What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images […]
—T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland

I find that the pieces of a collage are like pieces of a dream or a collection of memories, free associative and containing layers of meaning, some hidden just beyond view. I start my pieces by making a realistic portrait in pencil. And then I use found paper to make the collage, being largely faithful to the tones and values in the reference photo while being bold with how they are represented.