How Reclaimed Materials, Bricolage, and Recycled Art Shaped My Work

My journey into found object art assemblages began in 2003, almost by accident. At the time, I attended an auction and purchased a box lot primarily for the vintage jewelry inside. Mixed into that box were several antique vintage cigar boxes. I didn’t yet have a plan for them, but those boxes would quietly mark the beginning of my first assemblage-based artwork.

Not long after, I created my first assemblage diorama inside one of those cigar boxes. It was a humorous and narrative piece—a playful reinterpretation of the forest fire scene from Bambi. A small vintage Bambi toy had also come from that same auction lot, and I constructed a scene suggesting that Bambi himself had been smoking and accidentally started the fire. That piece became my first true experiment in found object assemblage art, using reclaimed objects to tell a story through assembled materials.

I went on to create and sell approximately eight boxed diorama assemblages, offering them on eBay. What struck me most was not just the response to the work, but how deeply I enjoyed the physical act of assembling disparate objects into a cohesive narrative. That process—building meaning through materials that already carried history—became foundational to my artistic practice.

From Dioramas to Recycled Art Assemblages

As my studio practice expanded, I began to confront another reality: the sheer amount of waste created through the act of making art. Packaging from shipped paint supplies, cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, used paint tubes, empty paint containers, worn brushes, rags, and tools accumulated daily. The volume of discarded material was impossible to ignore.

Rather than throwing these materials away, I began saving them—bagging the remnants of my own studio process and treating them as potential raw material. This shift marked the beginning of my work in recycled art assemblages.

Using these discarded materials, I started creating large-scale recycled art wall assemblages, assembling layers of studio debris onto canvases and wood panels. These works were often painted in solid, monochromatic palettes, allowing the textures, forms, and embedded histories of the materials to remain visible while unified through color. Between 2003 and 2005, this body of monochromatic recycled assemblage work became a critical turning point, solidifying my commitment to transforming waste into art.

Salvage, Reclaimed Materials, and the Expansion of Assemblage

Over time, my material vocabulary expanded beyond the studio. My husband and I spent many visits walking through his parents’ 80-acre property, where old automobiles, rusted farm equipment, weathered wood, and forgotten machinery rested quietly in the woods. We are both deeply drawn to worn, rusted, and timeworn objects—materials shaped by exposure, use, and neglect.

As our collections of salvaged metal and reclaimed wood grew, I began incorporating these elements into larger found object art assemblages. These works brought together studio remnants, reclaimed industrial materials, and natural decay, further deepening my relationship with bricolage art—the practice of building with what is available and overlooked.

Heart Art Assemblages and Cross Art Assemblages

From these evolving assemblage practices emerged two of my most recognized found object art bodies of work: heart art assemblages and cross art assemblages. Each piece is a one-of-one found object artwork, constructed from reclaimed materials, salvaged metal, weathered wood, and discarded objects collected over time.

My found object heart art assemblages explore themes of vulnerability, resilience, devotion, and memory. The found object cross art assemblages similarly draw upon symbolism, faith, history, and material transformation. These works are not decorative reproductions; they are singular assemblage artworks built from materials that once served entirely different purposes.

The recurring heart imagery throughout my found object art assemblage work is deeply connected to my long-standing interest in the research of the HeartMath Institute and their studies on heart–brain coherence. Their work explores the measurable relationship between the heart, the brain, and emotional states—showing how coherence between the two can influence perception, intuition, resilience, and overall well-being. This research resonates strongly with my own lived experience as an artist. I believe the heart is not only a symbol of emotion, but an active center of intelligence, memory, and energetic communication. I am instinctively drawn to heart forms and heart-shaped found objects because they embody vulnerability, strength, and coherence all at once. In assembling these works from reclaimed and discarded materials, the heart becomes both subject and process—a quiet reminder that alignment, intention, and transformation are possible even from what has been broken, worn, or cast aside.

Found Object Art as Preservation and Transformation

At the core of my found object assemblages is a desire to honor the history embedded in discarded objects. Every rusted nail, worn board, dented metal fragment, or empty paint tube carries evidence of human use and time. By reassembling these materials into art, I aim to preserve their stories while offering them a renewed presence.

Creating found object art, recycled art, and assemblage art has become my way of reducing waste, challenging ideas of value, and bringing awareness to the creative potential of what is often discarded. What began as an intuitive response to excess and curiosity has grown into a lifelong artistic practice recognized by collectors worldwide.

For more than two decades, my work in found object art assemblages, recycled art assemblages, heart art assemblages, and cross art assemblages has remained rooted in transformation—turning overlooked materials into artworks that carry history, intention, and meaning.   The difference between trash and treasure is rarely the object itself, but the act of attention—the willingness to see value where others have stopped looking.