Chinese Dreams

Yesterday was somewhat lazy, but not as lazy as I expected.
I went to my studio to do a first Thursday postmortem and have some tea and tiny cup cakes left over from the reception.

A woman came down to ask if we could donate some art for a silent auction to benefit the hungry. I told her that artists are never far from needing these services ourselves and that we are giving people, but also poor people. More and more artists have had to stop giving. Why is it, the poorest seem to take care of the world. Then I was approached about another auction. That is how it goes...

I sat in the almost dark of my studio with only a candle lit. Just breathing, thinking and looking around, trying to clear the air from all the lovely people from the night before. I was exhausted.

Later, I went to another art opening in a town near by. It was nice to be somewhere slightly different, though the faces were the same. A storm had moved in and washed the red bricks of the town square and the air was cool and fresh.

I had Chinese food for dinner and fell asleep sitting up in my chair.

I dreamed of art dealers and studios.
I dreamed of art reviewers at shows.
I dreamed of people getting my work confused with my friends.
I dreamed of a peacock flying in the air. In color. The peacock had found a mate in a mallard. They were flying together.
I dreamed of a crime scene in my front yard, a mummified corpse and police tape and a cult two doors down, that had captured all the children and they had just been set free, scores of children running through my yard trying to find their parents.
I flew over a thin layer of ice in my dreams. I ran fast, held out my arms and skittered above the ice until I was in the air.
I dreamed of old doors opening, riding bikes through tall wet grass
I dreamed I held you in my arms and you were so real.
I dreamed of camera lenses, of magazines and maps.
I dreamed of confrontations...