The Swimmer - March 23, 1998
This painting was my recording of a dream. Sometimes I record dreams with words, sometimes with paintings, sometimes, I record them in my dreams and realise later that the dream never took an outer world form. In the dream world, nothing is really all that straight forward for me. Everything is metaphoric. Like many people, my dreams end up having no recognizable message for me. That isn’t something that concerns me as I know that the “Work” of the dream is to process life, both inner and outer, so that there is some internal integration.
Sometimes, I get to glimpse, obliquely, at what is going on and why it is going on. The awareness doesn’t change too much of what I do, but it does allow me to feel a bit more comfortable with the processing and the direction. I have to admit that I don’t “religiously” record all of my dreams. I don’t have the patience or the need or the desire to do so. Perhaps that is just an excuse to give in to my lack of attention to these things. Perhaps it is simply that I trust in my own instincts to recognise when I need to do dream work. In the end, all that matters is that I am okay with myself.
Mandala - April 21, 1998
Okay, so this isn’t a photo. This is one of my “works” that I scanned two days ago along with three other images that will find their way here. Two of the images are of mandalas and two of the images are taken from dreams. Before I drew this image, I had felt it building within me (I kept a journal which was updated periodically during the day with brief notes) and decided to let it “brew” within me before I actually sat down to let the image emerge. In reading my notes from that time, I saw that even when the image was completed, I still didn’t “know” what it was all about. It simply was something that happened.
Of course, it didn’t take much thought after the fact to see that the mandala was mostly about providing clues to the question, “Who am I?” The answer isn’t often very clear. What is clear though, is that it is in moments where there is tension, where there is conflict, that the inner aspects of self take on a bit more shape. Such was the situation when this image emerged. At that time, the very foundations of who I was was being assaulted, a fortunate occurrence as it unlocked me from my self-imposed straight jacket in which I forced anything that would disturb the status quo of my presence in the outer world into the darkness.
This image told me I was more than the outer collection of personae. It talked to me of hidden, denied roots. And in doing so, I began to feel again.