A dream of sending a rocket to the moon. Dusk in the loft of a barn, I promise no harm to the sole feline crew who meows and complies. The rest of the night I wait and watch the night sky for her safe return.
Last night my dream was so green. A stone garden terrace at dusk. Him up there, on the phone, while I strolled along the grass below, enjoying the cool evening air.
A building appeared, smooth, austere… and looking inside, I saw a friend there, who waved me in, but I shook my head, no. I wasn’t ready yet, and here’s the strange thing… I turned and stood on a field, beside a large empty board, I felt I had to move.
I pushed it and saw where the shadow fell, but I wasn’t satisfied, and I continued to push and measure the length of the shadows as my arms grew tired and the sun left the sky.
Last night as I was falling asleep.. I imagined a large graphite drawing lying flat on a table. It was a drawing of a woman… very dark, heavily laden with graphite. I bent down and looked across the smooth surface of the paper and saw an area in the centre that was slowly.. almost imperceptibly.. rising and falling… Was it my own breath causing it to move? I stood up and held it out in front of me. It was definitely moving on its own.. and I said out loud, “A drawing that breathes.” Then I fell asleep.
I leapt out of bed this morning, a thousand things on my mind… did some laundry, a bit of tidying up. At 9am I walked down to the small cafe at the marina for a coffee. I was going to bring it home and drink it at my desk, but the sound of the water lapping at the jetty steps was so inviting, I perched myself on the retaining wall, sipped my coffee and listened to the small waves coming in and out. I felt the cool morning air on my face and the scalding hot coffee in my mouth and all the while the water kept moving in and out…in and out.. and I realised I was breathing in time…
Breath is a nice word, I thought…. so soft… Breath, soft as air.. barely there, but still..
I caught myself. Can I not enjoy 5 minutes of peace without writing poems in my head?
There was something important I was missing. I thought, “Tell me water. I know you know.” Its something about the word ‘breathing’, isn’t it? No. Breath? No. BREATHES! That’s it… A DRAWING THAT BREATHES… and then I remembered the dream … a message from my unconscious. I need to figure out a way of creating a drawing that breathes.
When we’re on our own, we touch ourselves… dream of things… Silly human beings.