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2 Dreams: 7.1.15

July 3, 2015


Spouse and I, talking about taking an art class we’re taking together. He found a small painting that Justin Bieber had done in the style of a famous Brueghel painting. Spouse was going to pass that off as his version of a homework assignment. When I protested because of “honor, integrity”, he threatened me, subtly (with implausible acts of harm — “you’ll get hit by lightning!”).

I was copying the lines of a charcoal drawing of a cat, but for practice in making a cat look like a cat. Later, for my own homework assignment, I planned to look at videos of cats on YouTube and then draw something that I saw myself.



I was in Gramma’s attic, with Gramma and Spouse, but unlike the real place, this “attic” was a warren of rooms separated by half-walls (with the floor covering half an acre). Everywhere I looked there were all sorts of treasures from every period of my life: art, clothes, shoes, accessories, jewelry.

Spouse and I were attempting to pack up “just a few things” to take home with us, but that quickly got out of hand — I kept discovering new things that I wanted to take home and look at and think about.

I also kept uncovering caches of food, some of which had been up there for years, like, 15 years. That was mostly dried up and mummified.

There were cool art things that Gramma had made, letters she (and other people) had written. I found a pile of letters my mother had written to someone else about me.

There were pretty dresses I vaguely remembered buying years before, but most of which I’d never worn. One such was an empire-waist dress in floaty chiffon of off-white, with a vertical stripe down the front in shades of purple. There was also a dress I had worn: the kelly green coatdress I wore to AC’s wedding near Detroit.

There were lots of luggage and duffel bags, made out of colorful prints of woven cotton.

I ran across the cognac-colored cardigan*, folded, and thought to myself, “That’s the second one.”

As I came around a corner and saw the stairwell and its walls of yellow-gold, I cried, seeing the warm color. Felt anticipated grief: “gonna miss this house”, when we finally get everything out of it.

There was so much stuff on this storey that I thought Gramma might be a hoarder, but so much of the stuff was precious to me, and beautiful — I couldn’t blame her at all for not wanting to let go of it. Plus, hadn’t Gramma had her share of traumas? Same as me.

I kept being surprised at how intricate the patterns and designs were, how colorful, how appealing.

= = =

My sister E and cousin P showed up. P was getting married again — I saw a group of the favors she’d bought for her bridesmaids this time. It vaguely occurred to me that she might have asked me to be a bridesmaid this time, but (if she had) I’d turned her down. I hadn’t met her fiancée, but my sister had.

I was briefly confused when P said something to E about “David”, but it turned out that “David” was the name of E’s boyfriend. The two of them were getting serious as well.

I was glad to be with Spouse.

= = =

In a ballroom-like room, with crimson damask fabric hung on the walls. I was dancing like no one could see me . . . although E and P could see me, and they thought I was nuts.




“Honor, integrity” — those exact words — surfaced in an interaction with someone recently.

In the dream, I was confused about Spouse’s actions because he first had to remove the painting’s frame, then mount it in a shadowbox (to make it appear to be his own work) — it would’ve been so much quicker to just do the assignment himself! Why go through all that bother?

All I know about Justin Bieber is that he’s a pop singer who became famous as a teenager through YouTube; I’ve never heard his music. Wikipedia says Brueghel was a 16th century Dutch “painter and printmaker of landscapes and peasant scenes”. The colors of the painting on the Wikipedia page look dreary; my dream’s painting, while a “landscape”, was more abstract-looking swirls of reds and blues. I only really noticed the details of the brushstrokes.

Red and blue are both “masculine” colors to me. Bieber and Brueghel are both men, both artists. Music, painting, building with wood vs. drawing lines with charcoal.

= = =

Part of me is trying too hard to appear to be more capable, in media I’m not skilled with, than I actually am? But another part asserts it’s better to ‘walk’, when it’s my own work, than ‘run’ when it’s someone else’s?

= = =

Most of my poems are pretty short.

I’ve been struggling for several years now to do a visual poem about Chesapeake Bay, but nothing I’ve tried has worked. Maybe I need to go ‘back to basics’ somehow: Stop trying to make it look Really Cool, and just get something down on paper that’s a decent draft.



I don’t dream about Gramma’s house all that often anymore, but when I do, Gramma herself isn’t in it, like she was in this one. And Spouse in the dream as well? Very unusual.

Gramma and Spouse were puttering around doing their own things, and I barely interacted with them at all, but since in my dreams they’re both ‘manager’ type characters, I infer that they trusted me enough to get done what needed to get done (i.e., no micromanaging necessary).

Lots of colors in this one, and not the same colors as the earlier dream.

Green is a color of change and growth; when I wore that coatdress in waking life, I felt strong and capable and confident.

{This dream inspired me so much that I took a Big Leap into a project I’ve long aspired to doing.}

= = =

I think the colorful and intricate patterns and designs of the stuff I wanted to take ‘home’ with me symbolize possibilities of reinterpreting my past experiences in ways that are pleasing and offer insight.

= = =

There is actually only one cognac-colored cabled cardigan, but in waking life, I had just unpacked it the day before (it had been packed since our move last November). Gramma was involved in how I acquired the sweater 23 years ago, although it wasn’t a gift, exactly. {I’m wearing the sweater right now.}

= = =

Dream-E and dream-P were really chummy, and I’ve had dreams where that would’ve really bothered me, but in this one, I felt like they were almost ghosts to me. Like they were… neighbors from our old house (whom I hadn’t seen in 25 years), or people I vaguely recalled might have been in a pottery class I took in 2001. I wasn’t even curious about their new loves!

= = =

Yellow and yellow-orange, to me, are colors of inner power.

Not sure what the crimson brocade was about.

Although… uXomeia, my personal goddess of writing, has the colors of yellow-gold and ruby red.

I do actually dance like no one’s watching, even if they are, but could ‘dancing’ in the dream be a metaphor for writing my own stuff, even if no one else gets it? Or is it just ‘being myself’?

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