I had this dream the other day about art. Oh, not like the usual dreams of colors and vibrant words, paintbrushes swiping wildly across piles and piles of primed canvases. Of rugged textures, ribbons and lace, papers and wax, hot and dripping into color crevices. Time rushing by, yet standing quite still...
This dream was the anti-art dream. The one you don't like to have. Bright white canvases, lonely paintbrushes gathering dust, paints drying up, papers yellowing and crumbling into decay. Forgotten and alone.
Fear and indecision reigned.
But then the scene changes, the french doors are thrown open, fear is no more, sunshine streams in and the smell of the balmy beach air fills the space (I can dream right?! lol) I see myself flow in. Yes, flow in. For some reason I'm wearing one of those colorful caftans, I'm fabulously thin (again, dreaming here.) My hair is long, dark red and wild, with stunning locks of hot pink, turquoise and blond. I'm free and happy and filled with purpose. I don't know what the day will hold but I do know it will end with messy tables, paint on my cheek and gallons of joy.
Think the universe is trying to tell me something?