Arty Dreams

Brain to Earplug Transfer, created in Procreate app

I dreamed that, while I was sleeping, a painting unknown to my conscious mind was being transferred from my brain to the end of my earplug.  When I woke up, I actually looked--nothing, not even wax--very disappointing (so I had to invent this one).  I'll try again tonight.  Ha.

Reading Dreams

Untitled, created in SketchbookPro on iPad

Our local newspaper sometimes has an insert called Lake Country Living.  I was surprised to see an article by my blogger friend Celeste Bergin on Page 4.

Unfortunately, I woke up this morning before I could read the article (I often dream of reading newspapers, scientific books, poems, and lawyer stuff).  I remember the title, that it was the left-hand column, half-way down the page.  Had I stayed asleep and actually read the article, it probably would have said that Celeste has worked hard to earn what sounds like the wonderful artist's life--the classes, the shows, the coffee-shops-in-Portland, museum visits, hanging out with other artists.  She has earned the gifts and now enjoys them.

I cannot guess why the article was illustrated with this atrocious gaudy boudoir chair--deep red cushion, white wood with gold paint, curlicues.  I don't think it's Celeste's taste and I don't remember seeing one on Antique Road Show (and that's the way it was facing in my dream newspaper--I would have flipped it).  

Hallie's Cleaning Tips--I have none.  Quentin Crisp said cobwebs soften corners and when you've got a quarter inch of dust, no more accumulates. 

Bugged



Bugged, watercolor on Arches, 13x14

Five years ago I dreamed I was at a party; a huge bug was attached to my back, and no one noticed.  I thought the dream was odd; I sketched it while half-asleep.

I found the sketch tucked in a drawer and began the painting three weeks ago in a playful mood.  I thought I'd try a bit of everything with watercolor--masking with torn painters' tape, washes, scrubbing, glazes, muddy colors.  As the painting progressed, however, I realized the subject wasn't really funny--that I was painting my life.  I'm always bugged by something but I smile or joke my way through--so how would anyone know I'm upset?

Art--cheaper than psychiatry.  Now I'm really bugged.

The woman looks a bit like Miss Kitty from Gunsmoke or Margaret Thatcher and has quite a long arm reaching for that wine.  I don't think wine will debug me--don't like the taste or the headache.  I'll just have to keep painting; it usually helps.