Jan 25 2008
I woke from a dream this morning which I felt was interesting enough to write in my journal before returning to sleep. A larger part of me wanted to crawl under the covers and forget all about it, but since the dream related to my creative process I thought it might help unveil some things about the difficulties I’m having with balancing my work and creative life. Before this dream, I was pretty sure my next blog entry would have to be titled “Why I’m not painting”. Here goes the dream:
I am walking through an exhibit of artworks, and come upon one which is my own. As soon as I stop to look at it, it makes an eerie sound… sort of a singing of bird chirps, followed by my own voice telling a story. It’s a painting, but the forms within it are moving, as in an animation. It begins as an abstract face, becoming more distinct as the story unfolds. The face is in profile (pointed to the right), but by the time the story drifts to the end, another face (less distinct) is forming out of the back of the head (pointing to the left). The picture and voice then loops back into its original sequence. Though it’s difficult to make out any resembling features, I know that the face is my own.
It is obvious that I am within a group show, and the other artists are present, mingling around the gallery space. In addition to our group show, we are all here to take a workshop based on our individual creative processes, and how to bring it further. Before we settled into the workshop, I remember seeing a woman carrying a sculpture in the shape of a cat. I realize that it is actually a portrayal of a mummified Bast, (the Egyptian cat icon who is goddess of the underworld). As soon as I realize that it is an urn, I can see that some grey sparkling dust is on its surface. I ask the woman if she has dumped the ashes, and she says yes, that she has just returned from the river.
Now the group commences into a circle, and most of us are sitting on the floor. Someone begins to speak about their creative process. It seems to be more about psychological process than the physical process… describing the unfolding meaning behind the work. Before the first person has finished more than a few sentences, a group of people have stumbled into our space. They are here to see the art exhibit. Someone is telling them that they will have to come back after we’ve finished our workshop, but then we see that a whole crowd of people are outside of the window, following them. We decide to end the workshop and the group disperses.
The next thing I know, I am walking down a road, but it is such a steep decline that I am no longer walking, but falling (as if down a long chute, though there are no walls). I am floating down past some of the other members of the group and am about to fall past a man who engages me to tell him about my process. Just as I am about to describe something about my work, I realize we are about to hit bottom. At this point I am falling face first and need to re-orient myself. Just as I’m about to hit the pavement, I swoop back up… dipping underneath a car that nearly hits me. The only other thing I can recall now is looking at another one of my paintings. This one is an abstracted image of a figure who is falling face first, and though the body is distorted, I know it is me.
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