canvas.
The sage green color story emerges.
The multiple meanings of money, paired with a visual representation of the State of Indiana’s political power, and a message ripples in the undercurrent. The interpretation is up to the viewer.
New canvas: 11" X 14"
Ahhh! That’s better.
With a larger canvas, the oversized focal pieces now have some breathing room and are stacked along the central Y axis. The crown, juxtaposed with the Statehouse dome, adds another layer of complexity to the political message. The absurdity of a perfect scoop of strawberry ice cream clamped between the jaws of a vice adds some whimsy to the political undertones that are pushed further with the inclusion of dog tags and an Army BDU name tape. ROCKS! 🤘 The color of money is accented with ‘80s nostalgia in pinks and burgundies, including the namesake car, glasses of cranberry juice, and the dahlia.
Final canvas: 16" X 20"
Getting the feel
With a color story emerging, I revisit my collection of folders and envelopes, pulling more images that coordinate or match the visual themes. I build out from the corners, anchored with money filigree designs. Because the vice is off-center, I’m not yet sold on creating symmetrical quadrants.
Time to bring in the phalluses
My collages wouldn’t be my collages without the representation of male and female. I begin to stair-step phalluses vertically up the right side of the canvas. The pitted metal vice dominates the upper left and is balanced by heavy uses of black on the lower right. At this point, the collage is still in flux. I begin to question the dogs.
Oooh! Another dahlia!
Repetition is key, leading the eye through the composition with rhythm and movement. A large pink lipstick, stashed in my oldest envelope and cut from a fashion magazine circa 1989, finally gets a chance to shine. The vertical stair step of phalluses grows. Pun intended.
Adios, doggies!
The right-side stack solidifies with the repositioning of the second glass of cranberry juice. The yonis imagery, in the form of gold rings and French cookies, encircles or tucks beside the phallic bottles and lipsticks. A silver fishing lure bobs into the waters but is destined to swim away.
It needs more pink.
Back to the folders and envelopes to hunt for more pinks and purples. Different fishing lures swim in and mimic the shape of the lipsticks. More ice cream is introduced, but in the form of steel gelato containers in a similar hammered metal finish and silverish black tone as the vice. Inverted nail polish drips create upward movement on the left, balancing that of the right. Ben Franklin’s creepy eye gives and gets some shade(s).
Down to the fiddly bits.
The little gaps need to be filled, wine labels cleverly hidden, and minor adjustments made. A pickle repositioned, a turtle removed, a money roll moved to create an iguana tail, and other subtle changes seem like meaningless alterations. But the visual flow can get blocked or truncated within the repetitive verticality without careful consideration.
The final details
Once all the holes are filled and the white space is gone, I add all the tiny images that further the themes and round out the overall composition. In this final stage, the guitars are added, playing off the word “rocks” in the dog tags and Army name tape. Wood sticks with pink foam tips slip into yonis imagery. Pennies are peppered about, adding smaller circles to areas of larger, clustered circles. Little pickles slide into nooks and crannies. Small flowers hide labels or a spot where a tape mishap ripped the paper. Cosmopolitan Magazine is printed on the crappiest paper.
Less obvious imagery to look for: a stylish boot, iguanas, lavender, Ben Franklin’s eyes, fishing lures and their creepy eyes, roses, a Macanudo pickle, cacti, an Army uniform button, a chocolate bar with a bite taken out, a lone turtle, and a gold piggy bank.
Where it began.
The pieces.
